“I am afraid, young Wolfscliff, that you do not keep yourself well posted up in your family genealogy,” said The O’Melaghlin. “Indeed I do not,” replied Stuart, with a laugh. “I fear I know little or nothing with certainty of my family on either side the house previous to their emigration to America. Why, O’Melaghlin, do you know if I could become a candidate for the highest office in this country, and knew who was my grandfather, it would be a grave objection to me in the minds of this democratic and republican people—unless, indeed, I could prove that he was a tramp, a gypsy, or, at the very best, a day laborer!” The O’Melaghlin stroked his long, rusty red beard and slowly shook his head. “The human race is going to ruin,” he said. “But will you kindly explain how it is that we are of kin, sir?” said Palma hesitatingly. “Surely, my dear young lady—surely. The facts are these: From prehistoric ages, in the dark before the dawn of time or of its record, to which the memory of mankind goeth not back. The O’Melaghlins were monarchs of Munster.” “And lived in caves, and dressed in skins, and when a young king wanted a wife he walked into the next kingdom with his club on his shoulders, knocked down the first young girl he saw and brought her away on his back. Was it not so?” archly suggested Palma. “Faith! I think you are right, ma’am. Since the O’Melaghlins go back to the darkest of days, they must have had the manners of the same,” said the chieftain, good-humoredly. “Well, please go on. I will try not to interrupt you again.” “The O’Melaghlins were monarchs of Meath for unnumbered generations before the Christian era, and for eleven centuries and a half after. Somewhere about the year 1160 Henry the Second—bad luck to the beast!—made the conquest of Ireland, ravaged the kingdom of Meath, and gave the land to a thieving carpet-bagger of his own, Hugh de Lacy by name. Ah! but The O’Melaghlins, turned out of their own, made short work of the usurper and murdered him in his stolen castle of Thrim. It was of no avail. His successors came after him, backed up by the power of the Saxon. The O’Melaghlins were scattered far and wide.” “One of the tragedies of history,” said Stuart. “True for you, O’Wolfscliff! The next memorable apoch in the history of that r’yal family fell in the reign of Edward the First, in the year 1270, more than a century after the conquest of Meath. Then the young head of the family—The O’Melaghlin of that apoch—married the Lady Mona, sole child and heiress of Fergus of Arghalee, surnamed the Tiger, and in due time, in right of his wife, succeeded to the chieftainship and became The O’Melaghlin of Carrick Arghalee! That, sir and madam, was the first step taken toward a union with the r’yal house of Scotland, from which you, sir, descinded.” (The chieftain, when interested or excited, sometimes slipped into dialect.)