built his bawn. But Sir Cahir, in the midst of night, and in Sandy Ramsay's absence, attacked his enclosure, drove off his cattle, slaughtered his wife and children, and left his pleasant homestead a heap of smoking ruins.

The Scot, on his return home, saw himself bereaved, left desolate in a foreign land, without property, kindred, or home; nothing his, but his true gun and dirk. He knew that five hundred marks were the reward offered by the Lord Deputy for Sir Cahir's head.He knew that this outlaw was the foe that had quenched the fire on his hearth with the blood of his wife and little ones; and with a heart maddened by revenge, with hope resting on the promised reward, he retired to the wooded hills that run parallel to the Hill of Doune; there, under covert of a rock, his gun resting on the withered branch of a stunted oak, he waited day by day, with all the patience and expectancy of a tiger in his lair. Sir Cahir was a man to be marked in a thousand; he was the loftiest and proudest

in his bearing of any man in the province of Ulster; his Spanish hat with the heron's plume was too often the terror of his enemies -the rallying point of his friends, not to bespeak the O'Doherty: even the high breastwork of loose stones, added to the natural defences of the rock, could not hide the chieftain from observation.

On Holy Thursday, as he rested on the eastern face of the rock, looking towards the Abbey of Kilmacrenan, expecting a venerable friar to come from this favoured foundation of St. Columbkill, to shrive him and celebrate mass; and as he was chatting to his men beside him, the Scotchman applied the fire to his levelled matchlock-and before the report began to roll its echoes through the woods and hills, the ball had passed through Sir Cahir's forehead, and he lay lifeless on the ramparts. His followers were panicstruck; they thought that the rising of the Scotch and English was upon them, and deserting the lifeless body of their leader, they dispersed through the mountains. In the

meanwhile the Scotchman approached the rock; he saw his foe fall; he saw his followers flee. He soon severed the head from the body, and wrapping it in his plaid, off he set in the direction of Dublin. He travelled all that day, and at night took shelter in a cabin belonging to one Terence Gallagher, situated at one of the fords of the river Finn.Here Ramsay sought a night's lodging, which Irishmen never refuse; and partaking of an oaten cake and some sweet milk, he went to rest with Sir Cahir's head under his own as a pillow. The Scotchman slept sound,—and Terence was up at break of day. He saw blood oozing out through the plaid that served as his guest's pillow, and suspected all was not right; so slitting the tartan plaid, he saw the hair and head of a man. Slowly drawing it out, he recognized features wellknown to every man in Tyrconnel; they were Sir Cahir's. Terence knew as well as any man that there was a price set on this very head-a price abundant to make his fortunea price he now was resolved to try and gain.

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So off Terence started, and the broad Tyrone was almost crossed by O'Gallagher, before the Scotchman awoke to resume his journey. The story is still told with triumph through the country, how the Irishman, without the treason, reaped the reward of Sir Cahir's death. This was the last of the Irish rebellions that took place before the plantation of Ulster.

Sir Cahir's body is buried beside the rock.-Tony O'Donnel, who accompanied us, showed us his green grave, and seemed to hold the memory of this rebel in the respect due to his opposition to the English yoke and English religion. There is a sort of cave in the eastern side of the rock, which forms a vestibule to an immense cavern which is said to be within; this is the favourite abode of the good people, and their council chamber. There is a rock closing the visible cave which is said to be the fairy's door.-O'Donnel shewed us the pannels of the door wrought on the rock, and also the very identical key-hole which the king of the

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fairies unlocks. A thousand times, troops of tiny people are seen entering the cave, and some gifted mortals have observed the door open, and have got a glimpse of sumptuous apartments and splendid banquetings within; but as my informant said, "things and times are changed with the good people ;—once on a time they sported and rioted through these hills, and were as wanton and mischievous as bulls upon a brae in summer; just for sport they would strike a sheep or a goat with an elf-bolt, and there it would lie with the skin as whole as yours or mine, but when its body was opened it was all full of wounds; at another time they would throw an evil eye on a cow, and the poor baste would wither and waste till it fell off its standing—the women churned from morning to night and could get no butter; and what was worse than all, the finest childer in the parish were carried away, and the poorest squalling croutheens placed in the cradle in their stead-Manus M'Swine in this way had a fine boy taken from him, and one all head and mouth,