A LEGEND OF KNOCKMANY.

WHAT Irish man, woman, or child, has not heard of our renowned Hibernian Hercules, the great and glorious Fin M'Coul? Not one, from Cape Clear to the Giant's Causeway, nor from that back again to Cape Clear. And by the way, speaking of the Giant's Causeway brings me at once to the beginning of my story. Well, it so happened that Fin and his gigantic relatives were all working at the Causeway, in order to make a bridge, or what was still better, a good stout padroad, across to Scotland; when Fin, who was very fond of his wife Oonagh, took it into his head that he would go home and see how the poor woman got on in his absence. To be sure, Fin was a true Irishman, and so the sorrow thing in life brought him back, only to see that she was snug and comfortable, and, above all things, that she got her rest well at night; for he knew that the poor woman, when he was with her, used to be subject to nightly qualms and configurations, that kept him very anxious, decent man, striving to keep her up to the good spirits and health that she had when they were first married. So, accordingly, he pulled up a fir-tree, and, after lopping off the roots and branches, made a walking-stick of it, and set out on his way to Oonagh.

Oonagh, or rather Fin, lived at this time on the very tip-top of Knockmany Hill, which faces a cousin of its own, called Cullamore, that rises up, half-hill, half-mountain, on the opposite side-east-east by south, as the sailors say, when they wish to puzzle a landsman.

Now, the truth is, for it must come out, that honest Fin's affection for his wife, though cordial enough in itself, was by no manner or means the real cause of his journey home. There was at that time another giant, named Cucullin-some

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say he was Irish, and some say he was Scotch-but whether Scotch or Irish, sorrow doubt of it but he was a targer. No other giant of the day could stand before him; and such was his strength, that, when well vexed, he could give a stamp that shook the country about him.* The fame and name of him went far and near; and nothing in the shape of a man, it was said, had any chance with him in a fight. Whether the story

The subjoined note by the Messrs. Chambers, in whose admirable Journal the above Legend appeared, exhibits a most extraordinary coincidence between my illustration of Cucullin's strength and that of the giant alluded to by the Messrs. Chambers :

"The above paper gives a good idea of the strange hues which the national humour and fancy have thrown over most of the early popular legends of Ireland. Fin or Fion M'Coul is the same half-mythic being who figures as Fingal in Macpherson's Ossian's Poems. He was probably a distinguished warrior in some early stage of the history of Ireland; different authorities place him in the fifth and the ninth centuries. Whatever his real age, and whatever his real qualities, he was afterwards looked back to as a giant of immense size and strength, and became the subject of numerous wild and warlike legends both in Ireland and in the Highlands of Scotland. Our Lowland poets of the middle ages give incontestible evidence of the great fame then enjoyed by both Fingal and Gaul the son of Morni. Barbour, for instance, in 1375, represents his hero Robert Bruce as making allusion to these two personages at the skirmish in Glendochart. Gavin Douglas, who died in 1522, introduces their names into his poem the Palace of Honour : ::

"Great Gow MacMorn, and Fin MacCowl, and how

They should be gods in Ireland, as they say.'

"Another Scottish poem, of obscure authorship, but of the same age as the above, entitled An Interlude of the Droich's [Dwarf's] Part of the Play, conveys the extravagant popular notions of the day respecting the vast stature of not only Fin and Gaul, but of Fin's wife. Of Fin it says

is true or not, I cannot say, but the report went that, by one blow of his fist, he flattened a thunderbolt, and kept it in his pocket, in the shape of a pancake, to show to all his enemies when they were about to fight him. Undoubtedly he had given every giant in Ireland a considerable beating, barring Fin M'Coul himself; and he swore, by the solemn contents of Moll Kelly's Primer, that he would never rest, night or day, winter or summer, till he would serve Fin with the same sauce, if he could catch him. Fin, however, who no doubt was the cock of the walk on his own dunghill, had a strong disinclination to meet a giant who could make a young earthquake, or flatten a thunderbolt when he was angry; so he accordingly kept dodging about from place to place, not much to his credit as a Trojan, to be sure, whenever he happened to get the hard word that Cucullin was on the scent of him. This, then, was the marrow of the whole movement, although he put it on his anxiety to see Oonagh; and I am not saying but there was some truth in that too. However, the short and the long of it was, with reverence be it spoken, that he heard Cucullin was coming to the Causeway to have a trial of strength with him; and he was naturally enough seized, in consequence, with a very warm and sudden fit of affection for his wife, poor woman,

"Of the wife it may be enough to say

"For cauld she took the fever-tertan,"

For all the claith in France and Bertant
Wad not be till her leg a garten,

Though she was young and tender.'

"In Irish traditionary narrative, as appears from Mr. Carleton's present sketch, Fin and his dame are kept within something comparatively moderate as respects bulk and strength, at the same time that enough of the giant is retained to contrast ludicrously with the modern and natural feelings assigned to them, and the motives and maxims on which they and their enemy Cucullin are represented as acting."

who was delicate in her health, and leading, besides, a very lonely uncomfortable life of it (he assured them), in his absence. He accordingly pulled up the fir-tree, as I said before, and having snedded it into a walking-stick, set out on his affectionate travels to see his darling Oonagh on the top of Knockmany, by the way.

In truth, to state the suspicions of the country at the time, the people wondered very much why it was that Fin selected such a windy spot for his dwelling-house, and they even went so far as to tell him as much.

"What can you mane, Mr. M'Coul," said they, "by pitching your tent upon the top of Knockmany, where you never are without a breeze, day or night, winter or summer, and where you're often forced to take your nightcap* without either going to bed or turning up your little finger; ay, an’ where, besides this, there's the sorrow's own want of water ?"

"Why," said Fin, "ever since I was the height of a round tower, I was known to be fond of having a good prospect of my own; and where the dickens, neighbours, could I find a better spot for a good prospect than the top of Knockmany? As for water, I am sinking a pump,† and, plase goodness, as soon as the Causeway's made, I intend to finish it."

Now, this was more of Fin's philosophy; for the real state of the case was, that he pitched upon the top of Knockmany in order that he might be able to see Cucullin coming towards the house, and, of course, that he himself might go to look after his distant transactions in other parts of the country, rather than-but no matter-we do not wish to be too hard on Fin.

• A common name for the cloud or rack that hangs, as a forerunner of wet weather, about the peak of a mountain.

†There is upon the top of this hill an opening that bears a very strong resemblance to the crater of an extinct volcano. There is also a stone, upon which, I have heard the Rev. Sidney Smith, F. T. C., now rector of the adjoining parish, say that he found Ogham characters; and, if I do not mistake, I think he took a fac-simile of them.

All we have to say is, that if he wanted a spot from which to keep a sharp look-out-and, between ourselves, he did want it grievously-barring Slieve Croob, or Slieve Donard, or its own cousin, Cullamore, he could not find a neater or more convenient situation for it in the sweet and sagacious province of Ulster.

"God save all here!" said Fin, good humouredly, on putting his honest face into his own door.

"Musha Fin, avick, an' you're welcome home to your own Oonagh, you darlin' bully." Here followed a smack that is said to have made the waters of the lake at the bottom of the hill curl, as it were, with kindness and sympathy.

"Faith," said Fin, "beautiful; an' how are you, Oonaghand how did you sport your figure during my absence, my bilberry ?"

"Never a merrier-as bouncing a grass widow as ever there was in sweet Tyrone among the bushes.""

Fin gave a short good-humoured cough, and laughed most heartily, to show her how much he was delighted that she made herself happy in his absence.

"An' what brought you home so soon, Fin?" said she.

"Why, avourneen," said Fin, putting in his answer in the proper way, "never the thing but the purest of love and affection for yourself. Sure you know that's truth, any how, Oonagh."

Fin spent two or three happy days with Oonagh, and felt himself very comfortable, considering the dread he had of Cucullin. This, however, grew upon him so much that his wife could not but perceive that something lay on his mind which he kept altogether to himself. Let a woman alone, in the meantime, for ferreting or wheedling a secret out of her good man, when she wishes. Fin was a proof of this.

"It's this Cucullin," said and, "that's troubling me. When the fellow gets angry, and begins to stamp, he'll shake you a