warlike as savages, and fierce feuds and bold robberies, on land and
sea, were every day affairs. Indeed, for a man to be a peaceful,
honest, sober citizen, was then no ways to his credit; then children
were taught by their quarrelsome parents, to fire up on the slightest
occasion, and fight for their rights,--to revenge all insults, and make
free with the property of their enemies; and little was the
Sunday-school teaching they had to the contrary; then when women became
leaders of lawless predatory bands, they were admired and wondered at;
but few thought of condemning them, or dared to scout at them.

Those must have been the days, or Ireland the country, of "woman's
rights," for throughout the warlike career of the great chieftainess,
nobody seems to have been much shocked, or to have thought that Miss
O'Malley was going out of her "proper sphere," and infringing on the
sacred rights of the nobler sex, in fighting and pirating; except it
may be those men who got the worst of it, in engagements with her.

Grace O'Malley was the daughter of a powerful chief, who, having no
heir, brought up his one little girl as though she were a son--teaching
her all sorts of manly and martial exercises. Instead of dolls and
pets, her childish playthings were pistols and daggers, which she soon
found very useful in scaring her attendants into instant obedience to
her whims; and instead of being allowed to play among the sands and
hunt shells on the wild seashore, she was taught to swim, to fish, to
row, and to shoot the shy water-fowl. Instead of taking her airings,
like a modern nobleman's little daughter, on a well-trained pony, or a
sober, sure-footed donkey, over smooth lawns, and through shady parks
and flowery lanes, she was accustomed to accompany her father and his
rough followers, mounted on one of the wild horses of the country, on
long mountain hunts--to dash through bog and briar, to ford swollen
streams, and leap wide, dark chasms.

Once, when Grace was but a child, while she was out on one of these
hunts, a young fawn that they were chasing, turned suddenly, and
singling her out from all the party, ran to her side, laid its head in
her lap, and lifted its large sorrowful eyes to her face, as though
asking for her protection. "Stand back!" cried she, to the
hunters,--"call off the dogs, and let no one harm her now,--she is
mine!"

"Ah, well, comrades," said one of the men, "let us seek other game, and
leave the f