Tales of Our Coast

oked axes, crowded in the semblance of a line along the narrow way to the large keep-and behind them packed

Low Countries which he held wrapped tight about them; the corded sinews of his big bare neck; above all, the lion-like head, with its dauntless regard and its splendid brown-black mane, and the sparkle of gold in the bushing glibb on his brow,-where else in all Ireland would their match be found? But for that strange injunction to silence, the fighters of

ace and untimely whitened hair. He would not turn his ferret glance to right or left, as he followed close in his cousin's lordly footsteps, for the reason that these sea-wolv

thigh to the waist were unseemly bulging breeches, blown out like a buoy, and gashed downwise with stripes of glowing colours, repeated again in his flowing sleeves. His burnished steel corslet and long reed-like sword would be toys for children in Dunlogher. His face, under its wide plumed hat of drab felt, was that of no soldier at all,-a thin smooth rounded face of a strange smoky darkness of hue, with tiny upturned mousta

week before, had put in at Dingle, on the Kerry coast, and had landed James Fitzmaurice, the Papal legate Sanders, some other clergy, and a score and more Spanish gentlemen or men at arms, with a banner blessed by the Holy Father. A great army from Spain and Italy would follow in their wa

hese tidings. The other O'Mahonys, the chiefs of Dunmanus and Dunbeacon to the north, of Ballydevlin, Leamcon, Ardintenant, and Rosbrin to the south, and el

o narrow that a man in armour must needs walk sideways-the abode of the chieftain a

s and spoons, had been given over to the master's greyhounds, who stood with forepaws on the board and insinuated their long necks and muzzles nois

earest akin to him, or in his best favour, there were left only his son, a slow, good lad born of a fir

lie, and pretend that I am your friend or you mine. Your brother, Diarmaid, the one I could not get to kill, calls himself my heir, and twice has sought to take the life of my son here, my Donogh baoth. Therefore

a' he said, 'when I am come to you for your soul's sake and the glory of r

ll be for another time, when I am like to die. And then I will have my own c

could dishonour my father, and slay my brother like the headstrong bullock that you are; but there

of Spain that I will be thinking

words of the King of Spain except when I interpret them to you. This noble gentleman who comes with me speaks more tongues than one, but he has no Irish, and you,-it is well known that you have nothing else.

,' he said slowly, 'because you have the tongue and the evil temper of an ugly girl. You speak foolish things in your heat, and they disgrace you. I have the best mind that any man in my family ever had. I have more thoughts in my mind than there are words in your Latin book.

son to his side, and gav

tongue strange to Dunlogher into the Spaniard's ear. Then he stood erect, and gazed at