THE ENCHANTMENT OF TARA
It was the eve of Samhain, and a bitter north wind was shrieking round the llath of the Kings at Tara, carrying on its icy breath frequent showers of snow and hail. But the cold fury of the storm did not enter the great dun, warm with many fires and bright with the light from a hundred candles, each in its own bronze sconce, and the metal rims of the warriors' shields hanging on the walls reflected the light in a myriad rays. For to-night the solemn feast of Samhain began, and from all the provinces of Ireland the kings, with their chief nobles and warriors, had come to keep it with the high king—Conn the Hundred-Fighter—at Tara.
The night was passing by, and the great company gathered together were eating and drinking, but instead of laughter and the
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