in all directions. It was not long before the thief was tracked to his place. In a garden enclosed by walls of dry stones, the missing cattle were found packed close together, while a wolf kept pacing up and down before the gap or entrance to the garden, howling and threatening fiercely when any one approached. Some of the shepherds not daring a single encounter with the infuriate animal, took counsel to stand together and attack the monster from a distance. Accordingly, after having collected a heap of stones for the assault, they began to hurl them against the wolf in thick showers; but the brave sentinel, undaunted by these formidable missiles, continued to trot up and down his beat, lashing his sides with his tail, and through his bared teeth howling back defiance to the enemy. The threatening shouts of the shepherds, mingling with the fierce cries of the wolf, soon brought a crowd to the scene of the encounter. The first to come was the "widow woman," whose cottage adjoined the garden in which the cattle were impounded. Awakened by the wild uproar, she " put on her" hastily, and came round by the garden wall. The wolf caught sight of her, and forthwith his ears dropped, and he came to a dead stand; the ferocious expression left his eyes while he raised a fore-foot towards her. The woman, recognising her acquaintance of yesterday, ap

66

proached, and having examined the foot, found that the wound was already healed. The wolf now led the way into the garden through the open gap, the woman following, and patting it on the neck as they went. The beasts within crouched for fear, while the wolf looked round, stretching his head now to one side, and then to the other, pointing out the imprisoned cattle to the woman, with an expression in its eyes that seemed to say: "Behold, these are my return to you for your good office to me yesterday. Accept them as a token of my gratitude to you: they are yours." Then bending his neck to be stroked again, the animal set off to the woods, leaving the shepherds in mute astonishment at these later movements.

When the wolf had time to get into the recesses of the woods, which at that period covered a great portion of the mountain, the widow invited the shepherds to take each his own, for she would not have a reward paid out of the property of other people, though she was poor, and sore in need of a COW. And the owners, having heard and discussed her strange story, returned home pondering, not without profit, on the deep impression which an act of kindness will make even on so ferocious an animal as a wolf.

But the story of Slieve League, and the one which

the passing visitor is most likely to hear, is, "The Story of the Spaniard," as they entitle it in the dis

trict.

The most prominent figure in the recent traditions of this locality is a certain priest, who, however, like every hero, real or imaginary, does not appear without secondary actors. Father Carr was always attended by his clerk, who was, as in duty bound, blindly obedient to his superior. He always rode a gray pony, which must have been an excellent specimen of the species, for tradition endows it with the faculty of intelligence. Happening on one occasion to be in Malinbeg, he accepted the invitation of an honest and well-to-do farmer of the place to spend the night at his house. He retired early, for the day had been one of unusual fatigue for him ; and then the clerk became the guest of the evening, a distinction that always pleased him. Seated in the midst of the simple family round the kitchen fire, he talked away in his best vein till it was late bedtime, when the younger members began to drop off one by one. But the clerk showed no desire to retire just then; and it was, indeed, the kind of night on which one would appreciate a comfortable hearth, for the wind moaned dismally abroad, a storm having sprung up in the evening, and growing more violent every moment. He and the

H

"man of the house" talked on to a late hour. At last the clerk heard his name called from the room occupied by the priest, which adjoined the kitchen. He opened the door of the chamber, and found the priest dressed. Owen, my son," said the latter, “get the pony saddled immediately, for we must cross Slieve League as soon as we can; and mind, don't make any noise about it, for I wish to slip off as quietly as possible." The clerk stood aghast at the command; but, recovering himself in a moment, he promised prompt obedience, for there was that in the priest's tone which was to him a sure indication that remonstrance was useless.

The "man of the house" did all in his power to dissuade the priest from going out. He reminded him of the dangerous nature of the road along the precipices of Slieve League, and over the One Man's Path, and that on a night in which the wind was, to use his own strong metaphor, "enough to blow the horns off the cows." The priest interrupted him: Donal," said he, "it is moonlight, and even if it were dark, I know the road well, and the pony knows every inch of it. The One Man's Path is the same to me as a broad road." The horse was brought round to the door, and the priest, bidding a blessing on the family, mounted.

66

66

Owen, my son," began Father Carr when they

lost

all."

66

had advanced a little on their journey, "have you your tongue? I fear you are a coward after No, I'm no coward, and you, reverend father, know I'm no coward." "Good, Owen, good! I'm glad you are able to speak.” Well, father, it is strange, to say the least, that any one with right reason in his head should venture over Slieve League on a night when every human being ought to pray and give thanks to God for the shelter of a house." "Owen, the angels are abroad in stormy, as in calm, weather. Courage, my son, courage, the angels will guard us." The fear that had possessed the clerk for the moment arose from a sense of discomfort more than from any real terror; it was therefore dispelled by this little speech, and his natural courage-for he was by nature fearless as a lion-coming back to him, he struck out into a bold, rapid walk.

Father Carr now apparently for the first time took note of the weather. He first directed his searching glance overhead, and the struggle between the moon, now high in the heavens, and the rushing clouds, was something worthy his rapt contemplation. It was glorious to see the shining orb, with edge sharp as a lance, plunge madly into the broken masses that flitted around it near and far, rushing forward in a whirling, tossing, aimless motion, and unwearied velocity, while it tore the flying sheets of cloud into