with her sister-nuns, kindled every night a
beacon fire upon the tower, to guide wanderers
upon the Curragh to warmth and shelter. Here
she fed and clothed the converts she won from
paganism. She formed one of that trinity of
Irish patrons commemorated in the monkish
line:

Brigida Patricius atque columba pius.

Hard she found it to keep all the poor who
claimed dole at the abbey gates, for famine had
raged sore in the land, and the black-death
followed famine; but the prayers of Brigid had
virtue in them, and when the daughter of an
old king of Leinster lay dying, and there was no
hope in man or Baal, Saint Brigid raised her,
and then the king told the saint to name what
reward she pleased. So seeing the spearmen
driving the poor men's sheep from the Curragh,
she said, "Give me for my poor so much of that
green pasture as this holy robe of mine shall
cover." So the king laughed almost in mockery,
and granted her request. Then angels came
and took the holy robe from the saint's
shoulders, and bore it gently over the centre of
the Curragh, and there it grew and spread until
it hung a vast crimson canopy over the whole
plain, which still retains the form of that sacred
vestment. From that hour to this, the dwellers
round the Curragh claim and enjoy the rights of
pasture which Saint Brigid and the angels won
for them.

Last summer a royal commission was
appointed to investigate the origin and extent of
these popular rights. The government desired
to lease the Curragh to the War Department,
and to construct permanent stone barracks for
six or seven thousand troops. It was intended
to preserve all vested rights, or to give
compensation should these be interfered with, if
claimants could establish their title—a hard thing
for the poor to do. Evidence, both oral and
documentary, was produced abundantly. There
were letters patent, crown grants, and charters
conceded to abbeys now in ruins. These rather
proved the rights of the landowners round the
plain than those of the commoners. These did
not repeat to the commissioners the old tradition,
but they spoke to each other of the legend of
Saint Brigid, and believed it. And when Lord
Strathnairn gave his evidence, proving that the
sheep-owners and the military benefited and
accommodated each other, and spoke like a good
soldier on behalf of popular rights, the poor said,
"The Curragh is our own still, and Saint
Brigid's doing is not undone." So the white
sheep in many thousands now dot the green
expanse of the Curragh.

The Curragh is not "a plain," though often
so designated. It is formed by a succession of
low, gracefully sweeping hills separated by
sheltered dells. These hills are nearly all alike in
form, and during the spring and summer, and
in kindly seasons up to the depth of winter,
these appear as mounds of gold from the
glowing blossoms of the furze. They are covered,
except where the furze crops up, from base to
summit with short crisp verdure, ever browsed
upon by thousands of sheep. Under an
alluvial deposit, they are formed of limestone,
gravel, and grey sand to the depth of two
hundred feet and more. Amidst the limestone and the
upper clay are found small boulders of granite,
whose rounded and polished surfaces exhibit
proofs of the action of water, and mutual
attrition through the ages. No rain ever rests on
these hills, or lingers in the valleys; it percolates
rapidly through the light loam down to
the looser gravel far beneath. One hour after
the most violent rainfall the roads are dry and
white, and the elastic turf, smooth and level as
a carpet, quickly exhales the moisture. Indeed,
the natural drainage of the Curragh is so
"thorough," as to be a cause of some
inconvenience.  Three or four small pools alone afford
water for the sheep and kine, and for the wild
birds which float over the plain in flocks.
Round the Curragh edge, where the land is low,
long narrow channels detain the drainage water.
This water is of a pale green colour, and is
reputed to be peculiarly nourishing for horses.
On the south-eastern side of the Curragh, a holy
well supplies the people far and near. The camp
derives its supply from deep excavations
connected by channels with a large reservoir into
which the water is drawn by a powerful steam-
engine, and then is forced to the highest portion
of the camp. No stream seems to rise on the
immense surface of this expanse. The rain
runs to the bottom of the drift, and forces
passages for itself in the lowlands far away.
To one looking over the Curragh from the great
Rath of Moteenanon, it presents the appearance
of vast waves of verdure, as if a mighty
sea of drift and gravel had suddenly been fixed
for ever in the moment of its greatest agitation,
and then been covered with green. Here and
there the dells and miniature valleys seem to
have been hollowed out by eddying torrents, as
the great deluge rolled by into the boundless
bog of Allen. One vast elevated spine, two
miles in length, runs across the Curragh from
west to east. It is higher, broader, vaster far
than any of the other hills. A torrent must
have swept furiously on either side, and thrown
up the débris and alluvial from the distant
mountains. It rises a huge island from a sea
of green, itself green, except where men have
cut the turf away, and built up roads in
Roman fashion. In the most remote period, and
in the domain of legend, nations made the
Curragh their battle-ground. On the eastern
end of the Long Hill are five of those circular
earthwork forts or raths, which, in Ireland, are
always said to be the work of Danes. Further
on are two; then, clustering near the great
central citadel of Moteenanon, are five; and
stretching away from hill to hill are others,
far as the eye can see. Here, too, are
"crochauns" and sepulchral mounds, some of which
have been explored and yielded precious relics,
treasured now by the Royal Irish Academy.
On the western end a rath, higher than the
rest, still bears the terrible name of "Gibbet