never come upon you, and where pain or sorrow or
sickness are unknown."

And Cuglas never returned to the fair hills of Erin, and ages passed
away since the morning he followed the hounds into the fatal cave, but
his story was remembered by the firesides, and sometimes, even yet,
the herdboy watching his cattle in the fields hears the tuneful cry of
hounds, and follows it till it leads him to a darksome cave, and as
fearfully he listens to the sound becoming fainter and fainter he
hears the clatter of hoofs over the stony floor, and to this day the
cave bears the name of the prince who entered it never to return.
[Footnote: _Uaimh Belaigh Conglais_, the cave of the road of
Cuglas--now Baltinglass--in the county Wicklow.]

THE HUNTSMAN'S SON.

A long, long time ago there lived in a little hut on the borders of a
great forest a huntsman and his wife and son. From his earliest years
the boy, whose name was Fergus, used to hunt with his father in the
forest, and he grew up strong and active, sure and swift-footed as a
deer, and as free and fearless as the wind. He was tall and handsome;
as supple as a mountain ash, his lips were as red as its berries; his
eyes were as blue as the skies in spring; and his hair fell down over
his shoulders like a shower of gold. His heart was as light as a
bird's, and no bird was fonder of green woods and waving branches. He
had lived since his birth in the hut in the forest, and had never
wished to leave it, until one winter night a wandering minstrel sought
shelter there, and paid for his night's lodging with songs of love and
battle. Ever since that night Fergus pined for another life. He no
longer found joy in the music of the hounds or in the cries of the
huntsmen in forest glades. He yearned for the chance of battle, and
the clang of shields, and the fierce shouts of fighting warriors, and
he spent all his spare hours practising on the harp and learning the
use of arms, for in those days the bravest warriors were also bards.
In this way the spring and summer and autumn passed; and when the
winter came again it chanced that on a stormy night, when thunder was
rattling through the forest, smiting the huge oaks and hurling them
crashing to the earth, Fergus lay awake thinking of his present lot,
and wondering what the future might have in store for him. The
lightning was playing around the hut, and every now and then a flash
brightened up the interior.

After a peal, louder t