When Ireland had kings of her own--when there was no such thing as a coat made of red cloth in the country--when there was plenty in men's houses, and peace and quietness at men's doors (and that is a long time since)--there lived, in a village not far from the great city of Lumneach,[7] two young men, cousins: one of them named Owney, a smart, kind-hearted, handsome youth, with limb of a delicate form, and a very good understanding. His cousin's name was Owney too, and the neighbours christened him Owney-na-peak (Owney of the nose), on account of a long nose he had got--a thing so out of all proportion, that after looking at one side of his face, it was a smart morning's walk to get round the nose and take a view of the other (at least, so the people used to say). He was a stout, able-bodied fellow, as stupid as a beaten hound, and he was, moreover, a cruel tyrant to his young cousin, with whom he lived in a kind of partnership. [Footnote 7: The present Limerick.] Both of them were of a humble station. They were smiths--white-smiths--and they got a good deal of business to do from the lords of the court, and the knights, and all the grand people of the city. But one day young Owney was in town, he saw a great procession of lords, and ladies, and generals, and great people, among whom was the king's daughter of the court--and surely it is not possible for the young rose itself to be so beautiful as she was. His heart fainted at her sight, and he went home desperately in love, and not at all disposed to business. Money, he was told, was the surest way of getting acquainted with the king, and so he began saving until he had put together a few _hogs_,[8] but Owney-na-peak, finding where he had hid them, seized on the whole, as he used to do on all young Owney's earnings. [Footnote 8: A _hog_, 1s. 1d.] One evening young Owney's mother found herself about to die, so she called her son to her bedside and said to him: 'You have been a most dutiful good son, and 'tis proper you should be rewarded for it. Take this china cup to the fair,--there is a fairy gift upon it,--use your own wit, look about you, and let the highest bidder have it--and so, my white-headed boy,[9] God bless you!' [Footnote 9: White-haired boy, a curious Irish phrase for the favourite child.] The young man drew the little bedcurtain down over his dead mother, and in a few days after, with a heavy heart, he took his china cup, and set off to the fair of Garryowen.