“The prophecy doesn’t say,” replied Barney, “an’ that’s a matther that larned men are very much divided about. My own opinion is, that the one that is taken will be the best off; for St Bridget says ‘that betune wars an’ pestilences an’ famine, the men are to be so scarce that several of them are to be torn to pieces by the women in their struggles to see who will get them for husbands.’[1] That time they say is to come.” “But, Barney, isn’t there many ould prophecies about particular families in Ireland?” “Ay, several: an’ I’ll tell you one of them, about a family that’s not far from us this minute. You all know the hangin’ wall of the ould Church of Ballynasaggart, in Errigle Keeran parish?” “We do, to be sure; an’ we know the prophecy too.” “Of coorse you do, bein’ in the neighbourhood. Well, what is it in the mean time?” “Why, that it’s never to fall till it comes down upon an’ takes the life of a M’Mahon.” “Right enough; but do you know the raison of it?” “We can’t say that, Barney; but, however, we’re at home when you’re here.” “Well, I’ll tell you. St Keeran was, may be, next to St Patrick himself, one of the greatest saints in Ireland, but any rate we may put him next to St Columkill. Now, you see, when he was building the church of Ballynasaggart, it came to pass that there arose a great famine in the land, an’ the saint found it hard to feed the workmen where there was no vittles. What to do, he knew not, an’ by coorse he was at a sad amplush, no doubt of it. At length says he, ‘Boys, we’re all hard set at present, an’ widout food bedad we can’t work; but if you observe my directions, we’ll contrive to have a bit o’ mate in the mean time, an’, among ourselves, it was seldom more wanted, for, to tell you the thruth, I never thought my back an’ belly would become so well acquainted. For the last three days they haven’t been asunder, an’ I find they are perfectly willing to part as soon as possible, an’ would be glad of any thing that ’ud put betune them.’ Now, the fact was, that, for drawin’ timber an’ stones, an’ all the necessary matayrials for the church, they had but one bullock, an’ him St Keeran resolved to kill in the evening, an’ to give them a fog meal of him. He accordingly slaughtered him with his own hands, ‘but,’ said he to the workmen, ‘mind what I say, boys: if any one of you breaks a single bone, even the smallest, or injures the hide in the laste, you’ll destroy all; an’ my sowl to glory but it’ll be worse for you besides.’