ONCE of a time, that Ailill and Medb had spread their royal bed in Cruachan, the stronghold of Connacht, such was the pillow talk that befell betwixt them: Quoth Ailill: 'True is the saying, lady, 'She is a well off woman that is a rich man's wife.'' 'Aye, that she is, ' answered the wife; 'but wherefore opin'st thou so?' 'For this, ' Ailill replied, 'that thou art this day better off than the day that first I took thee.' Then answered Medb: 'As well off was I before I ever saw thee.' 'It was a wealth, forsooth, we never heard nor knew of, ' Ailill said; 'but a woman's wealth was all thou hadst, and foes from lands next thine were used to carry off the spoil and booty that they took from thee.' 'Not so was I, ' quoth Medb; 'the High King of Erin himself was my sire, Eocho Fedlech ('the Enduring') son of Finn, by name, who was son of Findoman, son of Finden, son of Findguin, son of Rogen Ruad ('the Red'), son of Rigen, son of Blathacht, son of Beothacht, son of Enna Agnech, son of Oengus Turbech. Of daughters, had he six: Derbriu, Ethne and Ele, Clothru, Mugain and Medb, myself, that was the noblest and seemliest of

The history of Ireland remains to be written, for the purpose of Irishmen remains yet to be achieved. The struggle for national realization, begun so many centuries ago, is not ended; and if the long story offers a so frequent record of failure, it offers a continuous appeal to the highest motives and a constant exhibition of a most pathetic patriotism linked with the sternest courage.