the boy was torn in pieces; but when the bolts were drawn
back and they sprang forth, eager to save the boy's life, they found the
dog dead, and Setanta standing over him with his hurle, for he had
sprung over the foss, not fearing the dog. Forthwith, then, his tutor,
Fergus Mac Roy, snatched him up on his shoulder, and returned with great
joy into the banquet hall, where all were well pleased at the
preservation of the boy, except Culain himself, who began to lament over
the death of his dog and to enumerate all the services which he rendered
to him.

"Do not grieve for thy dog, O Culain," said Setanta, from the shoulder
of Fergus, "for I will perform those services for you myself until a dog
equally good is procured to take the place of him I slew."

Then one jesting, said, "Cu-culain!" (Hound of Culain) and thenceforward
he went by this name.

STANDISH O'GRADY.

The Legend of Knockgrafton

There was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at
the foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on his
back; he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed upon
his shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so much
that his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees for
support. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any
lonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as
inoffensive as a new-born infant, yet his deformity was so great that he
scarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded persons
had set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have a great
knowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had a mighty
skilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and baskets, which
was the way he made his livelihood.

Lusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him, by reason of his
always wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in
his little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited work
than anyone else, and perhaps that was the reason why someone, out of
envy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as it may,
it happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty town of
Cahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very slowly, on
account of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark when he came
to the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the right-hand side of
the road. Tired and weary was h