learned the limit of some forgotten chief's possessions, and the resting-place of some old warrior, to whose name his followers have sometimes added a simple word expressive of their grief; and that is about all these ancient signs themselves have communicated.

They are, however, frequently mentioned in the earlier romances. In the Book of Leinster there is a curious illustration of their use in the story of Corc, son of one of the old kings of Munster. Forced to fly from his father's court to the King of Scotland, and not knowing what reception he might have, he remained in a grove near the royal palace until he could determine what course to take. While there he was discovered by Gruibné, the king's poet. As the poet was examining the prince's shield, he detected an ogham upon it :"Who was it befriended you with the ogham on your shield?" said the poet. "It was not good luck he designed for you!" "What does it contain?" said Core. "What it contains," said the poet, "is, that if it was by day you arrived at the court of Faederck, your head should be cut off before evening, and if it was by night, your head should be cut off before morning."

We are also told in one of the oldest stories, that oghams were cut on hoops or wands, and placed in the way of Queen Meay and her army; and that when they were found, they were carried to Fergus, the royal poet, by whom they were read and explained.

We learn also that oghams were cut upon long, fan-shaped wooden tablets, which, closed, formed also the writer's staff. One of the Brehon laws, prescribing the kind of weapon men could carry as a defence against dogs, or other troublesome beasts, allows the priest his shepherd's crook and the poet his tabletstaff. Without entering, however, into any further description of these ancient signs, it is sufficient for our argument if they show that the Celts possessed, at least before the introduction of Christianity, a system of literary communication peculiar to themselves.

Like all other European nations, in

stead of this older and ruder alphabet, the Celts seem to have adopted the Phoenician letters as soon as they became acquainted with them. Those seafaring Phoenicians somehow contrived, without leaving us a song or story or a scrap of parchment, to give their symbols to all modern thought, and the oldest remains of Irish writing are said to exhibit only the identical sixteen letters which Cadmus brought from Pho nicia to Greece. Might not those Phonician mariners whom Herodotus describes as trading with the ancient Britons, B. c. 300, have taught them also then the use of their alphabet? Such a supposition is certainly not improbable.

The oldest specimens of Celtic writing, in these more familiar characters, are in the form of glosses to Latin manuscripts, written in the eighth and ninth centuries. These glosses imply Celtic readers then. The oldest Celtic manuscripts which have been discovered, as already stated, were written in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries. These also imply an earlier Celtic literature. We cannot otherwise satisfactorily account for their production. Latin was the prevailing literary language of that period. The majority of Norman and Saxon writers wrote nearly all their productions in that language. How is it that these writers, if they merely gained their literary culture from their neighbors, did not also write in Latin?

At a period when all the languages now spoken in Europe were just beginning to be formed, here are the Celts with a language already developed—a language also of great variety and richness, fitted to express the subtleties of philosophy, and the highest flights of the imagination. We see poets boasting of the correctness of their verse and syntax, and manisesting a metrical skill and rhythm far in advance of surrounding nations. Does such a diction spring full-grown into existence? Must there not have been an earlier literature, in order to account for this proficiency?

The manuscripts are also full of refer

ences to older works now lost. They quote from them and give their titles. These references and quotations are often entirely independent of each other, and yet so fully harmonize that it is evident they were taken from the same older source. Some of these quotations require glosses to make them intelligible to Celtic readers in the eleventh and twelfth centuries; and these glosses refer to older manuscripts in explanation of obsolete words.

How clearly the existence of these older works is indicated in such a legend as that of the loss of books in the time of Saint Columba in the sixth century. Columba is said to have asked permission of Longarad, a learned man who had a great collection of books "of all the sciences," to visit his library, but was refused the privilege. The Saint then, in no very Christian spirit, prayed that Longarad might not profit by his refusal, but that all his books should become illegible after his death. This prayer was answered; for Angus, the Culdee, who tells the story, says:-that in his day, the ninth century, the books were still in existence, but no one could read them ;-" and when Longarad died, all the satchels in Erin dropped from their hooks; and Columba and his companions were greatly astonished, until Columba remembered his prayer, and knew that Longarad was dead, and then he uttered the poem:

Lon is dead, Lon is dead!

To Cill Garad it is a great misfortune,
To Erin with its countless tribes,

It is a destruction of learning and schools."

This legend, so curious in the revelations it gives of the learning of Erin in olden times, is most naturally interpreted by the supposition that in the time of Angus a number of old books, by reason of the rapid dialectical changes common to all languages, had become illegible.

When Celtic books were first written and in what form preserved it is of Course now impossible to determine with any accuracy. It is sufficient for our purpose, if the evidence already

given may make it appear even probable, that the old Britons, during the first centuries before the Saxon invasions, had written records, and a literary culture superior to most of the surrounding "barbarians."

If now we have been at all successful in showing that the Celts had a literature long before the date of any of their existing manuscripts, it becomes an interesting question whether any portions of this older literature have been preserved.

The orthography and verbal forms of the existing manuscripts are those of the period in which they were written; but this is no conclusive evidence that their contents may not have been composed in some earlier age. The Canterbury Tales in the orthography of the nineteenth century are no proof that they were not written in the fourteenth.

There was no antiquarian spirit in the Middle Ages which led scribes to preserve the exact form of the documents from which they quoted. They were principally desirous to make their productions intelligible to their readers, and hence wrote them in the form their readers could best understand.

Many of the old poems and romances were handed down orally. The latest narrators evidently could not give them in the linguistic forms of earlier periods, but in their own. The phonetic corruptions and alterations constantly taking place in vernacular forms were so gradual, that the language of the poem or story insensibly adapted itself to them. This is true of all records which have been made among any people at different periods in their history. It is not until a high degree of civilization has been attained, that scholars seek to preserve for their own scientific purposes the exact form of older compositions.

Celtic manuscripts themselves afford an instance of these very corruptions. Between the "Black Book of Caermarthen" and the "Red Book of Hergest" is an interval of two centuries. Both contain the same poems, but their orthography and inflections are very

different; they are, as we might expect, in the linguistic dress of the century in which they were transcribed.

Yet, while the orthography and language of these manuscripts generally belong to the Middle Ages, many of their poems and romances contain sentiments entirely foreign to medieval writ

ers.

Glenie, in his article on the Arthurian localities, very truly says: "One of the many indications of that synthetic and reconstructive rather than analytic and destructive tendency which marks the second half of the nineteenth century is the fact that historical scholars are beginning to look on popular legends and romances, not certainly with the uncritical credulity of the days before Niebuhr, but with the belief of finding in them such records of historical evidence as will pay the trouble of investigating them."

The brothers Grimm, in their "Kinder und Hausmärchen," have done for the early history of Germany what we greatly need some one to do for our own. In such old wives' tales there are often concealed some of the richest treasures of popular history. Skilful analysis and comparison may bring out from them, as from words, many secrets concerning the kinship of races and the past life of a people. In this consists the great value of much of the old Celtic literature. Its fables, absurd as many of them are, can reveal to us often the customs and ideas of a bygone age.

When the style and sentiments of a poem or story differ entirely from those which prevail at the time when it is first discovered, it is fair to conclude the substance of it has been taken from earlier writings or traditions. If a literary forgery, it has at least been fashioned from ancient models.

Take, for instance, the remarkable phenomenon, which Mr. Nash notices and cites as evidence that the Cymric poems are the fabrications of a later age "the absence of any thing like a tale or recital of adventure, oreven a love-story." It is indeed singular that we should possess a collection of more than one

hundred songs without a single story of love; but this, so far from leading us to suspect their antiquity, seems one of the strongest evidences in its favor. Such love-stories were the outgrowth of a later period. It would have been very suspicious if we had found in the productions assigned to these earlier poets merely those love-ditties, which, springing up in Provence, reappeared purified by a higher Christian sentiment among the Trouvveres.

If we look also at the style in which these manuscripts were written, we shall find frequent indications that they are merely copies of older compositions.

During the Middle Ages, the favorite style of Celtic writers was an exaggerated use of metaphors. This style became more and more popular from the tenth to the fifteenth centuries. Here are two illustrations of it: "Torrentlike rapid, dartingly eager, mortal his strides; dauntless, dealing death around; invincible, fierce, vigorous, active, hostile, courageous, intrepid; rending, hewing, slaughtering, deforming forms and features, shaded with clouds of certain death. Sanguine as the hawk of prey; furious as the resistless, strong-framed, blood-thirsty lion; impetuous as the boisterous, hoarse-foaming, bold-bursting, broad-mountain billows." noble garment was first brought to him; a strong, well-formed, close-ridged, defensively-furrowed, terrific, neat bordered, newly-made and scarlet-red cassock of fidelity. He expertly put on that gold-bordered garment, which covered him as far as the lower part of his soft, red, white neck to the upper part of his expert snow-white round-knotted knee."

"His

Now the older stories can easily be detected in the midst of this gaudy rhetoric by their simpler form. In the original Celtic the contrast is far more striking than it can be in a translation.

In the battle of Mag Rath, a Gaelic story edited by O'Donovan, the number of quotations and antiquated words show that it was originally composed at some period previous to that in which it first appears; and yet the later narrator has added so much to the older form, that

the modern and antique are sometimes very curiously blended.

The following description of the heroes is in perfect accordance with the mediæval style: "Among them was many a youthful, valorous, aspiring, well-armed heroe, without treachery; many a swift, triumphant, nobly-dressed, rapid-wounding great-battled warrior untamed; many a strong, robust, high-headed, at-weapon-dextrous and battle-maintaining soldier unappalled."

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But compare this with Congal's meeting the poet in the same story :-" The hosts then repaired into the palace, and left Congal alone outside the hill, where the meeting was held. When he had been here for some time; he perceived a man coming towards him; and he knew him by his dress to be a poet; and he bade him welcome as if he were known to him. The poet sat down with him on the side of the hill and asked him the news. The other told him all the news he was desirous to hear, except that he did not tell him the name of his tribe. Who art thou thyself now," said the unknown youth, and what is thy name? for I perceive that thou art a poet.' 'The Egis (sage) and poet of a king do I happen to be,' he said, 'and to the king's palace am I now repairing.' A heavy shower then fell, consisting of intermingled rain and snow; and he put his shield between the poet and the shower, and left his own arms and battle-dress exposed to the snow. 'What is this for?' said the poet. 'I say unto thee,' he replied, 'if I could show unto thee a greater token of veneration than this, thou shouldst receive it for thy learning; but as I cannot, I can only say,

I am more fit to bear rain than one who has learning.'

give one from Math, the son of Mathonwy.

The romance represents Gwydion, the enchanter, as tenderly bringing up an illegitimate child, Llew, whom his mother, Arianrod, regards with great aversion. She manifests her hatred by imposing some disabling curse upon the child whenever he is brought into her presence. One of these was to the effect that the boy should never wear armor until Arianrod herself invested him with it. As the boy grew older he became very anxious to engage in war-like sports. To free him from the curse, Gwydion and the youth at last come to Arianrod's castle disguised like two young bards. And then the story continues.

"With great joy were they greeted. The hall was arranged, and they went to meat. When meat was over Arianrod discoursed with Gwydion of tales and stories. Now Gwydion was an excellent story-teller, and when it was time to leave off feasting, a chamber was prepared for them and they went to rest. In the early twilight Gwydion arose, called unto him his magic and his power, and by the time the day dawned there resounded through the land uproar and trumpets and shouts. And Arianrod came knocking at the door of the chamber, and asked that it might be opened. Up rose the youth and admitted her, together with one of her maidens. 'Ah, good men, we are in evil plight, are we?' 'Yes, truly,' said Gwydion, we have heard trumpets and shouts; what thinkest thou that they mean?' 'Verily,' said she, 'we cannot see the color of the ocean by reason of all the ships side by side, and they are making for the land with all speed; and what shall we do?' 'Lady,' said Gwydion, 'there is no other counsel than to close the castle and defend it as best we may!' 'Truly,' said she, 'may heaven reward you, and may you defend it, and you shall have plenty of arms.' Thereupon she went forth for the arms, and returned with two maidens and suits for the two men. 'Lady,' said Gwydion, 'you accoutre this stripling, and I will arm myself with the help of

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the maidens. So! I hear the tumult of the men approaching.' 'I will do so gladly,' she exclaimed. So she armed him fully, and that right cheerfully. Hast thou finished arming the youth?' said Gwydion. 'I have finished,' she replied. Then take off our arms, we have no need of them,' said he. 'Wherefore?' she asked, 'there is the army around the house.' 'O Lady, there is no army; this tumult was but to break thy prophecy, and to obtain arms for thy son; and now he has got the arms, without any thanks to thee. By heaven!' said Arianrod, 'thou art a wicked man. Now I will lay a destiny upon this youth, that he shall never have a wife of the race that now inhabits this earth.' 'Verily,' said he, 'thou wast ever a malicious woman, and no one ought to support thee. A wife shall he have notwithstanding.'

"They went thereupon to Math and complained of Arianrod. 'Well,' said Math, we will seek by charms and illusions to form a wife for him out of flowers. He is now come to man's stature, and is the comeliest youth that was ever beheld.'

"So they took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and produced from them a maiden, the fairest and most graceful that man ever saw. And they baptized her, and gave her the name of Blodeuwedd" (the fair-flowered face).

This wife of flowers manifested no better disposition than some of coarser mould. During Llew's absence she fell in love with another man, and by magic succeeded in changing her husband into an eagle, which at once flew off out of sight. Gwydion vainly wanders through the land in search of him, until he comes to the house of a vassal, where he stopped for the night.

Again we quote from the narrative.

"The man and his household came in, and last of all the swineherd: 'Well, youth,' said the man to the swineherd, 'hath thy SOW come in to-night?' 'She hath, and is at this instant gone to the pigs.' 'Where doth this sow go to?' said Gwydion. 'Every day

when the sty is opened she goeth forth, and none can catch sight of her.'

Wilt thou grant unto me,' said Gwydion, 'not to open the sty until I am beside the sty with thee?' 'This will I do right gladly,' he answered. That night they went to rest, and as soon as the swineherd saw the light of day he awoke Gwydion, and Gwydion arose and went with the swineherd and stood beside the sty. As soon as the swineherd opened the sty, behold! she leaped forth and started off with great speed; and Gwydion followed her until he came to a brook which is now called Nant y Llew.

"Then she halted and began feeding. And Gwydion came under the tree, and looked what it might be the sow was feeding on; and he saw she was eating putrid flesh and vermin.

"Then he looked up to the top of the tree, and behold an eagle. And when the eagle shook himself, there fell vermin and putrid flesh from off it, and these the sow devoured. And it seemed to him the eagle was Llew; and he sang an englyn:

"Oak that grows between the two banks,
Darkened is the sky and hill.

Shall I not tell him by his wounds,
That this is Llew?

"Upon this the eagle came down until he reached the centre of the tree. And Gwydion sang another englyn:

"Oak that grows in upland ground,
Is it not wetted by the rain?
Has it not been drenched

By ninescore tempests?

It bears in its branches Llew Llew Gyffes.

"Then the eagle came down until he was upon the lowest branch of the tree, and Gwydion sang one more englyn:

"Oak that grows beneath the steep,
Stately and majestic is its aspect.
Shall I not speak it

That Llew will come into my lap?

"And the eagle came down on Gwydion's knee, and Gwydion struck him with his magic wand, so that he returned to his own form. No one ever saw a more piteous sight, for he was nothing but skin and bone."

We have given this somewhat lengthy