"My opinion, too," said Whiskers. "It is to
a similar good understanding between the saints
and the creatures debarred of speech that the
existence of those beehives that are so
frequently to be found in Ireland are to be
attributed, if legend speaks truth. St. Dominic
of Ossory, crossed over to Britain to study
divinity under St. David, the patron of Wales,
who was the head of a most important seminary,
and his stay lasted for many years,
during which the beehives of the abbey where
he resided were intrusted to his care. The bees
not only grew extremely fond of him, but
seemed to be perfectly aware when he intended
to return home, for no sooner had the day come
that threatened to part them from their darling
keeper, than they clustered round him in a mass
and refused to leave. Three times he attempted
to carry them back to their cells, but the
attempts were vain, for the bees persisted in
following him to his ship, and at last the abbot
allowed him to depart with his winged retinue."

"And these were the first bees that ever
settled in Ireland?"

"Precisely; unless, with some, you prefer
to treat the legend as an allegory, and consider
that the bees were, in fact, British teachers,
who crossed the water laden with the honey
of pious doctrine."

"To return to St. Kevin," said Wideawake,
after a pause, during which he had been looking
exceeding profound. "He must have been
a man of very mixed character if he was so kind
to orphans and birds, and yet so cruel as to give
poor Kathleen the unlucky push, immortalised
by Moore, which consigned her to the bottom of
the lake, merely because she would not get out
of his way. Do you recollect the words of the
melody?"

"Certainly," replied Whiskers. "Moore
had the very same idea as yourself with regard
to the cruelty of the transaction. Thus sings
he:

      Ah, you saints have cruel hearts!
      Stealing from his bed he starts,
      And with rude repulsive shock
      Hurls her from the beetling rock.
      Glendalough, thy glossy wave
      Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave.

"If you go through the history of the early
Irish saints, you will find in them a strange
mixture of an ascetic repugnance to the fair
sex combined with much tenderness towards
them. Saint Patrick himself is said in the first
years of his missionary career to have allowed
male and female devotees to live together in
couples in a sort of spiritual union, without
apprehending any danger to their vow of celibacy,
until a scandal, which arose in his family, shook
his belief in what would now be called ' Platonic
love,' and caused him to separate the sexes
entirely. The mixed feeling is remarkably
illustrated by the legend of two early devotees,
Enda and Fanchea."

"Enda and Fanchea? Which is masculine
and which is feminine?"

"You shall hear," replied Whiskers,
"Fanchea was a holy woman, the head of a monastery,
to whose care was intrusted a maiden of royal
blood. Enda was a warrior of lofty descent,
who passing the monastery, where he had just
slain one of his enemies, was stopped by
Fanchea, anxious to prevent further bloodshed.
He argued, as a warrior of the olden time
naturally would, that by destroying his
hereditary foes he was but honouring his deceased
father; nor was he convinced, when she told
him that his father was suffering in the other
world for crimes, which he had no occasion to
repeat. He affected, however, to negotiate,
and informed Fanchea that he would comply
with her pacific request if she would give up
to him the royal maiden confided to her care.
Fanchea appeared to hesitate, and having
desired him to wait for her answer, returned to
the chamber of the princess, and asked her
whether she would become the bride of Enda,
or die in a state of celibacy. The princess replying
that she chose the latter alternative was
desired by Fanchea to rest upon her couch, and
immediately expired. Fanchea, covering the
face of the corpse, requested Enda to come
into the chamber, and then removing the veil,
asked him if he desired such a wife as he now
saw before him? The warrior replied that the
maiden was no longer beautiful, and much too
pale for his taste. This gave Fanchea a cue for
effecting Enda's conversion. He soon became
her disciple, and assuming the religious habit,
fasted, laboured, and superintended the workmen
who were completing the monastery. In
vain did his old companions come to see him,
Fanchea made the sign of the cross, and they
became as motionless as the pagan warriors
who saw the head of the Gorgon on the shield
of Perseus. At last, however, a skirmish took
place at the very gates of the monastery, between
some men of Enda's family and a band of
robbers, and Enda, yielding to the native
Hibernian instinct, could not refrain from
snatching up his sword and pressing forward
to take part in the fight. He was, however,
checked by Fanchea, who exhorted him to
touch his shaven crown, and remember that he
was no longer a warrior but a monk. He did
so; the sword dropped from his hand, and he
retired peaceably to his cell."

"All this is very pretty and very moral,"
observed Wideawake, " but I do not see that
it illustrates the mixed feeling about which we
spoke."

"Patience!" exclaimed Whiskers. "I have
not yet come to the end of my tale. To
prevent further temptation Fanchea advised Enda
to quit Ireland, and study at the feet of
a saint who presided over a great monastery
in Britain, adding that it would be time for
him to return when the fame of his virtues had
reached his native island. Enda followed her
counsel, and, after a lapse of some years, some
pilgrims from Rome, passing by the monastery,
spoke of a saint of Irish extraction, named
Enda, who was head of a monastery in Britain,
and had become very famous for his sanctity.