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Let it be remembered that the shroud of Patrick is deemed to have been woven by Brigid's hand; that when she died, in 525, Columcille, the future apostle of Scotland, was a child of four. So she stands midmost of that trilogy of saints whose dust is said to rest in Down.
They sleep together, mother and children, in Kilbride, in the shadow of a great thorn-bush, and not far from St. Brigid's Tower. Lonely and far as the churchyard is, there is not a Sunday in the year that the husband and father does not find his way there after mass, trudging along that solitary way, between bare hedges or blooming, as faithfully as the day comes round.
We make no apology for giving them here, for, in addition to the interesting reading they provide, they also serve a useful purpose as a contrast to authenticated ghost stories. The student of folklore will find parallels to some of them in the tales of other nations. Brigid's Cathedral, in Kildare.
Brigid's Convent. The mediaeval Chronicler quotes the old Annalist for the following year: "The king, the son of Erc, returned to the side of the descendants of Nial. Blood reached the girdle in each plain. The exterior territories were enriched. Seventeen times nine chariots he brought, and long shall it be remembered.
The cliffs of Moher, the windy wilds of Connemara, lough Neagh with submerged petrified city, the Giant's Causeway, Fort Camden and Fort Carlisle, the Golden Vale of Tipperary, the islands of Aran, the pastures of royal Meath, Brigid's elm in Kildare, the Queen's Island shipyard in Belfast, the Salmon Leap, the lakes of Killarney. Abroad? Under what guidance, following what signs?
In Ireland, the first nation completely converted to Christianity, where, therefore, the national policy in education could be shaped by the Church without hindrance, St. Brigid's school at Kildare was scarcely less famous than St. Patrick's at Armagh. It had several thousand students, and, to a certain extent at least, co-education existed.
Brigid's miraculous mantle and the origin of the Curragh how the saint, to get "as much land as would graze a poor man's cow" made the very modest request from the king for as much ground as her mantle would cover; how he agreed, and she laid her mantle down on the "short grass;" how, to the king's astonishment, it spread and spread, until it covered the whole of the ground of what is now the Curragh; and how it would have spread over all Ireland but that it met with a red-haired woman, and that, as everybody knows, is unlucky.
It looks queer, doesn't it?" "I I can't understand it," said Mary. "I'm sure there's a mistake somewhere." Young Wylde nodded. "We'll call it a mistake," he said. "He was injured on the Underground in London and taken to St. Brigid's Hospital, where he died. I remember reading about it. Now, of course, I shan't say anything to anybody; but you ought to have an explanation.
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