I owe acknowledgment, also, to Professor Max Freund, Queen’s University, Belfast, for valuable direction in the Middle High German Studies underlying the sketch of St. Elizabeth. H. C. [Illustration] CONTENTS PAGE DARLUGDACHA: A little Schoolgirl of St. Brigid 9 ST. ELIZABETH: A little German Schoolgirl of the Middle Ages 35 CECILIA GONZAGA: A little Italian Schoolgirl of the Renaissance 64 MARGARET MORE: A little Schoolgirl of Tudor England 98 MARIE JEANNE D’AUMALE: A little Schoolgirl of Saint-Cyr 128 TWO SCHOOLGIRL DIARISTS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY: I.—HÉLÈNE MASSALSKI, Paris 168 II.—ANNA GREEN WINSLOW, Boston 190 PAMELA AT BELLECHASSE: The Schooldays of LADY EDWARD FITZGERALD 208 MARJORIE FLEMING: Sir Walter Scott’s “Pet Marjorie” 224 A GARDEN OF GIRLS DARLUGDACHA A Little Schoolgirl of St. Brigid (_Circa A.D. 490_) PART I.—THE ORPHANING OF DARLUGDACHA Across the plain, in the twilight, rode Flann with his noble guest-friends by his side, and his hunting train behind him. They had hunted all day in the woods to the south of the plain—on foot, as the old Irish custom was, while their horses grazed free in the forest glades, and the gillies guarded their masters’ trappings. Now, weary of limb themselves, they were astride their fresh steeds, and the miles that lay between them and the banqueting hall within the white Dún above the Liffey were miles of soft, springy turf. Even the trappers felt their heavy burdens light, as their feet touched it. They raced in time to the joyous concert of the beagles, and the tinkling of the horse-bells—every man of them with his great wolf-dog at his side. The red sunset filled the West, and, in the glow of it, splendid mantles—purple and yellow, and green, and red—were yet more splendid. Gleams of fire were struck from great jewelled brooches, from the gold on bits and bridles, from richly-wrought horse-cloths. Flann himself, a glowing splendid figure, rode at the head of that splendid company, the pride of life in his heart, and crowning his haughtily carried head. They came to a point from which a great oak tree was visible. It seemed to Flann, all at once, as if another hand than his were laid on the bridle, and his horse were being urged out of its straight course for the home stable. He lifted his echlasc,[1] and with it tried to turn the horse’s head back again. But in vain. One way only the horse would go, and that was towards the great oak tree, which spread a wide dark net against the red background of the sunset.