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 TERRY MAGRA AND THE LEPRECHAUUS. 
 
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HUMOUOUS STORIES. 
 
 JOHN BEOUGHAM 
 
 (the celebrated comedian.) 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 DERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU ST, 
 
 1857. 
 
I 
 
 *>HEUN 
 
 EvTKRED according to Act of CongreM, in the year 18M, toy 
 
 DERBY & JACKSOX, 
 
 In th« Clerk's Offic« of the Diatrict Court of the United Sutes for the Southern Diatrict ol 
 ^•cw Vurk. 
 
 W. H. TiNBoN, Stereotyper. Guo. Rnasnx, Printer. G. W. Ai-siandkb, Binder. 
 
TO 
 
 SAMUEL LOYEK, 
 
 THESB 
 
 FAINT K G H O E S 
 
 OP A 
 
 THEME WHICH HE HAS CAUGHT 
 
 IN ITS ORIGINAL 
 
 PURITY AND STRENGTH 
 
 ASB 
 
 7^'41v3 
 
I 
 
 1 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Peksaps the most interesting, if not the most instructive, 
 records of any nation, are its traditions, and legendary tales, 
 and in no part of the world can there be found so varied and 
 whimsical a store, as in Ireland, Every portion of the coun- 
 try ; every city, town, and village ; nay, almost every family 
 of the '' real ould stock " has its representative share in the 
 general fund. 
 
 It is a very curious study to trace the analogy between the 
 early mythic st^)ries of all countries, their similarity being strik- 
 ingly obvious. The great landmarks of actual history are by 
 them vividly defined, and their integrity sustained. As an 
 instance — the universal nature of the mighty deluge which 
 swept the youthful world, finds its record not alone in the 
 annals of that wondrous people, in whose line has descended 
 all we know of learning and religion ; but also in the oral tra- 
 ditions and semi-historic accounts of many other nations which 
 have since merged into the stream of chronology. 
 
 I mention this particular instance for the purpose of fixing 
 the originality of an early anecdote, very often reproduced and 
 claimed by sundry joke chroniclers, as well as to give the Irish 
 tradition upon the same subject. Here are the words of the 
 Veracious historian Leland : 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 "When Noah -vvas building the ark to preserve himself 
 and his family, one Bith, a uian of note and substance — an 
 antideluvian millionaire, no doubt — with his daughter Sesar, 
 applied to the Patriarch for admission, thinking, of course, 
 that all he had to do was to step up to the captain's office, and 
 settle. But Noah denied their request — probably from want 
 of accommodation. On receiving this repulse, Bith collected 
 his family together, and, as the result of their deliberations, 
 they resolved to build a similar vessel for their own private 
 use — a very sensible determination it must be conceded. 
 "When the ship was finished, Bith together with his wife, 
 Beatha, his two daughters, Sesar and Barran, with their 
 respective husbands, Ladhra and Ronton, onAJifty of the most 
 beautiful women — inordinate rascals — that could be induced 
 to venture along with them, took passage therein ; but nnfor- 
 tunately, not knowing the exact period when the rain would 
 begin to descend — a diluvian ' Merriam ' would have been of 
 great va^ue — they put to sea forty days too soon, and these 
 raw sailors, for want of skill in navigation, were tossed and 
 driven from sea to sea for the space of seven years and a 
 quarter — how they victualled their independent ark the his- 
 torian deems a matter of no import — at last, however, they 
 landed upon the western coast of Ireland at a place called 
 Dunnamberk, in the barony of Corchadie Ibhne, near about 
 pr.ndown. "When they found themselves safely ashore, the 
 three men agreed to divide the fifty women betAveen them. 
 Bith, besides his wife, had seventeen for his share, Ronton 
 had his wife and seventeen more, and f;ndhra was satisfied 
 with the sixteen that remained — good easy man." 
 
 In justice to our historian it must be admitted that he 
 expresses strong doubts as to the truth of the legend. "It is ' 
 thought," says he, " to be an unaccountable relatic 
 
PREFACE. tii 
 
 whence intelligence could be had of what passed in this 
 island before the flood, is out of my power to conceive. Wo 
 have, indeed, some ancient manuscripts that give a legendary- 
 account of four persons who, they say, lived before and after 
 the deluge, and afterwards divided and possessed themselves 
 of the four parts of the world ; but our antiquaries that are 
 best acquainted with the history of Ireland, reject such fables 
 with just indignation. As for such of them who say that Fion- 
 ton was drowned in the flood, and afterwards came to life and 
 lived long enough to publish the antediluvian history of the 
 island — probably with some enterprising patriarchal " Bunce 
 Brothers " — what can they mean, except to corrupt and per- 
 plex the original annals of the country ?" — "What, indeed, Mr. 
 Leland ? 
 
 But this, you'll say, has nothing to do with Irish Echoes. 
 "Well, to be candid, I don't think it has. The fact is, my 
 thoughts took an erratic flight in that direction, and this 
 obedient servant between my thumb and fingers had to 
 accompany them, nolens volens. 
 
 "With regard to the pages which follow, I have endeavored 
 to imbue them more with a Hibernian spirit, than with any 
 attempt at orthographic peculiarity, inasmuch as I consider it 
 but a factitious species of wit which hinges upon an amount 
 of bad spelling. I have, therefore, abstained in a great meas- 
 ure from perverting the language, only doing so where it is 
 absolutely necessary to give individual character. 
 
 Some of the sketches are now for the first time presented; 
 others have before appeared, but such as they are, here they 
 are; all I can say in their favor is, that they were drawn 
 trom no source but my own invention ; could I have done 
 better, be assured I would ; and yet, although they are not as 
 perfect as I might wish them to be, still, I am not without 
 
•Viii PREFACE, 
 
 hope, that some amusement, and also — or my arrows have 
 indeed been shot awry— some incentives to a deeper reflection 
 than accompanies the mere story-telhng, may be found scat- 
 tered here and there amongst them. 
 
DAN DUFF'S WISH, 
 
 AND WHAT CAME OF IT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The burthen wearies him who bears it ; 
 And the shoe pinches him who wears it. 
 
 A VERY snug, comfort-suggesting apartment is the 
 parlor of Squire Bulworthy, the rich grazier, upon which 
 you and I, friend reader, are about so unceremoniously to 
 intrude ourselves. 
 
 If you will but look around you, you will see that all 
 the appliances of home delectation, procurable in so 
 insignificant a town as Ballinasquash, are here gathered 
 together ; that looking-glass is the pride of the domestic 
 circle and the envy of the neighborhood ; those easy-chairs 
 look as though tired humanity might find instant relief 
 from their ample plumpness ; the side-board, with its 
 
10 
 
 brilliant array of flashing decanters and hospitable-looking 
 glasses, not mean, tailor-soul ed, thimble-measure aggrava- 
 tors, but huge whisky-punch goblets and wines of capa- 
 cious magnitude; then the carpet, kidderminster to a 
 certainty, dazzling in the variety of its crimson and blue, 
 and yellow, displaying apochryphal flowers and inexplicable 
 flourishes, such as put to the blush the most profound 
 eff"orts of unartistic nature. 
 
 You must agree with me, taken altogether, that there is 
 an air of supreme content and well-to-do-ableness about 
 the entire surroundings, rendered absolutely certain by the 
 smirking countenance of the Squire himself, as it smiles 
 complacently upon you from that prodigiously-ornamented 
 frame — that jolly red nose is unmistakably indicative of 
 good living — those twinkling eyes display the very fire of 
 self-satisfaction ; the town counsellor evidences itself in 
 the-going-to-address-the-meeting attitude, and the man of 
 means flashes from every link of that ponderous watch- 
 chain and coquets amongst those massive seals. 
 
 Bulworthy is evidently well ofl". 
 
 " Hallo, what noise is that proceeding from yonder 
 room ?" 
 
 " Get out, you scoundrel." 
 
 It is a fat, gurgling, wheezy kind of voice, Bulworthy's, 
 and speaking sets him coughing an uncomfortable, apo- 
 plectic sort of cough, like the sough of wind escaping from 
 a cracked bellows. 
 
 " Get out, you vagabone ; ugh ! ouf !" 
 
 A singular-looking man-servant makes a sudden exit 
 
AND WHAT. CAME OF IT. 11 
 
 from the room, very evidently hurt, physically, just as an 
 equally singular female domestic enters at the door, 
 having a substantial matutinal repast upon a large-sized 
 tray. 
 
 "Keep us from harum," said she, in a delicious Tip- 
 perary brogue, soft as honey ; " and what's that ?" 
 
 "Troth, an it's me, Moll, I b'leeve," replied the ejected, 
 lustily rubbing the part aflfected. 
 
 " What's happened, Barney ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it's ould Bulworthy, bad cess to him," said Bar- 
 ney, in an undertone, wincing and twisting from pain; 
 " he's what he calls astonishin' me." 
 
 "What for?" inquired Mary, forgetting that she was 
 running considerable risk, from the circumstance of delay- 
 ing the Squire's breakfast. 
 
 " The devil a one ov me knows ; whiniver he's crass, he 
 thinks that hittin' me a lick will bring him straight; 
 bedad, if such showers of good luck as he's had all his life 
 drownds a good timper as his is drownded, I hope I may 
 niver be worth a scurrig as long as I breathe." 
 
 " Indeed, an' I have the same sort of comfort wid the 
 mistress," said Mary. "Haven't I had the heart's blood 
 of an illigant scowldin' jest now, for sugarin' her ladyship's 
 tay wid brown ?" 
 
 " Why, murther alive, Mollshee, you don't tell me that 
 it's the lump she uses ?" 
 
 " Not a word of a lie in it, nigh hand an ounce of tay in 
 the taypot, too," replied Mary, with a what-do-you-think- 
 of-that expression. 
 
13 DAN DUFFS WISH, 
 
 "Faix, I mind the time," said Barney, "when she 
 thouo-ht the smell of that same wonst a week was a nose- 
 
 o 
 
 " Thrue for you, indade, an' not long ago, aither." 
 
 Here a sudden thought occurred to the gossipping Hebe. 
 
 " Murther alive !" said she, with a start that made the 
 cups rattle ; " if I ain't forgettin' ould Bluebeard's break- 
 fast ; there'll be wigs on the green, if the could's come at 
 the eggs, for he's mighty perticular entirely." 
 
 So saying, she knocked a timid knock at the door of the 
 dreaded Squire's room; a fierce "Come in," followed by 
 the inevitable cough, hurried her into the apartment, 
 from whence she emerged again very shortly, and, with 
 stealthy step and a look more eloquent than words, indi- 
 cated the state of Bulworthy's temperament. 
 
 Just then, there was a quiet little ring at the hall bell. 
 "Eun, you divil, run," says Barney. "It kills him intirely 
 to hear that bell goin'; who is it? if you let 'em ring 
 twice, he'll massacree me ; oh ! it's you, is it ?" he con- 
 tinued, as a neat, clean, tidy woman entered the room, 
 holding in her hand a capacious pair of top boots. 
 
 It was Mrs. Peggy Dufi", the comfortable little wife of 
 Dan Duff, the cobbler. " Save all here," said she, as she 
 came in. 
 
 " Amen to that same, includin' yer own purty self, Mrs. 
 Duff," replied Barney, with a touch of comic gallantry. 
 
 " Sure, an it's the hoighth of polite you are, Mr. Pal- 
 thogue," replied Peggy. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't hurt your purty little mouth by 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 13 
 
 thryin' to squeeze such a big name out of it," said Barney, 
 giving her a knowing squint. " Sure, Barney used to be 
 enoujjh to fill it wonst." ' 
 
 " Ah ! but the times is althered now, Mr. Barney," she 
 rejoined ; " ould Pether Bulworthy — the saints be good to 
 us, I mean the Squire's mounted sky-high, like a kite, an 
 ov coorse you've gone up with him like the tail." 
 
 " But it ain't my nater to forget ould friends for all that, 
 Peg machree. 
 
 " Sure, an I'm glad to hear that, anyway, for it's mighty 
 few heads that doesn't get dizzy whin they're hoisted up 
 upon a hill of fortune, especially on a suddent like." 
 
 Their further conversation was unceremoniously cut 
 short by a roar from Bulworthy's room ; now, the Squire's 
 style of using the English language was highly original 
 and somewhat peculiar ; with him, the greater the number 
 of syllables, and the more imposing the sound of the sen- 
 tences, the better were they qualified to make a proper 
 impression upon the ignohile vulgus, amongst whom it was 
 his ambition to pass for a " Sir Oracle ;" but let him speak 
 for himself. You must imagine each word to be accom- 
 panied by that ear-wounding, wheezing cough. 
 
 " What horribly atrocious and propinquitous oration is 
 that goin' on out there, eh 1" 
 
 Barney trembled to the heels of his brogues. " Talk to 
 him. Peg," said he, in an agitated whisper, " while I make 
 meself scarce; don't be afeared," he added, as he stole 
 quietly off". "A woman's voice softens him down like a 
 sun-ray on a snowball." 
 
14 DAN duff's WISH, 
 
 " Hallo there," shouted the Squire. " Am I obligated 
 to keep continuitously requestin' an elucidation of that 
 rumbunctiousness outside ; who's there ?" 
 
 " If ye plaze sir, it's only me," replied Peggy, " wid 
 ye honor's honorable ' tops ' that wanted heel-piecin'." 
 
 " Oh ! Ah !" wheezed Bulworthy. " Wait, my good 
 woman ; I'll finish dressin' with all convaynient circumlocu- 
 tion, and come to you." 
 
 " Good woman, indeed," thought Peggy, with a toss of 
 her head and a chirp. " Sure an' there's oil on his tongue 
 sense he's turned Squire," and then, with something akin 
 to envy, she began to scan the various articles of home- 
 ornament scattered about the, to her, magnificent parlor, 
 soliloquizing at the same time. " Look at the chairs, 
 stufi"ed seats, as I'm a sinner, wid hair, too, I'll be bound. 
 Mahogany tables, if you plaze, all covered over wid useless 
 curiosities an' books that nobody sees the inside ov; did 
 anybody ever see the likes ; what's this ?" as her eye 
 caught sight of a handsome cologne-bottle. "Madame 
 must have her sr-.ints an her sweet wathers, to wash away 
 the smell of the shop, may-be ; I remimber the time when 
 they kep' a little bit of a huxtherin' place, and all the 
 parfume they could musther pToceeded from the soap and 
 candles, and, may-be, a red herrin' or two to 'give the rest 
 a flavior." 
 
 At this moment the Squire lumbered into the room in 
 all the majesty of a brilliant calico dressing-gown ; seating 
 himself grandly in a large arm-chair, and patronizingl} 
 waving his hand towards Peggy, in a bland and conde 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 15 
 
 scending tone of voice, he moderated his impatience down 
 to the true keep-your-distance point. 
 
 " Well, ma'm," said he, so you've brought the tops at 
 last, after me waitin' for them a tremenjus course of time ; 
 tell that waxy conglomeration of cobblin' connubiality, Mr. 
 Duflf, your husband, that, in consequence of his haynious 
 neglect, I have been obligated to annihilate my usual run 
 wid the Ballinasquash hounds. What's the remunera- 
 tion?" 
 
 " If you mane the pay, sir," replied Peg, with a rever- 
 ence, " it*s on'y a shillin'." 
 
 "I have no small pecuniation in the way of silver," said 
 Bulworthy, plunging his great fist into his enormous 
 pocket, and rattling several gold pieces about in a most 
 tantalizing manner, a general practice with purse-proud 
 ignorance, adding, with characteristic meanness, " can you 
 change me a sovreign ?" 
 
 Poor Peggy's face flushed up to the roots of her hair; 
 he knew she couldn't, and she knew he knew so. 
 
 "Indeed, sir," said she, "It wouldn't be convaynent just 
 now;" and it was with difficulty she restrained herself 
 from hinting that it was only recently that he himself had 
 the power to put the insolent question. 
 
 " Well, then, ma'm," said he, pompously ; " all I can say 
 is, that you must pedestrianize in this vicinity on some 
 anterior opportunity ; for the present, you can perambu- 
 late — to make myself understandable to your limited capa- 
 cities — walk !" 
 
 " Yes sir, thank you, sir," replied Peggy, humbly courte- 
 
16 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 Bving to the domestic sultan, and only wondering how he 
 could keep any teeth in his head, using such hard words. 
 
 " Good niornin' to you, Squire," she said, as she retired, 
 " Here's wishin' you safe through the dictionary." 
 
 " What does the oleaginous faymale mane ; oh ! these 
 abominaceous phlebians laugh at me, in spite of all I can 
 do to impress them with the importance of my station ; 
 with all the pride of my brick building, I can't altogether 
 root out the recollection of the little grocery ; and, indeed, 
 if it comes to that," he continued, with a real sigh, " I used 
 to be a great deal happier when 1 was scrapin' up money, 
 by weighin' out hay-porths of sustainance to the surroundin* 
 population than I am now, and the advantitious title of 
 Squire tacked on to my cognomination." 
 
 His nerves gave a sudden thrill as a shrewish voice from 
 an adjacent room, squealed out, "Are you there, Pether?" 
 
 " Yes, my love," he replied, quickly, while, in an under- 
 tone, he murmured to himself, " ah ! there's a melancholy 
 laceration to my gentility, my cary spowsy, I can't instill 
 aristocratical idayas into her deleterious temperature, any- 
 way." 
 
 Now, Mrs. Peter Bulworthy deserves a distinctive para- 
 graph, and she shall have it. 
 
 Although morally she was Peter's much better half, yet 
 bodily she could aspire to no such appellation. In regard 
 of personal weight, they bore about the same relative affin- 
 ity as a fine, fat, substantial round of beef would to the 
 carving- fork beside it. The physical difierence, however 
 she amply made up for, by keeping her prongs ever actively 
 
AND WHAT CAMEOFIT. 17 
 
 employed pricking tlie unfortunate Peter at every assaila- 
 ble point. Peter was pinguid, plump, and plethoric — slie 
 was thin to attenuation. Peter's voice, though husky, was 
 rich and oily — hers was like the attrition of ungreased 
 cart-wheels. Peter aflfected dignity and social status — she 
 gloried in her unmitigated vulgarity ; he, poor man, had 
 long ago given up every idea of resisting her domestic 
 tyranny. " Anything for a quiet life," was his motto, and, 
 with something akin to proper retribution, the indignities 
 and annoyances, which he, in the plenitude of his pocket- 
 power, inflicted upon his poorer neighbors, was repaid ten- 
 fold on his devoted head, when he came within the circle 
 of Mrs. Bulworthy's operations. 
 
 " I wonder how her temper is this morning," thought 
 Peter, as he cast a furtive glance towards her eyes as she 
 sailed into the room, dressed in — I wish I could describe 
 that walking-dress ; all I can say, is, that it looked as if 
 she had laid a wager that she could display in her attire 
 every color in existence, and, won it. 
 
 " Well, Pether dear, and how is my ould man to-day ?" 
 said she. The Squire released an imprisoned sigh, in grat- 
 itude for this manifestation of so unusual a mildness of 
 temper ; emboldened thereby to remonstrance, he also ven- 
 tured to remark : 
 
 " I wish, my love, you wouldn't address me by the anti- 
 quitous appellation of 'ould man.' It was all very well 
 when we kept a bit of a shop " 
 
 " Oh, now, Pether, you're comin' over me wid your 
 laming," she replied, with a dash of vinegar. " You know 
 
18 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 that I never cared a thranieen for the likes, nor never 
 wants to make myself out anything but what I am. Not 
 all as one, as some folks I know, that's never happy except 
 they're spittin' out mouthfuls of words big an' hard enough 
 to crack filberts wid. You see I can talliate if I like, Mr, 
 Pether." 
 
 " Re-taliate, obscurest of feminines." 
 
 "Well, it's all the same, bless my soul, if one only 
 understands what's meant, what does it si'nafy what's said ?" 
 
 " ' Si'nafy,' madame," replied Bui worthy, settling him- 
 self into a magisterial position, " do you think that us octo- 
 graramarians take no pride in the purity of our entomol- 
 ogy, skintax, and progeny. Go an' busy yourself about the 
 futilities of domestic exuberance and leave polite literature 
 to the intellectual sect." 
 
 " Meanin' you, I suppose, you concated omathaun^''^ said 
 the lady, with a shrug of her pointed shoulders, adding, in 
 a more decided tone, whose effect was instantaneously visi- 
 ble on the countenance, and in the courage of her spouse, 
 " Come, we've had enough of this ; put on your boots, an' 
 take me out for a walk." 
 
 Just snugly ensconced in his favorite arm-chair, his slip- 
 pered feet on the cozy fender, and the county paper on his 
 knee as yet unfolded, Peter would have given a great deal 
 to be left in his undisturbed quiet, but one glance at those 
 determined eyes convinced him of the futility of resist- 
 ance. With a profound groan, he laid down the coveted 
 newspaper, took up his boots, and, without attempting a 
 remonstrance, walked into his bed-room, saying : 
 
A ^- D \y 11 A r c A 1.L i: o f it. 19 
 
 " Certainly, dear. I shall prepare my perambulating 
 habiliments directly." 
 
 "Pooh, I wish these long words would stick in your 
 throat and choke you some day," screamed his amiable 
 helpmate ; but, when he was out of earshot, her face relaxed 
 into a more gentle expression. " Poor Pether," said she, 
 " he wants to stick himself up for a gentleman ; now that 
 we've got away from the grocer's shop, he can't bear to 
 hear the sound of the place mentioned, which, as in duty 
 bound I do, twenty times a day ; if I didn't keep him in 
 wholesome subjection, he'd get the upper hand of me, as 
 he does with all the rest. Now Pether," she cried, eleva- 
 ting her shrillness into a whistle, " am I goin' to be kept 
 danglin' here all the blessed mornin' ?" 
 
 " I'm coming, I'm coming, impatient individuality," said 
 Peter, from his room, where, to do him credit, he was hur- 
 rying through the unwelcome process with considerable 
 alacrity ; " arrah, how do you suppose- a gentleman can beat- 
 ify his external appearance in such a momentous space of 
 time ? but, here I am, at your service, ma'am," he contin- 
 ued, as, in all the dignity of snowy shirt-frill, bright blue 
 body-coat, and big brass buttons, white cord breeches, and 
 shiny top-boots, his great bunch of watch-seals bobbing 
 about like the pendulum of a clock, a black thorn stick 
 under his arm, and a wonderfully-furry white hat covering 
 his moon-looking face, he fancied himself the very imper- 
 sonation of moneyed importance. 
 
 " And maybe you'll tell me, ma'am," said he, as he pulled 
 on a pair of big buckskin gloves, " what you want to be 
 
DAN duff's wish, 
 
 gallivantin' about the streets for at this transitory 
 moment ?" 
 
 " I choose it," replied the obedient wife. " It's for the 
 benefit of my health, so howld your gab." 
 
 " Ah ! what unnatural vulgarity." 
 
 " If you don't let me be, I'll talk about the shop in the 
 street, loud, so that everybody can hear me." 
 
 " I wish to my gracious I had never left it," said he, with 
 a sigh so heavy that it must have carried truth with it. 
 
 " Give me your arm, do, and make haste," cried Mrs. 
 Pether, giving a precautionary shake to her numerous, but 
 insufficient flounces. " I'm dyin' to dazzle ould Mrs. Ma- 
 gillicuddy with this bran new shawl." 
 
 " Yes," replied Pether, with a glance of resigned convic- 
 tion, " that's what I thought the benefit to your health 
 would amount to." 
 
 So the Squire and his lady — no, I mean Mrs. Peter Bui 
 worthy and her husband — sallied forth, to astonish a few of 
 their neighbors, and amuse a great many more ; both Bar- 
 ney, the anomalous man-servant, and Mary, the " maid," 
 pulling up their respective corners of the window-blind to 
 see them, and watch the effect they produced. 
 
 " There they go," grunted Baraey, with a contemptuous 
 toss of his already scornfully-elevated nose, " the laughin'- 
 Btocks of the whole town ; dressin' me up this way," — and 
 he gave his nether extremities a glance of derision — " like 
 an overgrown parrot — me, that niver had anything on me 
 back, but an ould canvas apron, an' a dirty face, now I 
 can't stir out o' the house, that I'm not fairly ashamed o' 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 21 
 
 meself ; there isn't a gossoon in the barony that doesn't 
 know me as well as av I was the town pump, an' I can't 
 show meself in the place, that they don't hunt me about as 
 av I was a wild nagur. Look at them stockin's, Mary, 
 acush^ there's flimsy, skimpin things, for a cowld Christian 
 to wear on his gams ; I'll be ketchin' me death wid them, 
 I know I will. Mary, I'll be on me oath av I don't think 
 them legs'U carry me off yit." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A true home-angel, in this world of strife, 
 Is, man's best friend, a faithful, loving wife. 
 
 Now turn we, courteous reader, to the contemplation of 
 a totally different scene. 
 
 Not far from the imposing, bright, red brick edifice of 
 Squire Bulworthy — indeed, you can see it on the other side 
 of the street, with its flaring green door and great brazen 
 knocker, its crimson parlor curtains and every-color-in-the- 
 world window-shades — stands the miserable looking tene- 
 ment inhabited by our cobbling friend, Dan Duff. The 
 walls are fashioned out of that natural, but by no means 
 elegant, or expensive compound, known generally as " mud." 
 The roof is thatched with straw, but so old and weather- 
 worn that the rain soaks through it as though it were 
 
22 DAN DUFFS WISH, 
 
 sponge ; while the accidental vegetable productions which 
 attach themselves to such decaying matter, vainly struggled 
 to give it a semblance of life and verdure. A dilapidated 
 half door, and a poor apology for a window, many of the 
 small panes patched with articles of used up domestic 
 material, were the only means of ingress, ventilation, and 
 light. Notwithstanding the hopeless-looking poverty of 
 the whule, there were one or two indications which, to an 
 observing mind, would tend to lessen, in a remote degree, 
 its general wretchedness. In the first place, a few small, 
 cracked flower-pots decked the little window-sill, from 
 whence crept upward " morning-glories," and bright " scar- 
 let-runners," the delight of industrious poverty. Then 
 there was that invariable sharer of the poor man's crust 
 and companionship, a useless, and not by any means orna- 
 mental, cur, shrewd, snappish, and curiously faithful, in 
 friendly contiguity to a well-conditioned cat. You may 
 take your oath that there's harmony beneath the roof 
 where a cat and dog are amicably domiciliated. 
 
 With the above exception, the cabin's sole occupant, at 
 the present moment, is a woman ; but such a woman — it's 
 the cobbler's wife, before-mentioned ; here, however, she is 
 in her peculiar sphere. "Home is home, be it ever so 
 homely," is a trite and true aphorism, and poor Peggy, it 
 is evident, does her best to make this unpromising one as 
 full of comfort as she can. Everything is scrupulously 
 clean and in its place. The little wooden dresser is as 
 white as soap and sand can make it. So is the floor, and 
 so are the scanty household goods. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 23 
 
 There is, though, a shade of discomfort on Peggy's pretty 
 face just now, as she laboriously plies her knitting needles, 
 and the small thundercloud breaks out into little flashes 
 of impatience, as she soliloquizes : 
 
 " Did anybody ever see the likes of that Dan of mine f 
 He couldn't take the " tops " over to ould Bulworthy him- 
 self — not he ! — of course not — he wasn't well enough to 
 go out then^ but the minute my back was turned, away he 
 cuts to the ' shebeen ' house to get his ' mornin' ' — ugh ! I 
 do believe if he was before me now, I'd — but no — my poor 
 Dan, it ain't much comfort he's got in the world ; so I 
 won't say a blessed word to worry him." 
 
 As if to recompense the considerate thought, Dan's jolly 
 voice was heard, singing one of his consoling ditties. 
 
 "Here he comes, bless him," cried Peg, joyfully, "as 
 lively as a lark." 
 
 There was wonderful commotion amongst the animals as 
 Dan entered. " Pincher," the apocryphal, shook his apolo- 
 gy for a tail as vigorously as that diminished appendage 
 was capable of accomplishing ; while " Pussy " urged her 
 claims upon his attention by rubbing herself against his 
 legs. Peg said nothing. 
 
 Now, Dan perfectly well knew his delinquency. Indeed, 
 the song he had just executed, in a good, bold voice, had 
 more of " brag" in it than real enthusiasm. He saw how 
 the land lay instantly. 
 
 " Peg, alanna machree, here I am," said he. " Whisht ! 
 I know what you're goin' to say. Keep yer mouth shut, 
 you hateful blaggard, or I'll stop it up wid kisses, as close 
 
24 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 as cobbler's wax. There, Peg," he continued, after having 
 suited the action to the word, with a smack like a carter's 
 whip, " I couldn't help it — I couldn't, upon my word. You 
 were a long time away — and the breakfast was mighty 
 small — and — and — a sort of oneasiness kem over me inside, 
 T was lonesome, and thinkin' of things as wasn't wholesome, 
 so I thought I'd just stick another chalk up at Phil Moon- 
 ey's, so don't say another word." 
 
 " Not a word Dan," replied Peg. " Sure, don't I mind 
 poor Mary Maguire's case, how she never let Mike rest 
 when he had 'the drop' in him, until at long last he 
 stayed out, for the fear of comin' home ; the whisky is 
 too strong for a woman to fight agin, Dan, so, if you like it 
 better than me " — 
 
 That was a skillful side-blow, and it made its mark. 
 
 " Peg, you know better, you thief of the world, you do ; 
 you know, in your pure little heart, that's too good for me, 
 or the likes of me ; that the summer flowers doesn't love 
 the sunshine of heaven better than I love you ; oh ! no, 
 it isn't that, not that, Peg aroonP 
 
 "What is it, then?" 
 
 " Well, Peg," he continued, " its the thinks that cornea 
 over a poor fella when he hasn't a scurrig to bless himself 
 wid ; the thinks that lays a howld of him when there's 
 nobody by but himself and the devil that sends them, 
 thems the times that worries a poor man. Peg." 
 
 " Ah ! Dan," replied the other, seriously, " but those 
 times worry a wicked man worse." 
 
 "Well, may-be they do," said the cobbler, doggedly, 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 25 
 
 " if a body knew the truth, but it's bad enough either way. 
 Did the Squire pay for the ' tops V " 
 
 " Not yet, Dan, he hadn't the change !" 
 
 " Hadn't he, really," replied the other, bitterly. " Poor 
 fella, what a pity; there's a mighty great likeness betune 
 us in that, anyway. The upstart pup, why the divil didn't 
 he get change. There's the differ. Peg, darlin', betune 
 the rale gintleman and the ' musharoon ;' a gintleman as 
 feels and knows he's one, and consequentially acts accordin', 
 will always think of the great inconvanience the want of 
 the little bit o' money is to the poor man, and not the 
 small ditto to himself, in the respect of gettin' the change ; 
 back luck attend you, ould Bulworthy, the w^ant of that 
 shillin' has made me break my word in a quarther where 
 I'm mighty loath for to do that same." 
 
 "Where is that, Dan?" 
 
 " I'll tell you. Peg ; on the strength of that shillin' I 
 towld my inside that I'd give it a threat, may I never 
 sin, acush, if I didn't promise it a ' sassidge ;' now, you know 
 if you tell your hungryness to come at a certain time, it's 
 generally apt to be purty smart at keepin' the appintmint, 
 and, bedad, mine is waitin' for that sassidge ; moreover, it 
 ain't threatin' a man's intayrior relations anyway raysonable 
 to go back of yer word. Murdher, there's a twinge — if it 
 isn't hittia' me a punch in the stomach just to put me in 
 mind, I'm a grasshopper. It's no use," he continued, 
 addressing his unsatisfied digestibles, *• you may's well give 
 over grumblin' and touchin' me up that way ; it's no fault 
 of mine, it's ould Bui worthy's, bad cess to him ; he hadn't 
 
 2 
 
26 DAN duff's WISH. 
 
 any change, the dirty spalpeen, you won't take an excuse 
 won't you ? then I'll have to fire a pipe at you. Peg, 
 jewil, fill us a dkiideen, won't you ; this thievin' hunger 
 won't stir a toe unless I hunt it out wid tibaccy." 
 
 Peggy soon filled the inevitable pipe, and Dal brought 
 his artillery to bear upon the foe, after a severe round of 
 tremendous puffs, during which the combatants were 
 enveloped in the hot smoke of battle ; the enemy showed 
 evident signs of beating a temporary retreat. Dan threw 
 himself back in his chair, and prepared, leisurely, to enjoy 
 the fruits of his victory. 
 
 " I wondher," said he, after a few moments of great 
 satisfaction, " I wondher how ould Bulworthy would like 
 to lunch upon smoke? Be jabers, if I had my will, I'd 
 make him eat three males a day of it, until his hard- 
 hearted bowels got tenderer towards the poor." 
 
 " Talk of the what's-his-name," said Peggy. " Here he 
 comes, both him and his fine madame, as proud as ten 
 paycocks ; look at the airs of them ; I wonder they don't 
 have the street widened when they condescend to walk 
 out." 
 
 ''Peggy, darlin'," said Dan, "divil take me if I havn't a 
 great mind to let out at him for my shillin'." 
 
 Sure you wouldn't ; what, in the open street ? he'd hang 
 you, Dan, without judge or jury." 
 
 " It ain't quite so easy to hang a man as it used to be 
 in the fine ould times, Peg o^amaa," said Dan. " It's mv 
 shillin', lie has no right to keep it jingliu' in his pocket, 
 and he sha»i't, neither, if I can help it," he continued. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 27 
 
 ;^oing towards tlie door, " Hit or miss, here goes : Hollo, 
 Squire !" adding, sotto voce, " you murdherin' Turk in top 
 boots ; long life to you — you concated ould vagabone." 
 
 These expressions, of which the most polite alone 
 reached his ear, as it may be imagined, grated harshly 
 upon the aristocratic nerves of the prodigious Bulworthy, 
 " What's that fellow making such a magniloquent hulLi- 
 balloo about," said he, grandly. 
 
 " Athin, may-be you'd do my drawin'-room the honor 
 of a sit down, yourself, and her ladyship," said Dan, to the 
 dismay of poor Peggy, who exclaimed : "Don't, Dan, don't ; 
 I'm ashamed of you, indeed, I am ;" adding, apologetically, 
 " oh, he never would a done it, only for the drink ; we're 
 ruined entirely." 
 
 " Bad 'cess to me if they're not coming, sure enough," 
 said Dan, somewhat tremulously, but determined to put a 
 good bold face on it, he continued, as they entered, " come, 
 Peg, dust the chair for the lady." 
 
 Peg's face was crimson as she complied, she scarcely 
 knew how ; Bulworthy's countenance indicated the state 
 of temper with which he accepted the proffered hospitality, 
 while the Squiress gazed coolly and patronizingly around. 
 
 " I'm in a tremendious rage," said he, as he shook his 
 his fist at Dan. "How dare you have the premeditated 
 insurance to arrogate us into your pig-sty, you raga- 
 muffin." 
 
 " Don't worrit, my dear," interposed Mrs. Bulworthy, 
 in an authoritative tone. " It's our dooty, now, as ladies 
 and gentlemen, to inquire into the condition of the poor, 
 
28 DAN DUFFS WISH; 
 
 and give them wholesome advice. Here, my dear," slie 
 continued, taking sundry tracts from her capacious pocket, 
 " read these comfortable pages, and see what a state of 
 awful responsibility you are in." 
 
 " Bedad, that's all the poor people is likely to get from 
 such visitors as you," said Dan. 
 
 " And now, sir," said Bulworthy, with an imposing frown, 
 " what interrogational imperence do you want to address 
 to me, that you have the owdaeiousness to drag me here ?" 
 
 Dan simply took down a broken piece of slate, and hold- 
 ing it up before the Squire's eyes, " a thriflin' account, sir," 
 said he, " for heel-piecin' your honor's honorable tops, and 
 maybe they don't show off an iligant lump of a leg, this 
 fine spring mornin'," vainly hoping that the unmitigated 
 flattery would mitigate the wrath of the potent Squire. 
 
 " And was it for this, you — you illiterate colcssus of brass, 
 that you detained me in my preambulations." 
 
 " Indeed, sir," timidly interposed Peggy, " I hope that 
 you'll forgive him. It isn't his fault entirely, your honor. 
 It's all on account of a gintleman that he axed for to take 
 a bit of dinner wid him." 
 
 " What !" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, with her sanctimo- 
 nious eyes elevated to the true Pharisaic standard ; " I never 
 heard of such wretched depravity. Dinner! do such 
 wretched creatures deal in so miserable an extravagance ? 
 I tremble for your lost condition. Read this ;" and she 
 fumbled in her pocket for another comforting document, 
 which Peggy courtesied humbly as she received ; " read 
 this, and learn to conquer your unworthy appetites for 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 29 
 
 earthly things." The Sqiiiress was a fine example of those 
 theoretic Lady Bountifuls, whose province it is to feed pov- 
 erty with such like unsatisfactory viands. 
 
 " I'll make you wait for your shillin', you scoundrel," 
 said the irate Squire. 
 
 " And serve him right, too," echoed his worthy spouse. 
 
 -" Then we'll have to wait for our dinner," suggested 
 Dan. 
 
 "And what's that to us, you reprobalo ?" 
 
 " Oh, nothin'," said Dan. " Full stomachs thinks there's 
 no empty ones in the world ; but may bad fortune stuff 
 them top-boots chock full of corns, for your hard-hearted- 
 ness, and may you never pull them oj. without gettin' a 
 fresh stock." 
 
 " Dear me, dear me," said the squeaking tiact-distributer, 
 " read this, and see what comes of such irreligious observ- 
 ations." 
 
 "Read it yourself, ma'am," replied Dan, tosi^ng back the 
 proffered antidote, " maybe you may want it ?w^ bad as any 
 of us." 
 
 " You have been iniquitously indulging in intoxicating 
 beverages, sir," said Bulworthy. 
 
 "A drunkard!" exclaimed his helpmate. "1 have a 
 blessed tract or two peculiarly adapted to that abominable 
 crime." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, not a drunkard," cried Peggy, su^itching 
 the tract from the hand of her visitor ; " not a dru ikurd. 
 The cares of poverty force him to try and forget then*,^ •• d 
 himself now and then, but that's all." 
 
30 DAN duff's WISH, 
 
 " All ! that all ! Oh, for the sinfulness that surrounds 
 us," replied the other. 
 
 " Have jou been drinking, sir ?" demanded the Squire, in 
 a justice-of-peace tone. 
 
 " What right have you to ax ?" said Dan, boldly. " You 
 owe me a shillin' ; that's all I want." 
 
 " He has a right, depraved creature that you are," inter- 
 posed the meek and Christian-like disseminator ; " rich 
 people always have a right to ask such questions of their 
 poorer neighbors ; but you don't deserve the care we take 
 of your unhappy souls." 
 
 " Well, then, since it comes to that," said Dan, " I do 
 taste a thritie whiu I can convayniently lay a hould of it ; 
 and, more betoken, it's a mighty bad rule that doesn't work 
 both ways. I saw a lot of barrels and bottles goin' into 
 the fine house over the way. I wonder if they wor intended 
 for chimbly ornaments ?" 
 
 " Come, my dear," said Bui worthy, now supremely indig- 
 nant, " let us leave these degenerations individuals to their 
 incoherent reflections." 
 
 " I want my shillin'," shouted Dan. 
 
 " You shan't have it." 
 
 *' But I'm hungry, and so is Peggy, and Pincher, and 
 Pussy." 
 
 " Bead this, you poor, infatuated sinner," said Mrs. B., 
 handing him another elegant extract, "and it will teach 
 you to be contented under all circumstances." 
 
 "' Will it turn into a piece of bacon ?" inquired Dan ; 
 "for if it won't yez may curl yur hair wid it. It's all verv 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 31 
 
 well for you barn-fed gentry to be crammin' the poor wid 
 bits of paper — giin me me shillin'." 
 
 The Squire said not a word, but buttoned his pockets up 
 tightly, while, with an expression of the most intense pity 
 for such unparalleled ignorance, his better half followed 
 him out of the cabin. 
 
 " May bitther bad luck attend yez both," said Dan, as 
 they quitted the place. " The dirty dhrop's in yez, and it 
 will show itself in spite of all yer money ; hollo ! ain't that 
 the babby ?" he continued, as the tiny voice of a child was 
 heard proceeding from a little bit of a room, their only 
 other apartment. 
 
 " Yes, bless his bright eyes," replied Peggy, oblivious' 
 now to all the world beside. " He's awake ; look at his 
 darlin' little face, wid the laugh comin' all over it like a 
 mealy potato." So saying, she rushed into the room, and 
 commenced hugging and kissing their sole treasure in a 
 most alarming manner. 
 
 " Kiss him for me. Peg," cried Dan. " Smother the vil- 
 lain of the world ; ah, ha !" he went on, " there's a blessin' 
 buld top-boots hasn't got any way ; a fine lump of a fella, 
 wid the health fairly burstin' out of his murdherin' cheeks ; 
 as fat as butther, and as lively as a tickled kitten. The 
 Squire's is a poor, wizen-faced leprechaun of a creather, 
 that looks as if he was born forty years ould, and grew 
 backwards ever sence. Ha, ha ! the thoughts of that 
 bright-eyed schamer puts the song into my heart, like the 
 risin' sun to the lark." 
 
 But soon his thoughts took a more desponding turn. 
 
32 DAN duff's wish. 
 
 " Poor little gossoon," said he, " when I think that there's 
 nothin' before him but his father's luck in the world, to 
 work, and pine, and toil, until his back is bent before the 
 ould age touches it ; it drives away the joy as quick as it 
 came; murdher alive, ain't it too bad to think that ill- 
 lookin' Kippogue over the way, might ate goold if he could 
 only disgist it, and when he grows up, my fine, noble, 
 blessed boy will have to bow, and cringe, and touch his 
 hat to a chap wid no more sowl than a worn-out shoe ; 
 that's what puts evil thoughts in' my head ; the boy that I 
 love, aye ! almost as hard as if I was the mother of it^ 
 instead of bein' only its father ; when I think of him and 
 what may be before him, oh ! how I wish that I stood in 
 ould Bulworthy's shoes, or his ' tops,' if it was only for his 
 sake. Murdher ! how sleepy I am all of a sudden t ; is it 
 the drink, or the imptyness ? a little of both, may-be ; it 
 ain't often I have a chance of forgettin' the dirty world 
 for a thrifle o' time, so here goes to have a snooze. 
 
 So saying, Dan settled himself to take a mid-day nap, 
 for the lack of better employment; but he had scarcely 
 dropped his head on his breast for that purpose when he 
 became aware of a sinofular rino-inor sensation in his ears, 
 which increased until he fancied he heard a sound, loud 
 and sonorous as the tolling of the church-clock ; at last 
 there came one bang, so startling that he jumped up sud- 
 denly from his chair : " The Saints between us and all 
 harum : who's that ?" he cried, in a terrible fright ; but he 
 could see nothing ; the sounds w^ere also gone ; a dead 
 silence was around him, and he must have slept for some 
 
AND W JI A T CAME OF IT. 33 
 
 time, it appeared, for the shadows of evening were dark- 
 ening the small window. Moodily he leant his head upon 
 his hands and gazed into the small fire-place ; a few sods 
 of turf were burning on the hearth ; as he looked fixedly 
 upon the waning embers, he perceived that from either 
 end of one of the sods, a thin, white smoke lazily curled 
 up the chimney, gradually increasing in volume and 
 density ; while he was vainly wondering how so small a 
 piece of turf could send out so great an amount of vapor, 
 to his still greater surprise, he saw the spiral columns 
 advance towards him, and gather upon each side — slowly 
 they gathered — and mounted in eddying clouds, until they 
 reached to a level -with his head ; there they ceased, as 
 though imprisoned in an invisible medium, and commenced 
 wreathing and interwreathing, up and down, in beautiful 
 vapory combinations ; silently he contemplated the extraor- 
 dinary phenomenon, in a state of extreme bewilderment, 
 but yet without the slightest sensation of the dread which 
 should accompany so singular a spectacle, and it was with 
 more admiration than awe he became aware that the 
 smoky pillars beside him were gradually moulding them- 
 selves into the most exquisite human forms; at length 
 they stood before him defined and perfect — two female 
 appearances of transcendent loveliness ; one fair as a sun- 
 beam, the other dark, but each supreme in its individual 
 type of beauty. Gentleness and heavenly love beamed in 
 the mild, blue eyes of the one, glittering boldness flashed 
 from the coal-black orbs of the other : a shower of deli- 
 cate golden hair, soft and jdelding as silken fibres, shed a 
 
 2* 
 
34 DAN DUFFS \V-I5H, 
 
 bright radiance like a halo around the saintlv lineaments of 
 the fairer spirit, while massv closters of raven hae, through 
 which a warm, parple tint was interwoven, gkncing; in tbe 
 I i _'':.:, like threads of fire, enriched the ample brow, and 
 suci.L down the full form of the darker one. "*! wonder 
 if it*s alif e thev are," thought Dan, as he gazed alternately 
 at each. "I'll be upon me oath I dunno which is the 
 puniest of the two ; the yalla-headed one looks as if she 
 could coax the very heart out through me ribs; but, oh! 
 murdher alive I the lightnin' that darts from them black 
 eyes is enough to strike a fella foolish at onst ; bad luck 
 to me if I don't spake to them ;" so saying, our ftiend 
 made one of his best bows, tugging the conventional lock 
 left for that purpose. ''Your sarvant, ladies," said he, 
 " and what might it be that brings yez out so airly this 
 cowld momin'." 
 
 The fairer apparition, in a voice like spoken melody, 
 answered : " I am the spirit of your better thoughts." 
 
 •• You dont tell me that, Miss, then it's glad that I am 
 to see you to the fore, and mighty sorry tliait I haven't goi; 
 a sate dacent enouo^h to offer to the likes of such an 
 iligant creather," said Dan, " and who's your frind, may I 
 ax r he went on, turning to the darker beauty. 
 
 **! am the spirit of your evil thoughts," replied the 
 other, in a rich, full tone, bending her lustrous eyes upon 
 the questioner in a way that made his heart bound. 
 
 ** Oh I you are, are you," he gasped out ; *^ faix, and I 
 don't know, if it's welcome you ought to be, or not ; but, 
 for the sake of good manners, Fd ax you to sit too, av I 
 had the c«xivavnienoe." 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 35 
 
 "You called upon us both, just now," said the good 
 spirit. 
 
 " And we are here," continued the other ; " so choose 
 between us, which you will entertain." 
 
 " Couldn't 1 be on the safe side, and entertain the both 
 of yez ?" suggested Dan, with a propitiatory wink to 
 each. 
 
 "That is impossible," replied the good spirit. "We 
 only meet when there's contention in a mortal mind 
 whether he shall the right or wrong pursue. Did you not 
 wish but now that you could change conditions with the 
 rich man opposite ?" 
 
 " Well, then, I may's well let the whole truth out, seein' 
 that you're likely to know all about it ; I did wish some- 
 thin' of the sort." 
 
 " And a very reasonable wish it was," said the dark 
 spirit, on his left. 
 
 " A very foolish wish," firmly observed the fair one. 
 
 " I don't agree with you," replied the other. 
 
 " You never do," said the good spirit. 
 
 " Nor ever will !" 
 
 " I don't lose much by that " 
 
 "Ladies, darlin'," interposed Dan, "I'd rayther you 
 wouldn't disthress yerselves on my account." 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my good friend," said the fair spirit. 
 " We never can agree ; but, how do you resolve ? Is it 
 Btill your wish to stand in the Squire's shoes ?" 
 
 " Top-boots ?" suggested Dan. 
 
 " Of course it is," replied the evil spirit for him. " Who 
 
36 DAN DTFF's WISH, 
 
 would not have such wish, to pass his days in hixury and 
 ease, not labor — pinched, in care and penury ?" 
 
 " Thrue for you," observed Dan, approvingly. 
 
 "But who would give up even a small share of joy, con- 
 tentment, and domestic love, to seek, perchance, for more, 
 perchance, for less ?" replied the other. 
 
 " There's rayson in that," said Dan. 
 
 " Aye, but the boy," said his left-hand companion ; " see 
 wliat a glorious life the heir to such a wealthy man would 
 lead." 
 
 " That sets me heart bubblin' like a bilin' pot," cried 
 Dan, joyously. 
 
 " You are resolved, then, to be ruled by me ?" demanded 
 the suggester of evil thoughts. 
 
 "Indeed, and I am, that I am, just for the sake of the 
 babby," said Dan. 
 
 "Follow, and I will point out a way," said the dark 
 spirit, gliding towards the door. Dan made a movement 
 to follow, when his footsteps were arrested by a chorus of 
 invisible voices, small, but distinct, and musical as a choir 
 of singing birds, that appeared to sound within his very 
 brain, so that he heard every word as clearly as though he 
 "had uttered it himself. 
 
 Every mortal has his grief: 
 
 Each one thinks that his is chief. 
 
 Better keep your present lot, 
 
 Than to tempt — you don't know what. 
 
 Irresolution made him falter on the threshold through 
 which the spirit of evil thoughts had just passed ; it was 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 37 
 
 but for an instant, however, for the same tiny voices sang 
 within his heart the blessings and the joys of wealth, and, 
 above all, the image of his darling child, made happy in 
 its possession. 
 
 " Ilere goes," said he. " The divil a pin's point does it 
 matther what comes of me, so that luck lays a howld of 
 the little gossoon." So saying, he followed the dark spirit, 
 while the other bowed its lovely head upon its breast, and 
 shedding tears of anguish for the tempted one, whose weak- 
 ness she had not the power to strengthen, slowly and pen- 
 sively came after, resolved not to abandon her charge while 
 there was yet a hope to save. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Our selfish pleasures multiply amain, 
 But then their countless progeny ia pain. 
 
 We left the great Squire Bulworthy, preparing to aston- 
 ish the neighborhood, which he assuredly succeeded in 
 doing, but not in a style at all creditable or satisfactory to 
 himself. 
 
 It would appear, indeed, as though the hearty, but 
 uncharitable wish of the irritated cobbler, was curiously 
 prophetic, for, before the purse-proud couple had achieved 
 the half of their accustomed promenade, Mr. Bulworthy'a 
 extremities were suddenly and unceremoniously fastened 
 
38 
 
 upon bv an unusually severe gripe of that enemy to active 
 exercise — the gout. So sharp was the pain, that the Squire 
 roared out right lustily, and executed such a variety of 
 absurd contortions that he became an object of intense 
 amusement, rather than sympathy, to the vagabond portion 
 of the neighborhood. 
 
 There being no such extemporaneous means of transit as 
 hacks, or "hansoms," attainable, there' was nothing for it 
 but to suffer ; so, leaning heavily upon a couple of stray 
 Samaritans, whose commiseration was warmly stimulated 
 by the promised shilling, he managed, by slow and agoni- 
 zing efforts, to shuffle home, attended by his silent and 
 unsympathizing spouse. 
 
 After having undergone the excruciating process of 
 unbooting — an operation whose exquisite sensations are 
 known only to the initiated — he screamed for his universal 
 panacea, whisky-punch. The materials were brought in an 
 incredibly short space of time, for Bui worthy was murder- 
 ous in his gouty spells. Half a dozen stiff tumblers were 
 disposed of with Hibernian celerity, and the hurried house- 
 hold began to congratulate itself upon a prospect of quiet. 
 Vain hope ! " dingle, dingle, ding !" went the big bell at 
 the Squire's elbow. Up started,, simultaneously, Barney 
 and Mary from the dish of comfort they were laying them- 
 selves out to indulge in down stairs — in their eagerness, 
 tumbling into each others arms. Barney rushed up the 
 stairway, while Mary listened — as Marys always do, when 
 there's anything interesting going on — receiving, however, 
 in this instance, ample reward for such a breach of good 
 
A:S D ^V JI A T C A M E OF IT. 39 
 
 manners, being nearly prostrated by a book flung at Bar- 
 ney's head, to hasten his exit, by the suffering Squire. 
 What the missile had only half done, Barney finished ; for, 
 taking the kitchen-stairs at a slide, he came plump against 
 the partially-stunned listener, and down they both rolled 
 comfortably to the bottom. However, as there were no 
 bones broken, the only damage being what Mary called, " a 
 dent in her head," they soon picked themselves up again. 
 
 " Well," says Mary, '' how is he now r 
 
 " Oh, murdher alive, don't ax me," replied Barney, rub- 
 bing his bruises, "it's my belief that there never was sich 
 a cantankerous ould chicken sence the world was hatched. 
 It's a composin' draft that he's schreechin' for now, as av a 
 galHon of punch, strong enough to slide on, wasn't com- 
 posin'." 
 
 In due time, he had his "composin' draft," which, as 
 it contained a pretty considerable dose of laudanum, suf- 
 ficed, together with his other potations, to lull the pain 
 somewhat,' and give him comparative quiet ; this was a 
 famous opportunity for Mrs. Bulworthy, who immediately 
 proceeded to " improve " it. 
 
 " Now, Pether, dear," said she, with an attempt to modu- 
 late her saw-cutting voice into something approaching to 
 tenderness, which was a failure. " Oh ! think upon the 
 situation of your soul, and look over one of these comfort- 
 ing works." 
 
 Peter groaned inwardly, but said nothing. 
 
 " Grace," she went on, " is never denied, even to the 
 most hardenedest sinner." 
 
4:0 DAN duff's WISH, 
 
 Peter threw his head back and closed his eyes, in the 
 forlorn hope that she would respect his simulated slum- 
 ber ; but she was not a woman to respect anything, when 
 her " vocation " was strong on her. 
 
 " It's criminal in you, Peter," she shouted, " to neglect 
 your spiritual state ; suppose you were to die, and it's my 
 belief vou will, for you're looking dreadful, what a misery 
 it would be to me; I'd never forgive myself; oh ! Pether, 
 Pether, do read this true and beautiful description of the 
 place of torment you're a blindly plunging your sowl into." 
 
 This was too much for the already tortured sinner. 
 " Get out !" he roared. " Don't bother ; there's a time for 
 all things, you indiscreet and unnatural apostle of discom- 
 fortableness, what do you worry me for now, when you see 
 me enjoyin' such a multiplication of bodily suflFerings ?" 
 
 *" Because," said she, coolly ; " it's the only time that I 
 can hope to make an impression upon your hardened 
 heart ; it's my duty, not only as your wife, but as a mem- 
 ber of the society for the evangelizing the home heathen ; 
 of which heathen, my dear, I have the word of my pious 
 associates, you are an outrageous example ; therefore, it is 
 my mission to do all I can to bring about your regeneration." 
 
 " Murdher, murdher ! if I could only use my feet," 
 groaned Bulworthy, with the suppressed anger boiling in 
 his face. 
 
 "Ah ? but you can't," repHed the home comfort, as she 
 quietly removed everything portable from within the reach 
 of the suflferer's arm, and settling herself in rigid implaca- 
 bility, prepared to do battle with the evil one. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 41 
 
 " Since you won't use your bodily senses for your soul's 
 advantage" said she, solemnly, " I will, myself, peruse these 
 pages of admonition." 
 
 Now, there cannot be a doubt but that the work Mrs. 
 Bulworthy prepared to read, was an excellent one, writ- 
 ten by an excellent person, and distributed for a most 
 excellent purpose ; but, to say the least, it was very inju- 
 dicious in the absorbingly-pious lady to exhibit so much 
 concern for the immortal part of poor Bulworthy, alto- 
 gether overlooking the mortal anguish he was at the 
 present moment enduring. 
 
 At all events, he thought so, for, what with the pain and 
 the rage, he commenced a series of bellowings, in the 
 expectation that his other tormentor would be recalled to 
 the necessity of directing her mind from the future, to the 
 suflFering before her ; but, no, not a bit of it ; the louder 
 he roared, the shriller she read, being a contest, as she 
 imagined, between the fierce obstinacy of the demon 
 within him, and the efiicacy of her ministration ; on she 
 went, inflexibly, in the prolonged cadence of the conventicle, 
 never ceasing or averting her strong eye from the tract, 
 until she had finished its perusal. Not a word of it did he, 
 would he hear, for, with yelling occasionally, and stopping 
 his ears at intervals, the blessed communication might 
 have been written in its original Sanscrit, for all the good 
 it did him. 
 
 However, she had done her duty, and was satisfied. 
 " Temper, temper, Pether," she ejaculated, as he heaved a 
 groan of impatience from one of the twinges. "Suffer 
 
42 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 patiently ; it is good for the flesh to be mortified ; think of 
 the worse that is to come." 
 
 " Oh ! you're a comforter if ever there was one," sighed 
 the Squire. "How the mischief can I be patient with a 
 coal of fire on every toe of me ? It's mighty aisy for thim 
 that doesn't feel it to keep gabblin' about patience. I'll 
 roar if I like ; it does me good to swear at the murdherin* 
 thing, and I will, too." 
 
 Whereupon, he let fly a volley of epithets, not the very 
 choicest in the vernacular, which had at least one good 
 eSect, for it sent the domestic missionary flying oui of the 
 room, tracts and all, utterly horrified at the outburst of 
 impiety ; he firing a parting shot or two after her, loaded 
 with purely personal charges of not over complimentary 
 character. 
 
 It was just at this moment that his opposite neighbor, 
 the poor cobbler, having arrived at the most comforting- 
 part of his reflections, was indulging in one of his jolliest 
 songs, the merry sound of which penetrated to the apart- 
 ment of the suff'ering rich man, filling his heart with 
 envy. 
 
 " Listen to that," he grunted, swaying backward and 
 forward from the intensity of the pain. " AVhat's the use 
 av all my money ; there's that blaggard cobbler, without a 
 rap to Hess himself with, and the song's never out of his 
 vagabone throat ; oh, murdher ! if I wouldn't give every 
 shillin' that I'm worth in the world to change conditions 
 with the chirpin' schemer." 
 
 In a short time, however, the composing drafts, spirituous 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 43 
 
 and otherwise, began to do their work ; a drowsy sensa- 
 tion crept over him, and he dropped into an unquiet 
 slumber. 
 
 When he awoke again, which was instantly, as he 
 thouo-ht, what was his surprise to behold an extraordinary- 
 looking sprite riding upon his worst foot. The thing was 
 dressed like a jockey, cap, jacket, breeches, and boots, the 
 latter being furnished with a pair of needles instead of 
 spurs ; but with such a comical face that Bulworthy would 
 have laughed heartily at its funny expression, except that 
 the sight of those ominous goads effectually checked all 
 thoughts of risibility. 
 
 " Who the devil are you ? Get off o' my toe, you impu- 
 dent little scoundrel," said the Squire, " or I'll fling a pill- 
 box at you." 
 
 " Bless you, that would be no use," pipejd the diminutive 
 jock, settling himself in his saddle. 
 
 " Move, I say, or bang goes this bottle of doctor's stuflf 
 right in yer eye." 
 
 " Fire away," says the imp, with a little bit of a laugh, 
 like the squeak of a mouse, " I don't fear any of your doc- 
 tor's bedevilment." 
 
 " What brings you herej anyway ?" demanded Bulwor- 
 thy. He was now out of pain, and consequently waxing 
 arrogant. 
 
 " You," squeaked the little rider. 
 
 " It's a lie. I never invited you." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you did, and moreover, I must say, treated me 
 like a prince; boarded and lodged me gloriously." 
 
44 DAN duff'b wish, 
 
 " Pooh ! you're a fool. Where did I lodge you ?" 
 
 " Here, in your foot," said the little devil, with a grin, 
 accompanying the observation with the slightest touch of 
 the needle ; enough, however, to extort a yell from the 
 Squire. " What do you think of that, my hero ?" tl>e 
 jockey continued. " It will be better for you to keep a 
 civil tongue in that foolish head of yours." 
 
 " Oh, I will ! I will !" groaned Bulworthy. " If you'll 
 only obleege me by dismountin', I'll promise anything." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that's mighty likely," said the imp, " after 
 being asked here to amuse myself. A pretty sort of a host 
 you are." 
 
 " If you'll believe me, there's some mistake, sir, indeed 
 there is," said Bulworthy, apologetically, " I don't remem- 
 ber ever havin' had the honor of your acquaintance." 
 
 " You don't, don't you ; then, here goes, to put you in 
 mind, }ou forgetful old savage;" with that, he commenced 
 a series of equestrian manoeuvres with the Squire's intract- 
 able toe, now sawing with the diminutive chifney bit, now 
 tickling the sides with a slender, but very cutting kind of a 
 whip, finishing up his exercises by plunging both spars into 
 the flesh, making the tortured limb jump like a Galway 
 hunter over a stone wall. 
 
 " Stop ! stop !" roared the sufferer, while the perspira- 
 tion rained from his forehead like a shower-bath. 
 
 " You know me now, do you, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," gasped the Squire. " I'll never forget you 
 again — never, never !" 
 
 " Will you be civil ?" — a shght touch of the needle. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 45 
 
 " Oh, murdher ! yes." 
 
 " And temperate ?" — another small puncture. 
 
 " I will, I will." 
 
 "Very well, then. I'll not only dismount, as I'm a little 
 tired, but I'll give you a word or two of good -advice." 
 So saying, the little jockey got out of his seat, put his sad- 
 dle on his shoulders, and having with great diflBculty clam- 
 bered up the flannel precipice of Bulworthy's leg, managed, 
 with the assistance of his waistcoat buttons, to mount upon 
 the table, where, sitting down upon a pill-box, he crossed 
 his legs, and leisurely switching his top-boots, regarded the 
 Squire with a look of intense cunning. 
 
 "Well, only to think," said Bui worthy to himself, "that 
 such a weeny thing as that could give a man such a heap 
 of oneasiness ; a fella that I could smash with my fist as I 
 •would a fly : may I never get up from this if I don't do it, 
 and then may-be I'll get rid of the murdherin' torment 
 altogether." 
 
 With that, he suddenly brought his great hand down on 
 the table with a bang that, as he supposed, exterminated 
 jockey, pill-box, and all. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" he roared, " there's an end to you, my fine 
 fella." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," squealed the little ruflSan ; " w^hat do 
 you say to this ?" he continued, as he flourished one of the 
 top-boots over his head, and buried the spur through the 
 Squire's finger, fastening it firmly to the table. " See what 
 you got for your wicked intentions, and that ain't the 
 worst of it neither, for I'm going to serve that elegant big 
 
4:6 danduff'swish, 
 
 thumb of yours the same way. But I'll take my time 
 about it, for there's no fear of your hands ever stirring 
 from that spot until I like." So saying, the tantalizing 
 fiend made Foveral fierce attempts to transfix the doomed 
 member, each time just grazing the skin with the sharp 
 needle. At last he drove it right up to the heel, and there 
 the two boots stuck, while the little blackguard danced the 
 "Foxhunter's jig," in his stocking-feet, cutting pigeon- 
 wings among the pill-boxes, like a professor. 
 
 Bulworthy now roared louder than ever, vainly endeav- 
 oring to free his tortured hand from its strange imprison- 
 ment, and the more he roared, the more his tormentor 
 grinned, and cut capers about the table. 
 
 " Oh, pull out them thunderin' spurs," cried he, in agony. 
 " This is worse than all ; mercy, mercy ! Misther jockey, 
 I beg your pardon for what I did ; it was the drink ; there's 
 whisky in me." 
 
 " I know that well enough," chirped the grinning imp. 
 " If there wasn't, I couldn't have the power over you that 
 you see." 
 
 " Oh, won't you look over it this oncet ? I'll be on me 
 Bible oaih I won't oftend you again." 
 
 ** Are yon in earnest this time ?" 
 
 " Bad luck attend me if I'm not." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll trust you, though you don't deserve it," 
 replied the little schemer, and, after two or three tugs, he 
 succeeded in pulling out one of the spurs. " Do you feel 
 easier ?" inquired he, with a grin. 
 
 *' It'5 like getting half-way out of -purgatory," said thi 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 47 
 
 Squire, with a sigh of relief. " There's a fine fella, lug out 
 the other, won't you ?" 
 
 " I must make some conditions first." 
 
 " Let them be short, for gracious sake !" 
 
 "First and foremost, are you going to be quiet and 
 reasonable ?" 
 
 « I am, I am!" 
 
 " Secondly, are you going to pay me for the trouble I've 
 had?" 
 
 " Whatever you ask, only be quick about it." 
 
 " It won't tax you much, you have only to make over to 
 rae all the bottles and jars you have in the house." 
 
 " Take them, and welcome." 
 
 "If you'll promise me not to meddle with them, I'll 
 leave them in your keeping, only they're mine, remember." 
 
 " Every drop," cried the Squire, eagerly. " I won't 
 touch another mouthful." 
 
 " That's all right ; you keep your word and I'll keep 
 mine ; there, you may have the use of your fist once 
 more," he continued, as he plucked out the other spur, 
 giving the released hand a parting kick that thrilled 
 through every joint. 
 
 " And now," said he, as he pulled on his tiny boots, " 1 
 have a word or two more to say to you ; you made a 
 foolish wish just now ; that you'd like to change places 
 with that miserable cobbler over the way ; are you still of 
 the same way of thinking?" 
 
 " Should I have your companionship there," inquired 
 Bulworthv. 
 
48 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 *• Certainly not; he couldn't afford to keep me," replied 
 the gout-fiend, contemptuously. 
 
 " Then, without meanin' the slightest offence to you, my 
 little friend," said the other, "it wouldn't grieve me much 
 to i^et rid of your acquaintance at any sacrifice, even to 
 the disfust of walking into that rascally cobbler's shoes. 
 I'm only afraid that, clever as you are, you can't manage 
 that for me." 
 
 " Don't be quite so sure," replied the little jockey, with 
 a knowing wink, amusing himself by every now and then 
 tickling up Bulworthy's fingers with hie sharp whip, every 
 stroke of which seemed to cut him to the marrow. " Who 
 can tell but that the poor, ignorant devil would like to 
 change places with you ; if so, I can do the job for ye 
 both in a jiffey: more, betoken, here he comes, so that we 
 can settle the affair at once." 
 
 At that instant, the door of Bulworthy's apartment flew 
 open, as from the effect of a sudden and strong gust of 
 wmd, while he, although seeing nothing, distinctly heard 
 a slight rustling, and felt that peculiar sensation one 
 receives at the entrance of persons into a room while not 
 looking in their direction. 
 
 " I see no one," said the Squire ; " 'twas but a blast of 
 wind." 
 
 " / do," curtly rep^^ed the little jockey, and then pro- 
 ceeded to hold an interestiLg confidential chat with the 
 invisibilities ; in a few moments, Bulworthy distinguished 
 the jolly voice of Dan, the cobbler, a little jollier than 
 usual ; indicating the high state of his spiritual tempera- 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 49 
 
 ment also, by swaying to and fro against the balusters, 
 making them creak loudly in his uncertain progress ; at 
 last, with a tipsy " God save all here," he lumbered into 
 the room, tried to clutch at a chair, but, optically miscalcu- 
 lating his distance, overshot the mark, and tumbled head- 
 long upon the floor. 
 
 " You dirty, drunken rapscallion," cried Bulworthy, get- 
 ting into a towering rage, from which, however, he was 
 quickly recalled by a wicked look from the imp, and a 
 threatening movement towards the dreaded top-boots and 
 spurs. 
 
 " Listen, and say nothing until you are spoken to," said 
 the little chap, as grand as you please. 
 
 " Not a word," replied the cowed Squire. 
 
 "Now, Daniel, my friend, I want to have a talk with 
 you." The Squire started with astonishment; he could 
 have sworn that he heard his own voice ; but the big 
 sounds proceeded from the lips of the little chap on the 
 table beside him. 
 
 " Wid all the veins of my heart. Squire, jewel," replied 
 Dan's voice, though Dan's mouth never opened at all, and 
 Bulworthy was looking him straight in the face. 
 
 " You are not satisfied with your condition in life," con- 
 tinued the voice. 
 
 " You never spoke a truer word nor that," replied Dan's 
 invisible proxy. 
 
 " Neither am I." 
 
 " More fool you." 
 
 " Would you change places with me ?" 
 3 
 
50 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 " Indeed, an' I would if I had the chance ; how would 
 you like to be in mine ?" 
 
 " It's just what I long for." 
 
 Thus far, the conversation was carried on in the voices 
 of the Squire and the cobbler ; but now they were both 
 amazed at hearing bellowed out, in sounds like the roar of 
 a cataract when you stop your ears occasionally : 
 
 " Blind and dissatisfied mortals, have your desire ; let 
 each take the shape and fill the station of the other, never 
 to obtain your original form and condition until both are 
 as united in the wish to return thereto as you are now to 
 quit them." 
 
 A terrific thunderclap burst overhead, stunning them 
 both for a few minutes, and, when its last reverberation 
 died away in the distance, the little jockey had disappeared, 
 all supernatural sounds had ceased. The sentient part of 
 the discontented Squire found itself inhabiting the mortal 
 form of the cobbler, prone on the floor, hopelessly and 
 helplessly drunk, while the unhappy Dan appeared in the 
 portly form, and siifiered the gouty pangs of the lich Mr. 
 Bulworthy. 
 
AND WHAT CAMEOFIT 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Oft do we enyy those whose lot, if known, 
 Would prove to be less kindly than our own." 
 
 The change accomplished by the embodied wishes of 
 the two discontented mortals was, to all appearance, per- 
 fect. They bore, indeed, the outward semblance each of 
 the other, but yet retained their own individual thoughts, 
 feelings, and inclinations; and manifold, as may be ima- 
 gined, were the embarrassments and annoyances conse- 
 quent upon this strange duality, to the great mystification 
 of their respective households. 
 
 The morning after the singular compact was made, the 
 more than usually outrageous conduct of the -supposed 
 Bulworthy placed the establishment in the greatest possi- 
 ble uproar, for the nerves and sinews of the imprisoned 
 Dan, wholly unacquainted, ere this, with any ailment other 
 than the emptiness of hunger, or the occasional headache 
 whisky purchased, now twisted and stretched with the 
 sharper agonies laid up by his predecessor, lashed him into 
 an absolute hurricane of fury. Unable to move his nether 
 extremities, he gnashed his teeth, venting his rage by 
 smashing everything that he could reach. 
 
 This terrible turmoil reached the ears of the domestics, 
 filling them with apprehension. 
 
 " Be good to us," said Mary. " What is it now ?" 
 
 " Ora, don't ax me," replied Barney, who had just come 
 
62 DAN 
 
 down from- the caged lion. " It's fairly bewildhered I am, 
 out an' out ; I wouldn't wondher av it was burn the house 
 about our ears he would, in one of his tanthrums." 
 
 " What's worryin' him now ?" 
 
 " Faix, the misthress is at the head ov it, an' the gout's 
 at the feet, an', between the two, I wouldn't be surprised av 
 his thrunk was imptied afore long." 
 
 Up Ftairs the tempest raged with undiminished fury. 
 
 " I tell you I won't, I won't," roared the impatient 
 patient. " I never could taste a dhrop of physic in my 
 life." 
 
 "Oh, my ! what a fib," said his consoler, the sweet-voiced 
 Mrs. Bulworthy. " Why, you've swallowed enough to kill 
 a regiment of decent people, indeed, I don't know what's 
 come over you to day, at all ; you're not a bit like your- 
 self" 
 
 " The devil I'm not," said the other, somewhat alarmed ; 
 but a glance at his swathed extremities, accompanied by a 
 spasm of pain, gave him uncomfortable assurance that 
 he was still in the Squire's skin. "Bedad, ma'm," he 
 went on, " if you and the gout ain't enough to drive a man 
 out of himself, I don't know what would ; get out, 1 tell 
 you, and leave me alone ; one at a time's enough.'* 
 
 " Will you promise to read this tract, then ?" 
 
 "It's a mighty fine time to talk about readin'. How 
 much money am I worth ?" 
 
 " You surely don't forget that, .Pether ?" 
 
 " Well, indeed,* what with the pain and other little mat- 
 ters, it has slipped my memory.'* 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 63 
 
 " Just eight thousand six hundred pounds." 
 "As much as that? murdher alive! you don't say so; 
 then let us pack up and be off," cried he, with an injudi- 
 cious bound of pleasure that brought the corkscrew into 
 his joints with redoubled acuteness. 
 
 "Go, where?" inquired Mrs. Bulworthy, as coolly as 
 though she were enjoying the agony which revelled through 
 his racked frame. 
 
 "Anywhere," screamed he. "Anywhere out of this 
 vagabone neighborhood. Ah ! tear an aiges av 1 thought I 
 was going to be massacreed in this way, I'd a stayed as I 
 was ; it's to the very marrow of my bones that I'm sorry 
 for it now." 
 
 " Sorry for what, Pether ?" said Mrs. Bulworthy * " what 
 in the name of gracious are you raving about ?" 
 
 " Nothing," replied he, " only it's ravin' with the hunger 
 I am ; I feel as if I hadn't had anything to eat for six 
 weeks or more." 
 
 "Sure, won't you have something in a few minutes," 
 said she. " There's the turtle soup and curried lobster you 
 ordered for lunch getting ready as fast as it can." 
 
 " You don't tell me that ; may-be I won't astonish it 
 then," said he, smacking his lips at the delicious anticipa- 
 tion of devouring dishes that, to him, were hitherto 
 apocryphal things. 
 
 " Is there anything else you want before I go ?" 
 
 " Nothing in the world, except, may-be, you might just 
 run over the way and see how Mrs. Duff and the babby is." 
 
 " Heigh-day !" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, bestowing 
 
54 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 upon him one of her most indignant glances. " I'd like to 
 know what business you have to be thinking of Mrs. Duflf 
 and her babby !" 
 
 " Would you, really, ma'm ? then, if your curiosity is 
 anyway tickled, Til have you to understand that it's a 
 mighty high regard I entertain for them two people," 
 replied he. 
 
 " You do, do you ? why, then, it's a face you have to 
 say that same to me, you dirty, miserable, money-sorapin' 
 ioTioramus ; me, that took such care of your body and sowl 
 for so many years." 
 
 "Read one of your papers, ma'm; practice what you 
 preach," suggested the fictitious Bulworthy. 
 
 "How would you look if I was to say that I had a 
 regard for the cobbler himself, since you're so mightily 
 interested in his wife ?" said she, with an injured- woman 
 air and look. 
 
 " Say, ma'm ! Bedad, I'd say that Ifee cobbler isn't 
 such a fool as to return the compliment," replied the other, 
 iti a provoking tone, that made the eyes of Mrs. Bulworthy 
 flash green like those of a cat in the dark. 
 
 " I'm not so sure of. that," she retorted, with a meaning 
 toss of her fallacious curls, that implied unspeakable 
 things. 
 
 " But I am, you see, strange as it may appear, ma'm," 
 he went on, with a jolly laugh, strangled suddenly by a 
 gouty pang that made him roar again. 
 
 " Serve you right, you ungrateful reprobate ; I saw 
 you this morning Hinging your good-for-nothing eyes at 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 65 
 
 the jade ; but I'll serve you out for it, see if I don't ; you 
 shall have a blessed time, if ever a man had in the world, 
 you vile, deceitful, double-faced old porcupine ; after the 
 years we've been together, too, slavin' and working to scrape 
 up the bit of money to be the comfort of our old age," she 
 continued, diverging into the sentirftental, and dropping 
 a few hard tears, that fell from her cold eyes like pellets 
 of hail. " You want to break my heart, you do, you mur- 
 derer, that you may follow your wicked coorses without 
 hendrance. Mrs. Duflf and her babby; indeed, her babby ! 
 how do I know who's babby it is ?" and she looked green- 
 eyed monsters at the supposititious Squire, who heightened 
 her fiery temper up to explosion-point, by replying, with a 
 chuckle. 
 
 " Faix, the babby's mine, I b'leeve." 
 
 Now be it understood that, for tbe instant, his dis- 
 putable identity was forgotten, and it was all Dan that 
 
 " Yourg," shrieked the now infuriated female, making a 
 threatening demonstration towards him. 
 
 " Yes— no — I mean — oh, murdher, I forgot I was ould 
 Bulworthy for a minnit. It's a rise I was takin' out of you, 
 that's all," he w^ent on, "just for the fun of the thing." 
 
 The further discussion of this delicate subject was put a 
 stop to by the entrance of Barney and Mary with the 
 Squire's lunch ; a very gratifying and timely interruption 
 to the stormy tete-a-tete, in the opinion of one of the party, 
 at all events. 
 
 The delicious condiments being duly served, from which 
 
56 
 
 arose an appetizing odor, Btiraulating Dan's appetite into 
 ravenous hunger, " \Yon t you sit down, ma'm," said he, 
 " and take a mouthful ?" 
 
 "Indeed, and it's polite you are, all of a sudden. You 
 never asked the like before, but was always glad enough ig 
 get me out of sight that you might gormandize to your 
 heart's content," replied she, acrimoniously. " But it's a 
 sure sign that you are guilty of something wrong some- 
 where, with somebody, or you wouldn't be so extra accom- 
 modating." 
 
 " Si^ down, and howld yer prate," cried the other, anxious 
 to attack the tempting viands. 
 
 " I won't, you ould sinner. I know you don't want me, 
 It's only your conscience that's giving you no rest. I'll 
 leave you to stuff and cram, and I only wish it was pison, 
 that I do." With this pleasant observation, hissed viper- 
 ously through her closed teeth, she flounced out of the 
 room, giving the door a parting bang that sent an electric 
 shock of pain through poor Dan's nervous system. 
 
 "Oh! milliah murdher," groaned he, "an' this is the 
 agreeable speciment of a walkin' vinegar-cruet, that I left 
 my scanty but comfortable home, and the angel that made 
 a heaven of it, for. Well, the fools ain't all gone yet — 
 but, never mind, isn't there the money and the eatin' ; so, 
 here goes to have a feed that 'ud take the concate out of 
 a hungry elephant." 
 
 So saying, he lifted off the cover, and plunged the ladle 
 into the steaming tureen, when, to his enormous surprise, 
 instead of the savory mess he anticipated,, he fished up and 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 57 
 
 deposited upon his plate, the identical little jockey before 
 described, spurs and all. 
 
 "How are you, Mr Duff?" said he, touching his cap in 
 true stable style, as he seated himself upon the raised edge 
 of the soup-plate. 
 
 " You have the advantage of me, sir," replied Dan, rev- 
 erentially, for he was a firm believer in " the good people," 
 that is to say, the fairies, and dreaded the immensity of 
 their power. 
 
 "We haven't met before, to be sure," said the little 
 fellow, '' but you see I know who you are, in spite of that 
 fleshy stuffing you have got into." 
 
 "Bedad, there's no mistake about that, sir," replied 
 Dan. " Would it be too great a liberty to ax what it is 
 I'm indebted to for the honor of your company at this par- 
 ticular time ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, Dan. The fact is, between you and me, 
 I'm always present where there's such good cheer to be 
 found as I see before me." 
 
 " Indeed, sir, an' would it inconvenience you much to sit 
 somewhere else, for I'm mortial hungry at this present 
 minit, an' I'm afeard I'd be splashin' your boots with the 
 gravy." 
 
 " Anything to oblige," said the other, jumping over the 
 edge of the plate, like a four-year old. 
 
 "Thank you, sir. I'll do as much for you, provided it's 
 in my power," observed the hungry cobbler, drawing nearer 
 a huge dish of curried lobster, the spice-laden steam from 
 which would create a new appetite in repletion's self. 
 
 3* 
 
58 DAN DUFFS WISH, 
 
 Heaping up his plate, while his mouth filled with water at 
 the glorious sight, he was just about to shovel a vast quan- 
 tity into his capacious mouth, when a sharp 
 
 " Stop, Dan !" from the little jockey, arrested his hand 
 mid- way. 
 
 " Do you know the result of your eating that mouth- 
 ful ?" 
 
 " Never a bit of me, sir," said Dan, making another 
 movement tosvards his head. 
 
 " Ha ! wait till I tell you," cried the other. 
 
 Dan stopped again. " This is wonderful tantalizin' to an 
 impty Christian," said he. 
 
 " Listen, Dan. I have a sort of regard for you, and so 
 I'll give you this warning : If you swallow that stuff that's 
 overloading your knife " — Dan wasn't genteel in his eating 
 — " I'll have to ride a hurdle race upon your big toe, and 
 I'll be bail that I'll make it beat all the rest of your ana- 
 tomy in the way of jumping." 
 
 " You don't mean that ?" cried Dan, dropping knife and 
 all into the plate before him. 
 
 " Every word of it," said the little fellow. 
 
 " Oh, get out ! you're not in airnest ?" 
 
 " May-be you'd like to try ?" 
 
 " Be the mortial o' war, I ddn't b'leeve you, anyway 
 the hungriness is drivin' all consequences oat of me reck- 
 onin', so, here goes, jump or no jump." So, with a (ies- 
 perate recklessness, Dan rushed greedily at the eatables, 
 and never in his life did he eat the tithe part of what he 
 demolished upon this occasion. Everything on the table 
 
AND W H A T C A M E OF IT. 59 
 
 disappeared before his all-devouring appetite, like smoke, 
 and as the " materials were handy, he topped all up with a 
 " screechin' hot " tumbler of whisky-punch, stift' enough to 
 poke courage into any man's heart. 
 
 In the meantime, wholly absorbed in his prodigious ban- 
 quet, he had quite lost sight of his friend, the jockey ; but 
 now, as with a sigh of intense satisfaction, he reclined back 
 in the cushioned chair, he became sensible of a sort of 
 fidgetiness about his foot^ and on looking down, what 
 should he see but the little chap, very busy indeed, with 
 his whip in his mouth, saddling up his big toe, as gingerly 
 as you please. He was just giving the girth a last pull, 
 which he accompanied with the usual jerking expression, 
 making Dan wince a little, from a sense of tigJitness in the 
 nag. 
 
 The business-like manner of the chap, however, soon 
 banished the uncomfortable feeling, and so excited Dan's 
 risibilities, that the tears rolled down his cheeks with uncon- 
 trollable laughter. It is astonishing how very near the sur- 
 face the leverage of a good dinner and a warm " tod," lifts 
 up one's jolly feelings. 
 
 Dan was now in a condition to sign a treaty of perpet- 
 ual amity with all mankind. 
 
 Delusive tranquillity ! 
 
 " Mount," cried the little rider, jumping into his saddle. 
 " Hurrah ! off we go ! heigh !" 
 
 The first slash of the whip and dig of' the spur changed 
 the nature of Dan's emotions most effectually. He roared, 
 he raged, he twisted about like an eel on a spear. Still 
 
60 DAN D U F F ' d W I S il . 
 
 fiercely and uumercifully the little jockey plied the lash 
 and the goad. Still he shouted, " Hurrah ! jump, you 
 devil, jump 1" 
 
 Now, Dan swore like a rapparee ; now, he called upon 
 every saint in the calendar ; but there was no cessation to 
 his torture. In the extremity of his fury, he flung the 
 whisky-bottle at the Httle rider's head ; but as it struck his 
 own foot, it only augmented the terrible agony. 
 
 From praying and swearing he fell to weeping, but the 
 stony-hearted little tyrant was not assailable by tears or 
 entreaties. Promises of amendment were equally useless ; 
 until, at last, happening to recollect what a horror all 
 supernaturals have of the pure element, he seized a tumbler 
 of water, and nearly drowned his tormentor with its con- 
 tents. This had the desired efl'ect. The little vagabond 
 dismounted with a shrill cry of annoyance, and rushed 
 over towards the fire-place, to dry his soaked garments. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! you thief of the world, I know what'll settle 
 your hash now — weather !" said Dan, instantly relieved from 
 pain ; " and, wid a blessin', you shall have enough of that 
 same, if ever you venture to come hurdle-racin' on any 
 toes o' mine. 
 
 " Stick to that Dan, my hero," said the little fellow, as 
 he shook the drops off his drenched jacket ; " stick to that, 
 and you may depend upon it that I'll never trouble you 
 any more." 
 
 And so, having got rid of his enemy, Dan snuggled him- 
 self back into the comfortable easy-chair, and very soon 
 forgot himself and all the real world, in the perplexities 
 and comic horrors of a dyspeptic dream. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT 61 
 
 CHAPTER V. ■ 
 
 Within the home where jealousy is found, 
 A Upas grows that poisons all around. 
 
 It would be as unprofitable as impossible to follow the 
 ever-varjing images of a dream, which apparently con- 
 sumed the best part of a century ; every half hour of which 
 had its separate distress, although the actual period of time 
 passed did not reach ten minutes, to such singular and 
 enormous expansion was the imagination swollen. The 
 few placid moments distorted into numberless years of ter- 
 ror, like the drop of seemingly pure water, resolved, by 
 microscopic power, into an ocean of repulsive monsters. 
 
 Dan had just been very properly condemned to death 
 for the five and twentieth time, and had waited in gasping 
 dread for the infliction of some inconceivable — except 
 under such circumstances — mode of bodily torture, when 
 he heard a tremendous noise, like the explosion of an 
 immense piece of ordnance, close by his side. With a 
 nervous start, that benumbed his frame like a powerful 
 shock, he awoke, bathed in perspiration and half dead with 
 fright. The sound was repeated. It was a simple, single, 
 hesitating little knock at the chamber-door. 
 
 " Who's there ?" he stammered, scarcely yet aroused to 
 the consciousness of his identity. 
 
 " It's me, sir," replied a gentle voice, that thrilled through 
 
62 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 him with different sensations, for delight and joy stole over 
 him like a sun-ray. It was his wife's. 
 
 " Come in, Peg," said he, "for an angel that you are. 
 If it wasn't for this blessed interruption I'd have died in 
 my bed with the wear an' tear of murdherin' bad dreams." 
 He would fain have rushed into Peggy's arms as she 
 entered, but the first attempt at making use of his continu- 
 ations painfully reminded him that they belonged to some- 
 body else. It also admonished him that it was necessary 
 for him to support his new character with dignity. 
 
 " Well, ma'm," said he, " what do you mean by dis- 
 turbin' me in this unprincipled way ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir," replied Peggy, timidly, " an' I'm a'most 
 ashamed to tell you; it's that man o' mine over the way, 
 sir; sure, I don't know what's come to him, at all, at all, 
 within the last few hours." 
 
 "Ho ! ho!" thought Dan, "he's had a quare time of it 
 as well as myself. "What's the matter with him, Mrs. 
 Duffy?" 
 
 " That's what I want to know, sir, av anybody'd only 
 tell me ; I never knew him to kick up such tanthrums ever 
 since we come together ; musha ! sure, an' the devil's in 
 him if ever he enthered a mortal body, this blessed day — 
 an' dhrink ! murdher alive, sir, av he wouldn't dhrink the 
 say dhry av he only had the swally, I'm not here." 
 
 "That's bad, very bad, indeed," said the other, oracu- 
 larly. "People should never indulge in such terrible 
 propensities," he went on, with a bold attempt at Bul- 
 worthy's phraseology. 
 
AND W 11 A T C A :v.r i^ r, F T T . 63 
 
 " Sure, sir, doesn't it depend upon what dh rives them to 
 it ?" replied Peggy. " Throuble's mighty dhrouthy, sir, 
 intirely ; it dhrys up a poor man's throat as if there was a 
 fire in his mouth, and, indeed, me poor Dan's poorer nor 
 the poorest this holy day." 
 
 "That's no rayson, ma'm," said the other, with mock 
 sternness, although his frame was in a glow of joy at hear- 
 ing how Peggy managed to find excuses for his favorite 
 failing. " That's no rayson, ma'm ; the more fool him for 
 addin' flame to the fire." 
 
 "Thrue for you, sir, but then doesn't it dhrownd the 
 blaze foe the time ?" 
 
 " I'll answer ye that, Mrs. Dufi', if you please, allygori- 
 cally ; did ye ever see a few dhrops of sperrets flung into a 
 blazin' fire ? a murdherin' lot of dhrowndin' there is about 
 it ; bedad, the fire only burns with greater strength." 
 
 "Then, of coorse, your honor, it stands to good sense 
 that it's foolish to take only a few dhrops," she replied, 
 with a sly look at the Squire, that made the laugh bubble 
 all over his ruddy face. 
 
 " One would a'most suppose that you loved this Dan of 
 yours," said he. 
 
 "Love him, sir! do the spring flowers love the sun? 
 does the young mother love her new-born babby ?" 
 
 " Oh I murdher, murdher ! listen to this," cried Dan ; 
 " an' me shut up inside of this prison of a carcass ; it was a 
 mortial sin to leave her, an' I'm suff'erin' for it as I ouo-ht, 
 an' it sarves me right." The thought made him savage, so 
 turning to poor Peggy with a look of anger, he continued, 
 fiercely : 
 
64: DAN duff's WISH, 
 
 " What brought you here, ma'm ? may-be you'll conde- 
 scind to inform me at oncet." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, don't be angry wid him, but its outrageous 
 intirely that he is; sure, he wants somethin' that I'm 
 afeared to ax." 
 
 " What is it ? don't keep me waitin' all day." 
 
 " I hope yer honor will take into considheration the way 
 he's in just now, for he sthole out onbeknown to me, an' 
 how he got the sup, I can't tell ; but it's on him dhreadful, 
 or he'd never think of the likes." 
 
 " The likes of what ? what's throublin' him now ? speak 
 out, woman, or you'll drive the little bit of patience that I 
 have clean out of me." 
 
 " Then, sir, the long an' the short of it is, an' I dunno 
 what put such foolishness in his head, he towld me to ax 
 ver honor, if yer honor had a thrifle of that soup left ; he'd 
 take it as a mighty great favor if yer honor would let him 
 have the least taste in life of it," said Peggy, with an 
 extreme misgiving as to how so presumptuous a request 
 would be received. 
 
 " Is that all ?" said Dan, calmly, to her intense relief. 
 " Take it, an' welcome, Mrs. Duff, an' if it does him as 
 much good as it did me you won't be throubled wid such 
 a message again, I'll be bound ; there's the vagabone stuff 
 in that big bowl over on the sidel)oard fornenst you ; an' 
 tell him, by the same token, from me, that av he feels at 
 all uncomfortable in his present quarthers, it wouldn't kill 
 me right out to swap again." 
 
 " Swap what, sir ?" inquired Peggy, rather mystified. 
 "Oh! he'll know what I mean." 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 65 
 
 "And so do I," screamed the irate Mrs. Bulworthj 
 rushing into the room, at the door of which, she had been 
 listening during the entire conversation, the spirit of 
 which had inflamed her jealous temperament up to fever 
 heat. 
 
 " I know what you want to swap, you ill-conditioned 
 profligate," she went on, in true Zantippe style. " You 
 want to swap wives, don't you ?" 
 
 " Faix, an' you never said a thruer word," coolly replied 
 Dan. 
 
 This w^as too much for the excited dame ; with a yell 
 of fury she rushed at Peggy, and would assuredly have 
 indented the marks of all her finger-nails in her comely 
 countenance, but that the other, finding the door conve- 
 niently open, snatched up the tureeen of soup and fled 
 down stairs like a phantom. 
 
 Her prey thus escaping, the shock of her terrible rage 
 was concentrated upon the head of the devoted Dan ; to 
 what grievous extremity it would, carry her he had not an 
 idea, but he felt that something awful was about to take 
 place. , 
 
 " Considher my misfortunes," he cried, " and be merci- 
 ful, Mrs. Bui worthy." 
 
 Implacable as the embodied Parcae, she advanced 
 towards him. 
 
 " You're not goin' to murdher me, woman," he roared. 
 
 Silently, she approached still nearer, desperation was in 
 her aspect. 
 
 " Help, murdher, help !" cried Dan, inevitable fate 
 
66 DAN DUFFS WISH; 
 
 ing to be on the point of overwhelming him in some way 
 or another. 
 
 " What the divil is the ould monsther goin' to do ?" 
 thought he, as a frightful suspicion raised his flesh into 
 little hillocks, and made his hair sting his head like needle- 
 points, when he saw her deliberately take a singular-look- 
 in cr phial and pour out a few drops of a fiery red liquor, 
 filling the rest of the glass with water, through which the 
 former hissed and eddied for a few moments, and then sub- 
 sided into a horrible blackness. • 
 
 ''Drink this," she ejaculated, solemnly, "and pay the 
 penalty of your infamous conduct." 
 
 " What is it ?" he inquired, in a voice of alarm. 
 
 "Poison! you profligate," replied the other, regarding 
 him with a Borgian expression. 
 
 " Holy Vargin ! an' me screwed into the floor wid this 
 threfalian gout," gasped Dan, his face bedewed with the 
 effect of his mental agony. " Stop ! you murdherin' ould 
 witch ! Stop ! you have no right to sarve me this way. 
 I don't belong to you at all," cried Dan, as a last re- 
 source. 
 
 " What do you mean by that, you miserable sinner ?" 
 
 " I mean that you're no wife o' mine, the Lord be praised 
 for it." 
 
 " Would you deny your honest wife, you cannibal ?" 
 
 " I would — I do," cried he, desperately. 
 
 " You're not my husband ?" 
 
 "I'll be upon my Bible oath I'm not." 
 
 " What— not Bui worthy ?" 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 67 
 
 « The divil a toe, ma'm, savin' yer presence. I'm Dan 
 Duff, the cobbler, from over the way." 
 
 " Oh, the man's mad — mad as a coot," said Mrs. Bul- 
 worthy, with appalling calmness, " and it would only 
 be a mercy to put him out of his misery, soon an' sud- 
 dent." 
 
 " Tear an aigers, av I only had the use of these Hag- 
 gard legs of mine, wouldn't I make an example of ye, you 
 ould witch of Endher," muttered Dan. " I won't be 
 slaughtered without an offer to save myself, any way." 
 With that, he started to his feet, and to his great surprise 
 and delight discovered that his powers of locomotion were 
 unimpeded. With a wild hurroo ! he jumped, as only a 
 Munster man can jump, and dancing over to the now tho- 
 roughly alarmed Squiress, who could see nothing in such 
 extravagance but a confirmation o>f his utter insanity, he 
 lifted her in his arms as though she were a rag doll. 
 
 " Now, ma'm," said he, " I'll see if I can't cure your 
 propensity for pison. Into that closet you'll go, and out 
 of it you sha'n't budge until you come to your senses, or I 
 come to myself ; and I'm afeard that one's as far off as the 
 other — worse luck for both of us ;" and so, without the 
 slightest attempt at resistance on her part, not knowing to 
 what extremity this outburst of madness would lead him, 
 he snugly deposited her ladyship in a corner cupboard, 
 which he locked, and put the key in his pocket, accompa- 
 nying the whole movement with a paroxysm of laughter, 
 so long and loud that she congratulated herself upon the 
 slight shelter thus afforded her, and only feared that the 
 
68 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 next phase in his malady would be of more sanguinary a 
 nature. 
 
 This great feat accomplished, Dan threw himself back 
 »n the easy-chair, and began seriously to ruminate upon his 
 present condition and his future prospects. 
 
 "This, then, is what I left my blessed Peg and the 
 blesseder babby for ; to live a life of gout and conthrariness, 
 never to have any confidence in my muscles, but always 
 thremblin' for feard that sharp-spurred jockey would take 
 a fancy for a canther, or, what's worse even than that, to 
 be in dhread of the penethratin' tongue of ould mother 
 Gab, yondher, whine ver I'm laid by the leg ; oh ! if iver 
 there was a poor sinner that repinted, it's myself that's 
 last on the list, an' greatest; could I only see the darlin' 
 of a sperret that gev me the good advice I so fool- 
 ishly kicked at, it's beg her pardon on my bended knees- 
 that I would, if it was hot cendhers that was undher 
 them." 
 
 At that instant, he was aware of the gentlest of all gen- 
 tle touches on his shoulder, and on turning his head in 
 the direction, sure enough, there she was. 
 
 H/an was prostrate before her, in a moment. " Ora 
 good luck and long life to you, miss, for comin' to me in 
 my disthress ; I don't deserve it, I know I don't." 
 
 "Get up, Mr. Duff," said the spirit. "I am but the 
 reflection of your better thoughts; therefore, you must 
 profter your repentance, through me, to the throne of One 
 who rules us both." 
 
 " I will, I will," cried the other ; " truly and wholly," 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 69 
 
 covering his face with his hands, through which the tears 
 now streamed copiously. 
 
 " What is your wish ?" inquired the good spirit. 
 
 " You know, you must know, for it's fairly breakin' my 
 heart I am here; I want to get back to myself, and Peggy, 
 an' the boy." 
 
 " Ah ! you have begun to think of them at last." 
 
 " I own I have been selfish, sinfully, wretchedly selfish, 
 but I'm cured," replied Dan, in a tone of contrition. 
 
 "But you remember the conditions of the compact," 
 said the other," neither of you can regain your original 
 form and station unless both consent." 
 
 " Oh ! wirrasthrue, then I'll never be my own man 
 again," sobbed Dan. " Ould Bulworthy, bad 'cess to him, 
 has the best of the bargain, an' he'll stick to it like wax ; 
 small blame to him for it, seein' that I sould my comfort 
 entirely for a pair of murdherin' top-boots ; he ain't such 
 an omathaun as to come back here to his gout an' his 
 scowldin' madame, when its a thrifle of hunger is all he'll 
 have to put up wid, over the way, an' there's happiness 
 enough in one glance of Peggy's bright eye, to swally that 
 up if it was ten times as throublesome ; and there's the 
 boy, too, that's like a growin' angel about the house, fillin' 
 up every spot of it wid heavenly joy ; oh ! wirra, wirra ! 
 sure, I didn't know the luck I was in until I lost it out an' 
 out." 
 
 " The perversity of rhankind is strange," said the spirit. 
 " Are you certain that Bulworthy is content in his present 
 condition ?" 
 
70 DAN 
 
 " How the divil can he be otherwise ?" replied the other, 
 savagely. 
 
 " You were not, you remember." 
 
 "Because I didn't know there was a worse: like an 
 ignorant fool, I thought that a scanty meal now and then 
 was the greatest calamity in the world ; be me sowl. I've 
 had the knowledge rubbed into my bones, that too much 
 is sometimes apt to sting a fellow afterwards more than too 
 little." 
 
 "Perhaps the sensation of hunger may be to him as 
 disagreeable as the sense of satiety is to you," suggested 
 the spirit. 
 
 " Oh ! if there was only a chance of that," cried Dan, 
 brightening up at the idea. " An' be the same token, now 
 that I think of it, he did send over for some of that vaga- 
 bone soup ; long life to you, you've put the hope into me 
 heart once more ; but how the mischief am I to find out 
 the state of the ould blaggard's feelin's ?" 
 
 "There's nothing like going 'to work in a straightfor- 
 ward way," said the spirit; "just put on your hat and go 
 over and ask him." 
 
 " Faix, an' I will, an' thank you kindly, too, for puttin' 
 it into me head," replied Dan. 
 
 "I wish you good morning, then," said the other, and 
 even while Dan was looking at her straight in her face, 
 she gradually resumed her vapory appearance, growing 
 thinner and thinner, until she finally went out like a pufF 
 of tobacco. 
 
AND WHAT GAME OF IT. Tl 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " within the circle of your own estate, 
 Confine yourself, nor yearn for brighter fate." 
 
 And now let us return to the cobbler's cabin, and see 
 how matters are progressing there. Peggy has just 
 brought over the tureen of soup so fervently longed for by 
 the changed Squire ; with a cry of joy, for he is very hard 
 set, indeed, he seized the welcome gift, and placing it 
 between his knees as he sat on the low workstall, prepared 
 to dive into its savory contents, but a groan of horror and 
 disappointment broke from his lips when, on taking off the 
 cover, he found the tureen was empty. 
 
 " The pippin-squeezing ruffian," cried he, " he's sent it 
 over without as much as a smell, and I so mortial hungry 
 that I could bite a tenpenny nail in two ; if he was here, 
 bad 'cess to me if I wouldn't smash this upon his head." 
 
 " That's mighty strange, entirely," said Peggy, " for I'll 
 be on me. oath there was plenty in ^t when I took it off the 
 Squire's sideboard." 
 
 " If there was, you must have gobbled it up yourself, or 
 spilt it on the street, you unconsiderate faymale," said Bul- 
 worthy. 
 
 " Is it me, indeed, Dan, jewel? it's well you know that 
 if it was goold, an' you could ate it, I wouldn't put a tooth 
 into it, when I knew you wanted it so dhreadful," replied 
 Peggy, reproachfully. 
 
72 DAN 
 
 " "Well, may-be you Tvouldn't," doggedly observed Bul- 
 worthy ; " but do, for Heaven's sake, get me somethia' to 
 put an end to the wobblin' that's goin' on in the inside of 
 me ; may I never leave this place alive if I think I've had 
 a male's vitells for a month." 
 
 " How outrageous you are, Dan," sorrowfully replied the 
 other. " Where am I to get it ?" 
 
 "Go out an' buy it, ov coorse." 
 
 " Arrah what with ? I'd like to know ; sure, an' won't we 
 have ta wait until that purse-proud ould rap over the way 
 pays us the shillin' that he owes us." 
 
 A reproachful pang shot through the heart of Bulworth5r 
 at that observation. " The ould skinflint," said he, " if I 
 ever get near him again, may-be I won't touch him up for 
 not doin' that same." 
 
 " Indeed, an' it would sarve him right," Peggy went on. 
 " Swimmin' in plenty as he is, it's little that he thinks of 
 the pinchin' hunger we feel." 
 
 "Don't don't," cried Bulworthy, pressing his hands 
 against his gastronomic regions. " I feel it now, fairly 
 sthranglin' me ; it's just as if some wild savage beast was 
 runnin' up and down here, sarchin' for somethin' to devour, 
 and not bein' able to find it, is takin' mouthfuls out of my 
 intayrior by the way of a relish ; oh ! murdher, I never 
 knew what hunger was before." 
 
 " Didn't you, raylly ?" Peggy replied, with a queer 
 expression. " Faith, then, it wasn't for the want of chances 
 enough." 
 
 " I mean — don't bother — it's famished I am, and crazv 
 a'most ; is there a dhrop of dhrink in the house ?" 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 73 
 
 " Not as miicli as would make a tear for a fly's eye," 
 said Peg. 
 
 " No ! theu what the Puck are we to do ?" 
 
 " Bear it, I suppose, as well as we can ; we've often done 
 it afore, an' what's worse, will have to do it agin, unless 
 the hearts of the rich changes towards us." 
 
 " Oh ! if ever I get back to myself again," muttered the 
 hungry Squire. "Peg, darlin', go over to the old schamer, 
 an' tell him that av he doesn't send me the shillin' I'll 
 expose him, I know more about him than he thinks for; 
 if he's black conthrary, you might just whisper in his lug 
 that I'm up to his thricks when he was in the grocery line ; 
 ax him for me, who shoved the pennies into the butther, 
 wathered the whisky, and sanded the shugar, who " 
 
 " Why, for gracious sake, Dan, where did you pick up 
 all that knowledgeableness ?" interrupted Peggy. 
 
 " Hem ! no matther — never you mind — may-be I only 
 dhreamt it," replied Bulworthy, with some hesitation. 
 " I don't know exactly what I was talkin' about ; it's the 
 imptyness that's speakin', so I wouldn't mention it ; only 
 go and get somethin' somewhere, av it was only a brick." 
 
 " I'll be at him again, Dan, sence you wish it ; but it's 
 little blood I'm thinking, we'll be able to squeeze out of his 
 turnip of a heart," said Peggy, putting on her shawl and 
 bonnet, to make the thankless attempt. As she was going 
 out of the door, however, she saw the Squire hobbling 
 across the street. 
 
 " Talk of the — what's his name — May I never, but 
 here the ould reprobate comes, hoppin' gingerly over the 
 
 4 
 
74 DAN duff's wish, 
 
 stones, like a hen walkii/ on a hot griddle. May the 
 saints soften him all over, an' make his heart as tendher as 
 his toes this blessed day. I'll lave you wid him, Dan. dar- 
 lin', for I'm not over partial to his company. So I'll take 
 the babby out for a blast o' fresh air while yez are convar- 
 sin'." 
 
 Peggy's preparations for her promenade were quickly 
 made, which resulted in her leaving the place before the 
 gouty visitor had accomplished his short but painful transit 
 from house to house. 
 
 " A pretty thing Fve done for myself," groaned Bulwor- 
 thy, suflfering alike from thirst, hunger, and cold, as he 
 vainly strove, by slapping his hands against his chest, to 
 make the blood circulate warmly through his finger-ends. 
 " Ov coorse that cobblin' scoundrel will never consent to 
 come back to his starvation and poverty — he'd be a greater 
 fool even than I was if he did. Ah ! if I ever do get back 
 to a good dinner again, there shan't be a poor devil within 
 a mile of me that'll ever want one while I live. Here 
 comes the cripple ; the only chance I have is to pretend 
 that I'm in a sort of second-hand paradise here." So say- 
 ing, he commenced to sing, in a voice of exaggerated jol- 
 lity, a verse of 
 
 " The jug o' punch," 
 
 accompanying the tune by vigorous whacks of his hammer 
 upon the piece of sole-Jeather he was beating into the requi- 
 site toughness. 
 
 The united sounds of merriment and industry smote upon 
 Dan's heart like a knell. 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 75 
 
 "Listen at the happy ragamuflBn, working away like a 
 whole hive o' bees, and chirpin' like a pet canary-bird," 
 said he to himself. " Oh, it's aisy seen he won't want to 
 renew his acquaintance wid this murdherin' gout an' the 
 useless money — but, hit or miss, it won't do to let him see 
 me down in the mouth." 
 
 So, putting on a careless swagger, and forcing a tone of 
 joyousness into his voice : 
 
 "Hallo, cobbler," he cried, "there you are, bellusin' 
 away like a bagpiper. What an iligant thing it is to see 
 such poor wretches whistlin' themselves into an imitation 
 of comfort." 
 
 " How do you know but I'm crammed full of real com- 
 fort, bad luck to yer mockin' tongue ?" said Bui worthy, 
 disgusted at the other's satisfied demeanor. 
 
 " It's pleased I am to see your foggy moon of a face, 
 anyway," he went on. " Where's me shillin' ?" 
 
 " Why, you poor, miserable attenuation of humanity, 
 how dare you address yourself to me in that orthodox 
 manner ?" observed Dan, with an ambitious attempt at Bui' 
 worthy's magniloquence. 
 
 " Miserable, eh ?" replied the other, with a chirp. " Is it 
 me miserable, wid such a home as this ?" 
 
 " It's all over," thought Dan, " the ould brute's as happy 
 as a bird. Bad luck to the minute that my own pelt mado 
 a cage for him." 
 
 " Go home," Bulworthy continued, with a grin. " Home 
 to yer wretched hospital of a gazebo." 
 
 " Wretched !" retorted Dan, " you wouldn't call it 
 
76 DAN 
 
 wretched if you saw the dinner I had to-day ; enough, yor 
 sowl to glory, to satisfy half a dozen families." 
 
 " That were starvin' around you," cried Bulworthy, with 
 a severe internal spasm, induced by the mention of the 
 dinner. 
 
 " Aha ! you're beginnin' to think of that now, are you ?" 
 said Dan, tauntingly. " How do you like dinin' on spoon- 
 fuls of air, and rich men's promises to pay ? Bedad, I'm 
 thinkin I have the best of you there." 
 
 " Hould yer prate, you ould Turk, an' give me me shil- 
 lin'," roared Bulworthy, getting impatient. 
 
 " The divil a shillin' you get out o' me, that I can tell 
 you. I've got the upper hand of ye this time, an' I'll keep 
 it. It's hungry enough that you've seen me before now, 
 an' tit for tat's fair play all the world over." 
 
 "He's content and comfortable, there's no mistake about 
 that," thought Bulworthy, " and I'm booked for starvation 
 all the rest of my miserable days." 
 
 " Gout's my lot ; I can see that with half an eye," said 
 Dan to himself. " The ould blaggard will never consent to 
 get into these legs again." 
 
 " Squire !" cried the cobbler, suddenly, " do you know 
 that the hunger sometimes puts desperate thoughts into a 
 man's head ? You owe me a shillin'. I want something 
 to ate. Are you goin' to give it to me ?" 
 
 " Supposin' I didn't ?" said Dan, coolly. 
 
 " Bad luck attind me if I don't shake it out o' you, you 
 iron-hearted ould Craysus," replied the other, doggedly. 
 
 " I'd like to see you thryin' that," said Dan, flourishing 
 
AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 77 
 
 a huge blackthorn stick dangerously. " You're wake wid 
 the want, an' I'm sthrong wid vittles an' wine. It's aisy to 
 foretell whose head would be cracked first." 
 
 " Oh, murdher, Squire, jewel, it's right that you are, for 
 I am just as wake as wather itself, an' the jaws of me is 
 fairly rustin' in their sockets for the w^ant of dacent exer- 
 cise," cried the now subdued Bulworthy. " For the tindher 
 mercy of goodness, then, av you've got the laste taste ov 
 compassion in yer throat, give us a thrifle, av it was only 
 the price ov a salt herrin' or a rasher o' bakin'." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! it's there you are," thought Dan, as, rendered 
 more hopeful by this injudicious outburst, he assumed a 
 still more severe aspect. 
 
 " It's good for you to feel that way," said he, " an' it's 
 mighty little else you can ever expect while you're throub- 
 lin' the earth, you impidint cobbler. Look at me, you un- 
 grateful thief o' the world — what's all your hungry nib- 
 blin's compared wid the sharp tooth that's perpetually 
 gnawin' at my exthremities ? To be sure, the jingle of the 
 goold here in my pockets, keeps the pain undher consid- 
 herably." 
 
 " I know it, I know it," groaned Bulworthy. " Oh, av 
 there was only a market for fools, wouldn't I fetch a high 
 price?" 
 
 " Purvided that it wasn't overstocked," said Dan, with a 
 mental addition, which he wisely kept to himself, as, sup- 
 pressing the violent pain he was suftering, he burst into a 
 merry laugh at the doleful appearance of his companion 
 in distress. " Cheer up, man alive," cried he, through his 
 
78 
 
 enforced joyousness ; " take example by your neighbors, 
 and content yourself wid your condition. I'm sure it's a 
 mighty agreeable one. See how comfortable I am, an' 
 there's no knowin' what a numberless conglomeration of 
 annoyances men in my responsible station have to put up 
 wid." 
 
 " Why, then it's aisy for you to chat," replied Bulwor 
 thy, bitterly, " wid your belly full of prog, rattlin' yer 
 money in yer pockets, and greggin' a poor empty Christian 
 wid the chink ; but av you had only dined wid me to-day, 
 you wouldn't be so bumptious, I'll be bound." 
 
 " Me dine wid you, is it ? bedad, an' that's a good joke," 
 said Dan, with another explosion of laughter. " Ho, ho ! 
 my fine fella, av jokes was only nourishin', what a fine feed 
 of fun you might have, to be sure." 
 
 "Oh, then, by the king of Agypt's baker, that was 
 hanged for makin' his majesty's loaf short weight — the 
 divil's cure to him — it's starved I'd be that w^ay too, for 
 the fun's pinched right out o' me," replied the Squire, in a 
 melancholy tone. 
 
 " Why, you don't mane to be tellin' me that you're un- 
 happy in yer present lot ?" Dan asked, in the hope of com- 
 ing to the point at once. 
 
 " Where would be the use in sayin' I'm not ?" replied 
 the other, cautiously. 
 
 "Only just for the pleasure of gettin' at the thruth." 
 
 " Bedad, he'd be a wise man that could crack that egg. 
 If it comes to that,.how do you like them legs o' yours ? 
 It isn't much dancin' you do now, I'm thinkin'. 
 
AND WHAT GAME OF IT. 79 
 
 " Well, not a great dale, seein' that it's a foolish sort of 
 exercise for a man of my consequence," said Dan, shaking 
 the guineas about in his pockets with increased vigor. 
 
 " An' how do you find the Misthress's timper now, might 
 I ax ?" inquired Bulworthy, with a meaning look. 
 
 " Aisy as an ould glove, I'm obliged to you," Dan replied, 
 with wondrous placidity of countenance. 
 
 "Peg, my Peg's a real blessin' in a house ; an' as for 
 that jewel of a babby " — 
 
 "Howld yer decateful tongue, you circumventin' ould 
 tory," cried Dan, shaking his fist in the other's face, ren- 
 dered almost beside himself by the allusion to his lost 
 treasures ; " do you mind this, you chatin' disciple, av you 
 dare to brag ov havin' any property in them two people 
 I'll give your dirty sowl notice to quit the tinimint that it's 
 insultin' every second o' time you dhraw a breath." 
 
 " How can you help yerself, I'd like to know ?" demand- 
 ed Bulworthy, in an insolent tone. " Doesn't Peg belong 
 to me now, an' the child ?" 
 
 " Be the mortial o' war, av ye don't stop your tongue 
 from waggin' in that way, bad luck to me av I don't take 
 ye be the scruff o' the neck, an shake ye out o' me skin, 
 you robber," shouted Dan, still more furiously — unfortu- 
 nately losing sight of his discretion in the blindness of his 
 rage, for Bulworthy, thinking he saw a gleaming of hope, 
 determined to pursue his advantage ; so he continued : 
 
 " The devil a toe will you ever come near them again, 
 my fine fella. Possession's nine points of the law ; an' as 
 it's your own countenanv^e that I'm carryin', you can't 
 Bwear me out o' my position." More betoken, there's no 
 
80 DAN D U F F^ 6 WISH, 
 
 use in yer gettin' obsthropulous, for I've only to dhrop the 
 lapstone gingerly upon yer toes, to make you yell out like 
 a stuck pig." 
 
 At hearing these conclusive words, Dan's policy and his 
 philosophy fled together, and he poured forth the feelings 
 of his heart without concealment or restraint. 
 
 " You murdherin' ould vagabone," he cried ; " you've 
 got the upper hand of me, an' full well you know it ; the 
 divil take yer dirty money, that's weighin' down my 
 pockets ; but weighin' my heart down more nor that, av it 
 wasn't that I don't know exactly what harum I'd be doin' 
 to meself ; may I never sin av I wouldn't pelt the life out 
 o' you wid fistfulls of it; but it sarves me right, it sarves 
 me right," he went on, swaying his body to and fro, as he 
 sat on the little stool. " Oh ! wirra, wirra ! what a born 
 natheral I was to swap away my darlin' Peg, that's made 
 out of the best parts of half a dozen ^ngels, for that 
 wizen-faced daughter of ould Nick beyont ; an' the blessed 
 babby, too, that's so fresh from the skies that the smell o' 
 Heaven sticks about him yet ; to get nothin' for him but 
 a pair of legs that can't lift me over a tkranieen ; oh ! it's 
 mad that it's dhrivin' me, intirely." 
 
 " Don't take it so much to heart ; gruntin', and growlin', 
 an twistin' yerself into a thrue lover's knot, won't do any 
 good now, you know," said Bulworthy, with a quiet smile. 
 
 " I know it won't, and that's what makes me desperate," 
 replied Dan, starting up, with clenched teeth, and a danger- 
 ous glance in his eye. 
 
 " One word for all," he' continued, " are you going to 
 give me back meself?" 
 
AND WHAT cam;: OF IT. 81 
 
 " I'd be a purty fool to do that, accordin' to your own 
 story," said the other, calmly, now tolerably sure of' his 
 ground. 
 
 " Then Heaven forgive me, but here goes," cried Dan, 
 resolutely. " Peg, jewel, it's for your sake an' the child ; I 
 can't live widout yez, anyhow, an' so I may's well thravel 
 the dark road at oncet." 
 
 " What do you mane, you wild-lookin' savage ?" shouted 
 Bulworthy, as he saw the other advance threateningly 
 towards him. 
 
 " I mane to thry and squeeze the breath out ov you, or 
 get meself throttled in the attempt," said Dan, sternly ; 
 *'I know that I'm no match for you now, bad 'cess to 
 your podgey carcass that I'm obleeged to carry, whether 
 I will or no; come on, you thief o' the world, come 
 on ; it doesn't matther a sthraw which of us is sint into 
 kingdom come, only it's mighty hard for me to have 
 the since knocked out o' me by me own muscles." 
 
 So saying, he put forth all the strength he could muster, 
 and clenched Bulworthy manfully; short, but decisive 
 was the struggle, for the superior vigor of the latter, 
 enabled him to shake oflP Dan like a feather, and when 
 he rushed again to the attack, Bulworthy seized the 
 ponderous lapstone, and raising it at arm's length, let its 
 whole force descend upon Dan's unprotected head, crushing 
 him down prone and senseless as though he had been 
 stricken by a thunderbolt. 
 
 It was some time before Dan returned to full conscious- 
 ness ; but when he did, what was his intense delight to 
 
 4* 
 
82 DAN duff's W I s u , 
 
 « 
 
 find Peggy bending over him, tenderly bathing a trilling 
 wound in his head. 
 
 " Hurrah, Peg ! it is back I am to myself in airnest," 
 lie cried. '' Give us a bit of the lookin'-glass, darlin' ; oh ! 
 the butch erin' rufiian, what a crack he gev me on me 
 skull." 
 
 " Whisht, don't talk, Dan, acush," said Peggy, in a low, 
 musical voice ; " shure, its ravin' you've been, terrible ; oh 1 
 that whisky, that whisky !" 
 
 A sudden thought flashed across Dan's mind, which 
 he judiciously kept to himself; and, inasmuch, as the 
 reader may, without much exercise of ingenuity ima- 
 gine what that thought was, the narrator will be silent, 
 also. 
 
 It will be no abuse of confidence, however, to say 
 that the lesson Dan received, did him good, for he never 
 was known to rei^ine at his lot, but, redoubling his exer- 
 tions, was enabled, after a few years had elapsed, to sport 
 his top-boots on Sundays, and Peggy to exhibit her silk 
 " gound," as well as the purse-proud Squire and his gay 
 madame, over the way. 
 
THE 
 BLAKNEY STONE. 
 
 Oh, did you ne'er hear of the Blarney, 
 *Tis found near the banks of KiUarney, 
 Believe it from me, no girl's heart is free. 
 Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney. 
 
 LoTsa. 
 
 " I TELL you, Mike, agra ! it's no manner o' use, for do it 
 I caa't, an' that's the long an' the short of it." 
 
 " Listen at him, why it isn't bashful that you are, eh, 
 Ned, avic ?" 
 
 " Faix, an' I'm afeard it is." 
 
 " Gog's hleakey ! why, they'll put you in the musayum 
 along wid the marmaids an' the rattlin' sneaks ; a bashftd 
 Irishman! why, a four-leaved shamrogue 'ud be a mutton- 
 chop to that, man alive." 
 
 " So they say ; but I've cotch the complaint anyway." 
 
 " Well, tear an aigers, I never heerd the likes ; it makes 
 me mighty unhappy, for if modesty gets a footin' among 
 us it'll be the ruin of us altogether. I shouldn't wonder 
 but some of them retirin' cockneys has inoculated us with 
 the affection, as they thravelled through the country. 
 
S4 THE B L A i: N £ Y STONE. 
 
 Well, an' tell us, how d'you feel whin you're blushin' 
 Ned ?" 
 
 " Arrah ! now don't be laughin' at me, Mike ; sure we 
 can't help our wakeness — it's only before her that the 
 heart of me melts away intirely." 
 
 " Never mind, anc ; shuro it's a good man's case any- 
 way ; an' so purty Nelly has put the comether over your 
 sinsibilities ?" 
 
 " You may say that, Mike, aroon. The niver a bit of 
 sinse have I left, if it's a thing that I iver happened to have 
 any; an' now, Mike, without jokin', isn't it mighty quare 
 that I can't get the cowardly tongue to wag a word out o' 
 my head when her eye is upon me — did you iver see Nel- 
 ly's eye, Mike ?" 
 
 " Scores o' times." 
 
 " May-be that isn't an eye ?" 
 
 " May-be there isn't a pair of thim, since you come to 
 that ?" 
 
 ''The divil such wick^d-lookin' innocince iver peeped 
 out of the head of a Christian afore, to my thinkin'." 
 
 " It's nothin' but right that you should think so, Ned." 
 
 " Oh, Mike ! to me, the laugh that bames out of thim, 
 whin she's happy, is as good to a boy's feelin's as the soft- 
 est sun-ray that iver made the world smile ; but whin she's 
 sad — oh, murdher, murdher ! Mike — whin them wathery 
 dimonds flutthers about her silky eye-lashes, or hangs upon 
 her downy cheek, like jew upon a rose-lafe, who the divil 
 could endure it ? Bedad, it's as much as I can do to stand 
 up agin them merry glances ; but when her eye takes to 
 
THE BLARNEY STONE. 85 
 
 the wather, be the powers of war, it bothers the navigation 
 of my heart out an' out." 
 
 " Thrue for you, Ned." 
 
 "An' thin her mouth! Did you iver obsarve Nelly's 
 mouth, Mike ?" 
 
 " At a distance, Ned." 
 
 " Now, that's what I call a rale mouth, Mike ; it doesn't 
 look like some, only a place to ate with, but a soft-talkin', 
 sweet-lovin' mouth, wid the kisses growin in clusthers 
 about it that nobody dare have the impudence to pluck off, 
 eh! Mike?" 
 
 " Howld your tongue, Ned." 
 
 " If Nelly's heart isn't the very bed of love, why thin 
 Cupid's a jackass, that's all. An' thin her teeth ; did you 
 notice thim teeth ? why pearls is pavin'-stones to them ; 
 how they do flash about, as her beautiful round red lips 
 open to let out a voice that's just for all the world like 
 talkin' honey, every word she says slippin' into a fellow's 
 soul, whether he likes it or not. Oh ! Mike, Mike, there's 
 no use in talkin', if she isn't an angel, why she ought to be, 
 that's all." 
 
 " You're mighty far gone, Ned, an' that's a fact. It's 
 wonderful what a janius a boy has for talkin' nonsense 
 when the soft-emotions is stirrin' up his brains. Did you 
 ever spake to her ?" 
 
 " How the divil could I ? I was too busy listenin' ; an' 
 more betoken, between you an' me, the rale truth of the 
 matter is, I couldn't do it. Whether it was bewitched I 
 was, or that my sinses got dhrounded wid drinkin' in her 
 
86 THE BLARNEY STONE. 
 
 charms, makin' a sort of a mouth of my eve, I don't know, 
 but ev'ry time I attempted to say somethin', my tongue, 
 bad luck to it, staggered about as if it was corned, an' the 
 dinl a word would it say for itself bad or good," 
 
 " Well, now, only to think. Let me give you a word of 
 advice, Ned ; the next time you see her, take it aisy, put a 
 big stone upon your feelin's an' ax about the weather ; you 
 see you want to bowlt out all you have to say at once, an' 
 your throat is too little to let it through." 
 
 " Be the mortial, an' that's a good advice, Mike, if I can 
 but folly it. This love is a mighty quare affection, ain*t 
 it?" 
 
 " Thremendious. I had it oncet myself." 
 
 " How did you ketch it ?" 
 
 " I didn't ketch it at all. I took it natural." 
 
 " And did you ever get cured, Mike ? Tell us." 
 
 " Complately." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I got married." 
 
 "Oh ! let us go to work." 
 
 From the foregoing characteristic conversation between 
 Mike Riley and his friend, Ned Flynn, it would appear 
 pretty evident that the blind boy's shaft, 
 
 " Feathered with pleasure and tipped with pain," 
 
 was fast embedded in the heart of the latter, or in plaine. 
 and not less expressive phrase, he was bothered entirely 
 by Miss Nelly Malone. 
 
THE BLARNEY STONE. .87 
 
 During an interval of rest from mowing, the dialogue 
 took place ; that over, they resumed their labor ; the con- 
 valescent " married man " humming a sprightly air, which 
 kept time to the stroke of his scythe, while the poor 
 wounded deer, Ned, came in now and then with an accom- 
 paniment of strictly orthodox sighs. 
 
 It certainly was a most extensive smite on the part of 
 pretty Nell ; and a nobler heart never beat under crimson 
 and gold, than the honest, manly one which now throbbed 
 with the first ardor of a passion pure and unselfish. A 
 short time longer, and they rested again. Ned was sad 
 and silent ; and the never-forgotten respect, which makes 
 suffering sacred in the eyes of an Irish peasant, kept Mike 
 mute also ; at last, Ned, with a half downcast, whole sheep- 
 ish expression, said, the ghost of a smile creeping over his 
 features : 
 
 " Mike, do you know what ?" 
 
 "What?" said Mike. 
 
 " I've writ a song about Nelly." 
 
 *' No," rejoined his friend, with that ambiguous emphasis 
 which might as well mean yes. Adding, with dexterous 
 tact, "Is it a song? An' why the mischief shouldn't 
 you ; sure an' haveti't you as illigant a heart to fish songs 
 up out as anybody else ? Sing us it." 
 
 " I'm afeard that you'll laugh if I do, Mike." 
 
 " Is it me ?" replied Mike, so reproachfully that Ned 
 was completely softened. After the making-your-mind-up 
 minute or two, with a fine, clear voice, he sung. 
 
88 THE BLAR^sEY STONE. 
 
 THE ROSE OF TRALEE. 
 
 All ye sportin' young heroes, wid hearts light an' free. 
 Take care how you come near the town of Tralee ; 
 For the witch of all witches that iver wove speU 
 In the town of Tralee, at this moment does dwell. 
 Oh, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me, 
 For the divil all out is the Rose of Tralee. 
 
 She's as soft an' as bright as a young summer mom, 
 
 Her breath's like the breeze from the fresh blossom'd thorn, 
 
 Her cheek has the sea shell's pale delicate hue, 
 
 And her lips are like rose leaves just bathed in the dew ; 
 
 So, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me, 
 
 For she's mighty desthructive, this Rose of Tralee. 
 
 Oh I her eyes of dark blue, they so heavenly are 
 Like the night sky of summer, an' each holds a star ; 
 Were her tongue mute as silence, man's life they'd control ; 
 But eyes an' tongue both are too much for one's sovX. 
 Young men, stay at home, then, and leave her to me, 
 For I'd die with delight for the Rose of Tralee. 
 
 And nowy after this toploftical illustration of the state of 
 Ned's feelings, and inasmuch as they are about to resume 
 their labor, let us leave them to their mowing, and see 
 after Miss Nelly Malone, for love of whom poor Ned had 
 taxied of the Pierian spring. 
 
 In a neat little chamber, bearing about it the unmis- 
 takable evidence of a tidy woman's care, sits the individual 
 herself, her little fingers busily employed in knitting a very 
 small stocking — her own ; no trace of wealth is to be seen 
 in this humble abode, but of its more than equivalent, 
 comfort, it is redolent. At the open casement there peep 
 
THE BLARNEY STONE. 89 
 
 Id the blossoms of the honey-suckle and the sweet-pea, 
 filling the air with a perfume, more grateful than art could 
 ever obtain ; sundry artless prints, and here and there a 
 ballad on some heart-breaking subject, probably amongst 
 them the highwayman's autoballadography, wherein he 
 heroically observes, 
 
 *' I robbed Lord Mansfield, I do declare, 
 And Lady Somebody in Grosvenor Square," 
 
 are fastened to the walls, decorated with festoons of cut 
 paper of most dazzling variety of color ; a fine, plump, con- 
 tented lark, in an open cage, which he scorns to leave, 
 returns his mistress's caress with a wild, grateful song, 
 whilst, tutored into friendliness, a beautiful sleek puss, 
 whose furry coat glances like satin in the sun-ray, dozes 
 quietly upon the window-sill, indulging in that low purr, 
 which is the sure indication of a happy cat. It is the 
 home of innocence and beauty, fitly tenanted. 
 
 And what are pretty Nelly's thoughts, I wonder; a 
 shade of something, which may be anxiety or doubt, but 
 scarce.ly sorrow, softens the brightness of her lovely face. 
 She speaks, 'twill be no treason to listen. You will per- 
 ceive that the cat is her confidante — a discreet one it must 
 be confessed. 
 
 " It's foolishness, so it is ; isn't it puss ?" 
 
 Puss doesn't condescend to notice the remark. 
 
 " Now, Minny, isn't it, I ask you, isn't it folly, the worst 
 of folly to be thinkin' of one who doesn't think of me ? I 
 won't do it any more, that I won't. Heigh 'ho ! I wonder 
 
90 THE BLARNEY STONE. 
 
 if he loves me. I somehow fancy he does, and yet again 
 if he did, why couldn't he say so ; there's one thing certain, 
 and that is, I don't love him, that is to say, I wonH love 
 him ; a pretty thing, indeed, to give my heart to one who 
 wouldn't give me his in return. That would be a bad 
 bargain, wouldn't it, puss ?" 
 
 Pussy acquiesced, for silence, they say, is synonymous. 
 
 " But, oh !" resumed Nelly, " if I thought he did love me 
 — there, now, I've dropped a stitch — what am I thinkin' of? 
 — I mustn't give way to such foolishness. Why, the bird is 
 done singin', and Minny is looking angry at me out of her 
 big eyes — don't be jealous, puss, you shall always have 
 your saucer of milk, whatever happens, and — hark ! that's 
 his step, it is ! he's comin' ! I wonder how I look," and 
 running to her little glass, Nelly, with very pardonable 
 vanity, thought those features could not well be improved, 
 and — the most curious part of the matter — she was right. 
 
 " He's a long time coming," thought she, as, stealing a 
 glance through the white window-curtain she saw Ned 
 slowly approach the garden gate ; gladly would she have 
 flown to meet him, but maidenly modesty restrained her ; 
 now he hesitates a moment, takes a full gulp of breath, 
 and nears the house; at every approaching step, Nelly's 
 pulse beat higher ; at last she bethought herself it would 
 be more prudent to be employed ; so, hastily taking up her 
 work, which was twisted and ravelled into inextricable 
 confusion, with a seeming calm face she mechanically plied 
 her needles, her heart giving one little shiver as Ned 
 rapped a small, chicken-livered rap at the door. Nelly 
 
THE BLABNEY STONE. 91 
 
 opened it with a most disingenuous, " Ah ! Ned, is that 
 you ? who would have thought it ! Come in, do." 
 
 The thermometer of Nelly's feelings was about fever 
 heat, yet she forced the index to remain at freezing point. 
 " Take a chair, won't you ?" 
 
 And there sat those two beings, whose hearts yearned 
 for each other, looking as frigid as a pair of icicles, gazing 
 on the wall, the floor, pussy, or the lark. Ned suddenly 
 discovered something that wanted a deal of attending to in 
 the band of bis hat ; whilst Nelly, at the same time, evinced 
 an extraordinary degree of affection for the cat. To say 
 the truth, they were both very far from comfortable. Ned 
 had thoroughly made up his mind to speak this time if 
 ruin followed, and had even gone so far as to have 
 settled upon his opening speech, but Nelly's cold and indif- 
 ferent "take a chair," frightened every word out of his 
 head ; it was essentially necessary that he should try to 
 recover himself, and he seemed to think that twisting his 
 hat into every possible form and tugging at the band were 
 the only possible means by which it could be accomplished. 
 Once more all was arranged, and he had just cleared his 
 throat to begin, when the rascally cat' turned sharply 
 round and stared him straight in the face, and in all his 
 hfe he thought he never saw the countenance of a dumb 
 creature express such thorough contempt. 
 
 " It well becomes me," thought he, " to be demeanin' 
 myself before the cat," and away flew his thouo-hts ao-ain 
 
 " so* 
 
 Of course, all this was very perplexing to Nelly, who, in 
 the expectation of hearing something interesting, remained 
 
92 THE BLARNEY STONE. 
 
 patiently silent. There was another considerable pause; 
 at last, remembering his friend Mike's advice, and, more- 
 over, cheered by a most encouraging smile from the 
 rapidly-thawing Nell, Ned wound up his feelings for one 
 desperate effort, and bolted out — 
 
 " Isn't it fine to day, Miss Malone ?" 
 
 Breaking the silence so suddenly that Nelly started 
 from her chair, the lark fluttered in the cage, and puss 
 made one jump bang into the garden. 
 
 Amazed and terrified by the results of his first essay, 
 fast to the roof of his mouth Ned's tongue stuck once 
 more, and finding it of no earthly use trying to overcome 
 his embarrassment — that the more he floundered about the 
 deeper he got into the mud, he gathered himself up, made 
 one dash through the door, and was ofl" like lightning. 
 Nelly sighed as she resumed her knitting, and this time 
 she was sad in earnest. 
 
 " Well, what luck ?" said Mike, as, nearly out of breath 
 from running, Ned rejoined him in the meadow. " Have 
 you broke the ice ?" 
 
 "Bedad, I have," said Ned, " and more betoken, fell into 
 the wather through the hole." 
 
 " Why, wouldn't she listen to you ?" 
 
 ** Yes, fast enough, but I didn't give her a chance ; my 
 ould complaint came strong upon me. Ora ! what's the 
 use in havin' a tongue at all, if it won't wag the words out 
 of a fellow's head. I'm a purty speciment of an omad- 
 haun ; there she sot, Mike, lookin' out of the corners of her 
 eyes at me, as much as to say, spake out like a man, with 
 
THE BLARNEY STONE, 93 
 
 a soft smile runnin' about all over her face, and playing 
 among her beautiful dimples, like the merry moonbame 
 dancin' on the lake. Oh, murther ! Mike, what the mis- 
 chief am I to do? I can't live without her, an' I haven't 
 the heart to tell her so." 
 
 " Well, it is disgraceful," replied Mike, " to see a good- 
 lookin' man disparage his country by flinchin from a purty 
 girl ; may-be it might do you good to go an' kiss the Blar- 
 ney Stone." 
 
 " That's it," exclaimed Ned, joyously clapping his hands 
 together, and cutting an instinctive caper, " that's it. I 
 wonder I niver thought of it before ; I'll walk every stitch 
 of the way, though my legs should drop off before I got 
 half there. Do you think it 'ud do me good to kiss it ?" 
 
 " Divil a doubt of it — sure it never was known to fail 
 yet," said Mike, oracularly. 
 
 " Why, then, may I niver ate a male's vittles, if there's 
 any vartue in the stone, if I don't have it out of it." And 
 that very night, so eager was Ned to get cured of his bash- 
 fulness, off" he started for Killarney. It was a long and 
 tedious journey, but the thought of being able to speak to 
 Nelly when he returned, was suflScient to drive away 
 fatigue ; in due time he reached the far-famed castle, 
 
 " On the top of whose wall, 
 But take care you don't fall, 
 There's a stone that contains all the Blarney 1" 
 
 Mike climbed with caution, discovered the identical spot, 
 and believing implicitly that his troubles were now at an 
 
94 THE BLARNEY STONE, 
 
 end, knelt, and with a heart-whole prayer for his absent 
 Nelly, reverently kissed The Blarney Stone. 
 
 True, devoted love had lent him strength to overcome 
 the diflaculties of access, and imagination, that powerful 
 director of circumstance, did the rest. It was with humility 
 and diffidence he had approached the object of his pil- 
 grimage, but he descended from it with head erect and 
 countenance elated ; he could now tell his burning thoughts 
 in her ear ; he was a changed man ; a very pretty girl, who 
 officiated as guide, and upon whose pouting lips, report 
 says, the efficacy of the charm has been frequently put to 
 the test, met him at the archway of the castle — for no other 
 reason in the world than merely to try if he were suffi- 
 ciently imbued with the attractive principle — Xed watched 
 an opportunity, and, much more to his own astonishment 
 than to hers, gave her a hearty kiss, starting back to watch 
 the effect. She frowned not, she did not even blush. Ned 
 was delighted ; his end was obtained, 
 
 " He could kiss who he plazed with his Blarney ;" con- 
 sequently, feeling supremely happy, without losing another 
 moment, he retraced his steps homeward. 
 
 Meantime, Nelly missed her silent swain, whose absence 
 tended materially to strengthen the feeling of aflection 
 which she entertained for him ; day after day crept on, 
 yet he came not ; and each long hour of watching riveted 
 still more closely her heart's fetters. Now, for the first 
 time, she acknowledged to herself how essenldal he was to 
 her happiness, and with a fervent prayer that the coming 
 morning might bring him to her side, she closed each day. 
 
THE BLARNEY STONE. 96 
 
 Her wonder at last at his continued absence quickened 
 into anxiety, and from anxiety into alarm. Jealousy, with- 
 out which there cannot be a perfect love, spread its dark 
 shadow o'er her soul, and she was wretched. In vain she 
 reasoned with herself; the sun of her existence seemed 
 suddenly to be withdrawn, and all was gloom ; even the 
 very bird, appearing to share his mistress's mood, drooped 
 his wing and was silent ; so much are externals influenced 
 by the spirit of the hour, that her homey chamber felt 
 comfortless and solitary. Nelly loved with a woman's love, 
 devotedly, intensely, wholly ; to lose him would be to her 
 the loss of all that rendered life worth liWng for ; hers 
 was an affection deserving that which was given in lieu, 
 although as yet she knew it not. 
 
 Gazing out one day in the faint hope of seeing some- 
 thing of her beloved, her heart gave one sudden and tre- 
 mendous bound. She saw him — he had returned at last. 
 But how changed in demeanor. Can her eyes deceive 
 her ? No. Her heart tells her it is he, and it could not 
 err. 
 
 Instead of the downcast look and hesitating step, joy 
 laughed forth from his face, and his tread was easy, rollick- 
 ing, and careless ; as he came nearer, she thought she 
 heard him sing ; he did sing ! what could it portend ? 
 Had he found one who knew how to break the shell of 
 reserve ? 'Twas torture to think so, and yet it was the 
 first image that presented itself to her anxious heart. It 
 was now her turn to be tongue-tied, dumb from agitation ; 
 she could not utter a syllable, but trembling to the very 
 
96 THE BLARNEY STONE. 
 
 core, sat silently awaiting what she feared was to prove the 
 funeral knell of her departed happiness. 
 
 With a merry song upon his lips, Ned lightly bounded 
 over the little paling, and in a minute more was in her 
 presence. Speak or move she could not, nor did his first 
 salutation place her more at ease. 
 
 " Nelly," said he, " you drove me to it, but it's done ! it's 
 done !" 
 
 " What's done — what can he mean ?" thought Nelly, 
 more agitated than ever. 
 
 " It's all over now," he continued, " for I've kissed it. 
 Don't you hear me, Nelly ? I say I've kissed it." 
 
 "In heaven's name," cried the pale, trembling girl, 
 ** what do you mean — kissed who ?" 
 
 " No who at all," said Ned, laughingly, " but it^ I've 
 kissed ity 
 
 " Kissed what V^ 
 
 " Why, the Blarney Stone, to be sure," screamed out 
 Ned, flinging his hat at pussy, and executing an extremely 
 complicated double-shuffle in the delight of the moment; 
 indeed, conducting himself altogether in a manner which 
 would have jeopardized the sanity of any one but a love- 
 stricken Irishman. 
 
 " Sure it was all for you, Nelly, mavourneen, that I did 
 it ; it has loosened the strings of my tongue, and now I 
 can tell you how deeply your image is burnin' within my 
 very heart of hearts, you bright-eyed, beautiful darling !" 
 
 What more he said or did, it will be unnecessary for me 
 to relate ; suffice it to say that the world-renowned talis- 
 
THE BLAKNEY STON]-:. 9T 
 
 man lost none of its efficacy on this particular occasion. 
 One observation of pretty Nell's, I think is worthy of 
 record. At the close of a most uninteresting conversation, 
 to anybody but themselves, tho aflfectionate girl whispered 
 to him : 
 
 *' Dear Ned, you neednH have gone sofar!" 
 The course of true love sometimes does run smooth, a 
 great authority to the contrary, nevertheless, for in about 
 three weeks' time, the chapel bells rang merrily for the 
 wedding of Edward and Nelly. Aye, and what's more, 
 neither of them had ever cause to regret Ned's visit to 
 The Blarney Stone, 
 
98 THE GOSPEi. CMAKM. 
 
 THE GOSPEL CHAKM 
 
 A FINER lookmg fellow could not be met with in a day's 
 walk than Gerald Desmond, the only son of the wealthy 
 widow Desmond, her pride and sole comfort; tall and 
 strikingly handsome, he had that buoyant, reckless air and 
 continuous flow of spirits which would indicate the pos- 
 sessor of a heart, over whose welfare the gales of adversity 
 had but lightly swept. 
 
 At the period which commences my narrative, he is 
 holdinof an animated conversation with his foster-brother 
 and fast friend, Frank Carolan. Frank is also a fine, 
 manly specimen of humanity, much more humbly dressed 
 than his companion, yet still with a something of supe- 
 riority about him, which would prevent a stranger from 
 passing by without a second look. The substance of their 
 conversation may afford a key to their pursuits and feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " Don't talk to me about Biddy Magra. I tell you she's 
 not "to be compared to Judy Murphy," said Gerald. 
 
 " May-be she isn't, and then again, may-be she is," very 
 logically replied Frank, with the manner of one who did 
 
THE GOSPEL CHARM. 99 
 
 not exactly like to contradict his superior, or altogether 
 give up his own opinion. 
 
 " Did you ever see a prettier girl than Judy ?" inquired 
 Gerald. 
 
 " Hum ! It strikes me that I have, once or twice," said 
 Frank, which was very probable, seeing that he had the 
 prettiest girl in the county for a sister, a fact which Gerald 
 well knew, although, as yet, he hardly dared to acknow- 
 ledge it to himself. 
 
 " No you haven't — you couldn't, there isn't, there shan't 
 be anything to equal her within a hundred miles," con- 
 tinued Gerald, partly for the sake of argument, and partly 
 because he really did think so at the moment. " And if I 
 could only bring myself to abandon the delicious society 
 of the chai-ming sex, and concentrate the affections of 
 Gerald Desmond upon one individual, she would be the 
 enviable person." 
 
 " So you've said to every decent-lookin' colleen that 
 came near you ever since you've had a heart to feel. 
 You're as changeable as the moon." 
 
 " I was, I was ; but now I'm fixed, settled, constant as 
 the sun." 
 
 " Mighty like the sun, that has a warm beam for eveiy 
 planet, or may-be more like a parlor stove, that burns up 
 any sort of coal. You'll never be steady to one, Gerald." 
 
 " Well, we'll see. I've loved Judy three weeks without 
 stopping, and that's a good sign ; but I'm going to have a 
 game at loo, and top up with a jollification ; you must 
 come along, Frank." 
 
100 THE GOSPEL CHAKM. 
 
 " No, no, master Gerald ; it's well enough for you 
 golden-spoon folks to Avaste time, but I am one of the 
 unfortunate wooden-ladle people. I must go to work." 
 
 " Work ! Hang work," cried Gerald, who never suffered 
 an obstacle to remain which opposed his will or pleasure. 
 *'You needn't want money while I'm with you, Frank. 
 Come, only this once ; deuce take it, let us enjoy the 
 present, and let to-morrow look out for itself. I shan't ask 
 you again — only this oncey 
 
 " Well, then," said Frank, irresolutely, " I'll go, but 
 remember, 'tis only for this once." 
 
 " Only for this once." How often, without thinking 
 of its awful import, has this lie been uttered ! Let the 
 soul but for once diverge from the appointed path, how 
 difficult to return ! But when to each seductive voice 
 which beckons from the way-side, the victim cries, I shall 
 enjoy thee but for once, 'tis led so far astray, through such 
 deep windings and such adverse mazes, that when it w-ould 
 retrace its steps, the consequences of each evil deed have 
 so obscured, planted with thorns, or destroyed the road, 
 'tis the finger of infinite mercy alone which can conduct it 
 safely back. 
 
 Gerald, Desmond and his foster-brother passed that 
 night, as too many had been passed before, in drunkenness 
 and riot. 
 
 Now, although engaged in the same vicious employ- 
 ment, there was great difference in the actuating principles 
 of these two young men. Gerald, as yet unchecked by 
 reason, was at this time an uncompromising roue, plunging 
 
THE GOSPEL C ^I A *R M . 101 
 
 in eveiy degree of dissipation, with a heart resolved to 
 drain the cup of enjoyment to the very dregs, and have it 
 filled and filled again. Whereas, Frank's easy, yielding 
 disposition, acted upon by the charm of companionship 
 and the circumstances of the moment, caused him to be 
 placed in such situations, actually against his better judg- 
 ment ; association only leading him into vicious scenes, 
 which a lack of prudential resolution prevented him from 
 being able to avoid. In fact, Gerald invariably said, 
 yes! and Frank, had not sufficient self-command to say, 
 no! 
 
 The strong friendship which frequently attends the ad- 
 ventitious relationship of foster-brotherhood, brought them 
 almost always together, and as Gerald, from his position, 
 was naturally the leader, their lives were passed in a con- 
 tinual round of miscalled amusement. 
 
 However, as we often find that when very hear friends 
 quarrel, it is with a bitterness more than equal to their 
 former kindliness of feeling, so it was with Gerald and 
 Frank. They fell out, during one of their drinking encoun- 
 ters ; something trivial commenced it, but one word brought 
 on another, until the little spark swelled to a flame, and the 
 poor remains of reason, left uninjured by the liquor, were 
 scorched to fury in the fire of anger. The difference in 
 their dispositions evinced itself powerfully. Gerald, foam- 
 ing with rage, was violent and ungovernable, while Frank, 
 whose mind was infinitely superior, was cool and calm, 
 though inly suffering from suppressed choler. 
 
 " Where," exclaimed the former, dashing his hand on 
 
102 THE GOSPEL CHARM. 
 
 -^ :'•">: 
 
 the table, " where would you have been now, were it not 
 for me ?" 
 
 " AVhere ?" replied Frank, with a smile which looked 
 real ; " why, in my bed, dreaming quiet dreams ; a thing I 
 shall never do again." 
 
 " Whose fault is that ?" 
 
 " Yours," said Frank, sternly regarding him, " yours. Is 
 this my place ? Would I have been here of my own will ? 
 No — you led me step by step from content into this brutal 
 degradation." 
 
 " But you had your wits about you," fiercely retorted 
 Gerald ; " this is my thanks for condescending to make you 
 my companion ; the base blood is in you ; ingratitude is 
 the sure sign of the low-born." 
 
 Frank's cheeks flushed crimson, his teeth ground togeth- 
 er, and the blood rushed to his head with a bound ; after a 
 moment's pause, he replied, with a terrible eflfort to be 
 calm, " Gerald Desmond, I am, as you say, low-born, but 
 not base ; a son of toil, but no slave ; a poor, but still an 
 independent man ; nursed in poverty, I own that I am no 
 fit company for you. My hand would bear no comparison 
 with yours ; 'tis labor-hardened, while yours is lady-soft, 
 and yet, if our hearts were put into the scale, I mistake 
 much if the overweight would not make up the difierence." 
 
 Annoyed by the quiet coolness of his manner, Gerald 
 lost all control. 
 
 " You poor, miserable child of beggary," he cried, 
 " avoid my sight. Leave me. Dare to cross my path 
 again, and I shall strike you to my feet." 
 
THE GOSPEL OHARM. 103 
 
 At these words Frank smiled ; it was a small but most 
 expressive smile ; Gerald felt its influence in his very- 
 brain. 
 
 " I'll do it now," he screamed, foaming with rage, and 
 springing full at Frank's throat ; but he calmly disengaged 
 himself, and with one eSbrt of his tremendous strength, 
 took Gerald up in his powerful arms, and could have dashed 
 him to the ground, but contented himself with quietly 
 replacing him in the chair, exclaiming — 
 
 " Learn to forgive, Gerald Desmond, and condescend to 
 accept a lesson from your inferior. Farewell," and ere the 
 other could reply, maddened as he was by rage and morti- 
 fication, he was gone. 
 
 " The ruffian !" savagely exclaimed Gerald. " If I don't 
 wring his heart for this may I inherit everlasting torture." 
 
 How he fulfilled his oath we shall see in time. 
 
 In no very enviable mood, Frank Carolan sought his 
 humble home ; bitterly he repented ever having known 
 Desmond, and firmly he resolved to give up all acquaint- 
 ance which had grown out of this association, and depend 
 for the future upon his own honest exertions. Brave re- 
 solve, seriously and sacredly intended at the time, as all 
 good resolutions usually are. 
 
 The only being that Frank cared for in the world was 
 his sister Mary — a bright and beautiful young creature, just 
 bursting into womanhood, graceful as a wild fawn, and as 
 
IOtI: t II j: g o s p ;: l charm. 
 
 timid : unselfishly and wholly, with a most absorbing love, 
 he loved her. Upon reaching home, he found her in tears, 
 grieving for his prolonged absence, for it was early morn- 
 ing ; but the nioment he appeared, the rain-drops of sor- 
 row fled, ar 1 joy's own bright ray sparkled in her face 
 once mo' o. 
 
 "Where have you been so late, dear Frank?" she mar- 
 mured, as he kissed her dewy eyes. 
 
 " Where, I solemnly promise, my own Mary, never to go 
 again." 
 
 " You were with Gerald Desmond, were you not ?" 
 
 *' I was ! But he and I are brothers, friends, no longer." 
 
 " The sainta be praised for it," fervently cried his sister. 
 " There is something about Desmond's eyes that frightens 
 me. 'Tis good for neither of us that he should be too 
 near." 
 
 " Has he been here, Mary ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, several times, but only to inquire for you," 
 she added, hastily. 
 
 " You must avoid him, Mary, for he is a serpent ; there's 
 a fascination about that man that even I cannot resist. He 
 has destroyed me ; lured me from my contented humbleness 
 to taste of luxury ; and now, like the beast which has once 
 drunk of blood, 'twill be hard for me to avoid the seduc- 
 tive banquet. Shun him, Mary, for your brother's sake." 
 
 " Dear Frank, doubt me not," firmly replied Mary. '' If 
 you do fear my womanly weakness, I here swear, by this 
 blessed Gospel Charm my mother placed around my neck, 
 before she died, never to do the deed which shall cause her 
 
THE GOSPEL OHARM. 105 
 
 spirit to frown, or my brother's cheek to glow with 
 shame." 
 
 " My bright-eyed, beautiful Mary, I believe you. God 
 bless you, core of my heart ; 'tis for your well-doing only 
 I exist," fervently exclaimed Frank. " Go to your rest, 
 darling ; 'tis the last time it shall be broken by me ; to- 
 morrow shall find me a new man. Good night." 
 
 Mary retired, and her brother felt relieved at heart, for a 
 more solemn oath could not be imagined than that which 
 she had sworn. The Gospel Charm, which consists of a 
 text from Scripture, selected and consecrated by the priest, 
 is held to be of peculiar efficacy, and a promise made by it 
 is scarcely ever known to be broken. 
 
 No man ever went to bed with a more fixed determina- 
 tion to begin a new and better life on the morrow than 
 did Frank, and yet that very morrow saw his resolution 
 shaken, nay, altogether abandoned. During the night a 
 plan of terrible revenge had been conceived by Gerald 
 Desmond, and to carry out his design, it was necessary 
 that the breach between him and Frank should be appa- 
 rently healed up. 
 
 Frank began the day well, cultivating his little farm, inly 
 rejoicing in his emancipation from evil society, and glow- 
 ing with that proud self gratification which the exercise of 
 industrious habits ever produces. In the midst of this 
 happy feeling, who should he perceive but Gerald Des- 
 mond rapidly approaching? His first impulse was, as 
 usual, right. " I will not listen to him," he thought, retir- 
 ing in an opposite direction, when he was arrested by tlie 
 liilarious voice of Gerald calling to him: 
 
106 THE GOSPEL CHARM. 
 
 " Frank, my friend ! my brother, will you not forgive 1" 
 
 The tones reached into his inmost heart ; he paused for 
 an instant, but 'twas enough — Gerald reached him, and, 
 looking cordially in his face, held forth his hand. Frank 
 grasped it earnestly, and ere many moments had elapsed 
 their friendship was renewed, with full sinceiity by one, 
 and crafty dissimulation by the other. Alas for good in- 
 tentions, when unassisted by Heaven's pardoning grace 1 
 The vitiating practices of former days were again indulged 
 in, and all Frank's so seemingly virtuous resolutions were 
 drowned in the accursed, soul-enslaving drink. 
 
 Some few days after this reconciliation, Gerald took 
 Frank aside, and having first bound him to secrecy, thus 
 began to unfold his design. 
 
 " Frank, my boy," said he, "I am in great need of your 
 assistance ; will you give it to me ?" 
 
 "That will I, Gerald," uttered Frank, "with all my 
 heart." 
 
 " Nay, but you must promise to do so, even though 
 against your inclination ; it is a matter of the most vital 
 moment to me ?" 
 
 " If I can help you, I will." 
 
 " Say that you will, for I know you can." 
 
 " Well, then, I will, whatever it is." 
 
 " Enough. Then you must know that I have a little 
 affair of the heart." 
 
 " Another ?" 
 
 " The last, as I am a true lover ; all I want you to do is 
 to write a note for me. I am fearful that my own hand- 
 
THE GOSPEL CHABM. 107 
 
 writinof would be known, added to which, I have disabled 
 my fingers by an accident." 
 
 "Yes, but may I not know who the object is?" inquired 
 Frank. 
 
 " Come, come, you wouldn't ask that. It would be dis 
 honorable in me to tell you ; suffice it to say that she is a 
 lovely creature, young, innocent, and confiding. I have 
 everything arranged to carry her off this very night." 
 
 " You mean to marry her, of course ?" said Frank, seri- 
 ously. 
 
 " Marry ?" laughingly replied Gerald ; " come, that's a 
 devilish good joke ; do you see any symptoms of insanity 
 about me ? No, no, I mean to honor her with my society 
 for a few months, and then " — 
 
 " Then cast her off", to the scorn of an uncharitable 
 world. Gerald, friend, pause a moment, think ! I know 
 your heart is not entirely rotten." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I have thought, reasoned with myself, 
 but all to no avail ; one word for all. 'Tis necessary to my 
 happiness that I should possess, this girl. You pretend to 
 be my friend ; will you prove it by doing this small service 
 for me ?" 
 
 Good intent said no, but irresolution stepped in as usual, 
 and all was lost. 
 
 " Dictate," said Frank, sadly ; " 'tis sorely against my 
 inclination, but rather than you should doubt my friend- 
 ship, I will do it." 
 
 " Good fellow," delightedly exclaimed Gerald ; " now, 
 let me see ; we must use stratagem. Begin — 
 
108 THE GOSPEL CHAKM. 
 
 « ' Dear Maiy.' " 
 
 At the mention of that name, Frank gave an involuntary 
 shudder. He looked straight into the eyes of Gerald, but 
 they returned his gaze without a change of expression, and 
 the monstrous thought was smothered in its birth. 
 
 " Have you written ' Dear Mary V " said Gerald, calmly. 
 
 " I have ! go on." 
 
 " ' Business of a sudden and imperative nature calls me 
 away. I shall need your presence and ad\dce ; trust your- 
 self unhesitatingly to the man who delivers this ; he is my 
 dearest friend.' " 
 
 " Whom is this supposed to come from ?" inquired 
 Frank. 
 
 " Oh," said Gerald, carelessly, " from her brother." 
 
 " Her brother ! has she then a brother ? God in heaven 
 help him f Ah ! Gerald, this is frightful ; let me entreat 
 of you to abandon your intent; think of the load of 
 misery the indulgence of one evanescent, selfish gratifica- 
 tion will entail on all this poor girl's friends;" and Frank 
 knelt and took Gerald's hand in his. For an instant, all 
 the good in the heart of the latter floated to the surface, 
 but he thought of the degradation he had endured, and 
 revenore sank it down ao^ain. 
 
 o o 
 
 "Come, come," he cried, "no more sermons if you 
 please ; you have obliged me so much that I can scarcely 
 tell you, and now remain here until I return. I shall not 
 be long ; there's a bottle of Inishowen, sugar, lemons, and 
 hot water ; make yourself quite at home. Depend upon 
 it, you shall soon be amply repaid for all you have done 
 
THE GOSPEL C U A R M . 109 
 
 for me." So saying, he went out, and Frank was left 
 alone. 
 
 Half an hour, an hour, passed away, and Gerald did not 
 return. In spite of himself, sad, fearfully sad thoughts 
 brooded over Frank's spirits. In vain he resorted to the 
 stimulant so lavishly provided for him ; the more he drank, 
 the more terrible were the imaginings which crowded into 
 his very heart and brain ; at last, unable longer to endure 
 the suspense, and actuated by an impulse for which he 
 could not account, he suddenly started up to return home 
 — what was his surprise to find the door locked? He 
 rushed to the window — it was strongly secured. A vague, 
 indefinite sensation of terror crept through his frame — he 
 was a prisoner, for what purpose — great heaven ! if it 
 should be that to which his imagination sometimes pointed, 
 only to be abandoned again from its very intensity of 
 horror. He screamed aloud — echo only answered him. 
 Lost, bewildered, almost bereft of reason, now would he 
 pace rapidly to and fro ; now stand stone still. The live- 
 long night he remained in that lonely chamber, a prey to 
 every torture that could reach the soul of man — minutes 
 swelled into days, a long year of common-place existence 
 was compressed into those few hours. He prayed, cursed, 
 raved alternately, nor could the fearful quantity he drank 
 drown reasoa in forgetfulness. Slowly the dim grey of 
 morning began to break — anon, the gleesome lark flew 
 upward to greet the sun with his matin song, and yet no 
 sign of Gerald. The door was at last unlocked — Frank 
 rushed through, and with instinctive dread sought his 
 
110 THE GOSPEL CHAKM. 
 
 home. Scarcely pausing to draw breatli, in a state of 
 utter exhaustion he reached the cottage, burst open the 
 door, and flew into the room — it was empty ! 
 
 " Mary, Mary !" he cried, in choking accents, but her 
 soft voice did not reply ; looking round, his eye suddenly 
 rested on an open letter; it was his — most completely had 
 the fiend triumphed. At his own suggestion, the being to 
 whom his very soul was linked had given herself up to the 
 power of the seducer. The following words were written 
 in pencil on the outside : — 
 
 ♦ She's mine, willingly mine, thanka to thy kindly help. 
 Physician, cure thyself— now ' Learn to forgive.'* 
 
 It having been shown that Gerald's diabolical scheme, 
 60 far as the abduction went, was carried out with entire 
 success, pass we now a month. Gerald has established 
 himself in the capital, having provided Mary with an 
 elegant suite of apartments, under the same roof with him- 
 self, although not immediately adjoining. His behavior 
 to her was studiously kind, tempered with thorough 
 respect ; hoping by such means slowly and insiduously to 
 reach his aim through the medium of her own affection. 
 
 Poor Mary herself hardly dared to think ; for her tem- 
 perament was of that soft and womanly nature, which 
 rendered it impossible for her to contend energetically 
 against the assaults of the world — that most beautiful of 
 all female characteristics, which is content to look up to 
 and to reverence, yearning for some natural support and 
 
THE GOSPEL CHAKM. Ill 
 
 protection, and clinging to it when discovered with an 
 enduring tenacity, only to be found in such a woman's 
 love. 
 
 To all her inquiries concerning Frank, Gerald answered 
 evasively, but to her satisfaction ; still treating her with 
 the greatest possible show of reserve and kindness, his 
 manner imperceptibly increasing in fervor day by day — 
 letting it be inferred more by his looks than words that 
 she was dearer to him than he dared to acknowledge. 
 The consequence of this specious manoeuvering began 
 gradually to make itself evident in the state of Mary's 
 feelings. Now she involuntary hoped for his coming — 
 seriously deploring his departure ; his fiend-like intent was 
 in a fair way to be completed, when his own impetuosity 
 destroyed the vile fabric. Encouraged by her quiet, pas- 
 sive manner, he ventured prematurely to unfold his guilty 
 purpose. Who can descabe the terrible revulsion of feel- 
 ing which took place in Mary's soul when the full certainty 
 of his guilty design was made apparent ? With a mighty 
 effort she checked the burning flood of passion which 
 swelled up from her heart, and subduing herself into per- 
 fect calmness, listened to his infamous proposal. A deep 
 hectic glow on each cheek, and a slight difficulty in respi- 
 ration only evidencing her intense emotion. What more 
 he said she knew not — heard not — for while he was pour- 
 ing forth some wild rhapsody she was in deep communion 
 wi:h her soul. Construing her submissive silence advan- 
 tageously to himself, he quitted the apartment. The 
 instant he left her presence, the pent up current of her 
 
112 THE GOSPEL CHAEM. 
 
 feelings burst all bounds. She flung herself upon her 
 knees and wept a prayer of agony — the helpless, almost 
 hopeless appeal of innocence within the very grasp of vice ; 
 kissing her mother's gift, the Gospel Charm, she bathed it 
 in tears, imploring it to save her from this dreadful crisis. 
 This outpouring of her spirit calmed and soothed her, for 
 in her extremity there came a thought of safety. To think 
 was to resolve, and ere many moments had elapsed, with a 
 firm reliance on the help of a merciful Providence, Mary 
 quitted the house. It was nearly midnight — dark and 
 bitterly cold — yet she cared not for the darkness — felt not 
 the chilling blast ; unknown and friendless, she knew not 
 where to go, but wandered street after street, satisfied that 
 she was away from him who had so cruelly insulted her. 
 Hurrying on, she knew not whither, she suddenly came in 
 contact with a well-known form ; recoiling a step or two, 
 they gazed on each other for an^ instant. 'Twas thus met 
 the brother and his sister. That chance which he had hun- 
 gered for, week after week, had occurred at last ; seizing 
 her in a nervous gripe, Frank dragged her to the nearest 
 lamp. "Mary," he exclaimed, in a voice trembling from 
 suppressed passion, a wild fire flashing from his eyes, " are 
 you still worthy to be called my sister ?" 
 
 " Brother, I am," meekly replied Mary. 
 
 " You are not his cast-away ?" 
 
 " No ! by my mother's dying gift." 
 
 " To a merciful God be all the praise," fervently cried 
 Frank, as he folded her to his heart with a -thrill of 
 rapture. 
 
THE GOSPEL CHARM. 113 
 
 "My own blessed, sorely-tempted lamb ! But where is 
 he ? Come, show me where to find him. He shall not 
 escape. 'Tis no fault of his, curse him, that you are not 
 foul as sin ; lead me to the place." 
 
 "Not now, dear Frank," touchingly exclaimed Mary. 
 "Perhaps I may have feared more wrong than was 
 intended. Who is there amongst us that can say, I have 
 never harbored an evi design ? Let us be thankful that 
 the wicked hour is passed, and leave the punishment in 
 His power whose province it is to judge the hearts of 
 men." 
 
 " Do you forgive him ?" 
 
 " From my inmost soul, and more for his sake than my 
 own, rejoice that his bad design is unaccomplished." 
 
 " You love him, then ?" fiercely inquired Frank. 
 
 Mary was silent. 
 
 " The snake — the fiend — had you not been all angel, the 
 specious villain would have succeeded. Mary, I will, I 
 must see him ; if I do not give my burning thoughts an 
 utterance, they will consume my very heart." 
 
 " Let it be to-morrow, then, dear Frank." 
 
 " Be it so. Come, dear one, I have still a home for you ; 
 a pure, though lowly one. Had you been guilty, tempted 
 as you were, your brother's arms would never have closed 
 against you ; bnt now your triumphant innocence will 
 bless with happiness our frugal meal, and make your hum- 
 ble couch a bed of flowers. 
 
 Upon the morrow Frank redeemed his word. With a 
 heart thirsting for revenge he sought Gerald's apartment, 
 
114 THE GOSPEL CHARM. 
 
 but did not meet there the bold, reckless libertine that he 
 expected. Throwing himself at Frank's very feet, in wild 
 but heart-uttered tones, Gerald cried : 
 
 " I know why jou have come, but she has left me ; 
 know you anything of her ? Oh ! for heaven's sake relieve 
 my anxiety — you have not harmed her — upon me, wreak 
 all your vengeance, for I deserve it, but she is pure, pure 
 as the spotless snow. My base, black-hearted villainy has 
 recoiled upon myself. I would have destroyed her, and 
 am myself destroyed if she is lost to me. Say but that she 
 is safe, and I'll coin my very heart for her and you." 
 
 Softened, subdued by the now evident sincerity of 
 Gerald's manner, Frank assured him of her safety. 
 
 " I thank thee, merciful heaven," fervently cried Gerald, 
 " that one sin more damning than the rest is spared my 
 guilty soul. Mary, beloved Mary, 'tis thy angelic virtue 
 which has cmshed the fiend-spirit that has hitherto con- 
 trolled my sense. 'Tis she, and she only can protect and 
 guide the heart which her innocence has reclaimed." 
 
 '' What do you mean, Gerald ?" 
 
 "That if she will receive in marriage this guilty but 
 repentant wretch, it may be that the destroyer shall have 
 one victim the less. Frank, dare I to call you once more 
 brother ? Intercede for me, will you not ? The happiness 
 of my life, nay, the sole hope of my eternal soul rests now 
 with her." 
 
 Gerald's repentance having been proved sincere, it was 
 not long ere Mary yielded a heartful assent to his proposi- 
 tion, and as Frank at the holy altar delivered her over to 
 
THE GOSPEL CHARM. 115 
 
 the sweet custody of a husband, his heart whispered to 
 him that he was now tasting most exquisite revenge. The 
 sacred influence of a virtuous love haloed the after lives of 
 Gerald and Mary with content most ample, and, although 
 her state was changed from humility to comparative afflu- 
 ence, she never laid aside her mother's parting gift, but 
 regarding it as her protection in the hour of danger, still 
 cherished near her heart The Gospel Charm. 
 
116 THE TEST OF BLOOD 
 
 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 " Thou Shalt do no murder." 
 
 " You won't dance with rae, Kathleen ?" 
 
 « No, Luke, I will not." 
 
 " For what reason ?" 
 
 " I don't choose it. Besides, I'm engaged to Mark Dor 
 mot." 
 
 The above, very slight conversation in itself, was to th( 
 individuals, full of the greatest import. To explain it, il 
 will be necessary to take a Parthian glance at our subject. 
 Kathleen Dwyer was the pretty, spoiled, village pet, with 
 quite sufficient vanity to know that the preference was 
 deserved. Every young man in the place was anxious to 
 pay court to her, and sooth to say, she impartially dis- 
 pensed her smiles to all, reserving, it must be admitted, her 
 more serious thoughts for one alone. That one was Luke 
 Bryant, and as he really loved her, the flightiness of her 
 conduct, and her interminable flirtations gave him very 
 great uneasiness. Often and often would he reason with 
 her, imploring her to dismiss the crowd of purposeless 
 suitors that ever fluttered round, and select one, even though 
 that selection would doom him to misery. 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 117 
 
 " No, no !" the little madcap would say, with a bright 
 smile, " I cannot give up altogether the delight of having 
 so many male slaves in my train ; they are useful, and if 
 you don't like it you know your remedy." 
 
 " But do you think it is right ?" he would say ; " suppose 
 there may be some, even one who loves you truly, to lead 
 him on by the false light of your encouraging smile, to 
 perish at last ?" 
 
 " Pshaw !" would she answer, " men are not made of such 
 perishable stuff." 
 
 " Well, well, Kathleen, have a care ; if any one of your 
 numerous admirers feels towards you as I do, to lose you 
 would be the loss of everything.*' 
 
 As may be reasonably supposed, these conversations 
 usually ended in a little tiff, when the wild, good-hearted, 
 but giddy-headed girl would select some one from her sur- 
 rounding beaux, to play off against Luke ; generally pitch- 
 >ng upon the person most likely to touch his feelings to 
 the very quick; herself, the while, I must do her the justice 
 to say, quite as miserable if not more so, than her victim. 
 
 And now to return, let me describe the individual whom 
 she has this time chosen to inflict torture upon her lover, 
 and I think you will agree with me that he has cause for 
 more than discontent. 
 
 Mark Dermot, or, as he was most generally denominated. 
 Black Mark, was one of those persons we sometimes meet 
 with in the world, on whom prepossessing appearance and 
 great natural ability are bestowed, only to be put to . the 
 basest possible uses. Character he had none, except of the 
 
118 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 very worst kind ; his ostensible pursuit was smuggling, but 
 crimes of the darkest nature were freely whispered about 
 him, and yet, in spite of all this, his dashing dare-devil 
 nature and indomitable impudence, enabled him to show 
 himself in places where, although his evil reputation was 
 well known, he was tolerated either from supineness, or 
 more likely from the fear of his enmity. 
 
 It is not to be wondered at then, that as Luke stood by 
 and saw this ruffian carry off his soul's beloved, his very 
 heart should quake from apprehension. He was unaware 
 until this moment that she ever knew him, and his feelings, 
 as ever and anon Mark would seem to whisper something 
 in Kathleen's ear, to which she would seem to smile an 
 approval, can only be imagined by such qf my readers, if 
 any there be, who have seen another feeding upon smiles 
 which they would fain monopolize. 
 
 Jealousy of the most painful nature took possession of 
 Luke ; he had often experienced sensations of annoyance 
 before, but never to this extent. Her fame — her character 
 — were compromised ; for he knew Black Mark to be the 
 very worst description of man for a woman to come in 
 contact with at all, caring nothing for the ties of morality, 
 or for the world's opinion — reckless, bad-hearted, and more- 
 over uncomfortably handsome in the eyes of a lover. 
 
 The dance now over, Luke imagined that she would give 
 up her partner and join him; but no, the silly girl seemed 
 proud of her conquest, and to take a sort of mad delight 
 in wounding Luke's feelings to the uttermost. She ap» 
 proached the spot where Luke with folded arms was stand- 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 119 
 
 ing, and leaning familiarly upon the arm of Mark, said 
 (aughingly : 
 
 " Why don't you dance, Luke ? Come, I'll find a part- 
 ner for you." 
 
 Galled to the very quick, Luke answered with asperity — 
 " Thank you. Miss Dwyer, you have found one for your- 
 self, and" — looking at Black Mark, as a jealous lover only 
 can look — "you 11 pardon me, but I don't like the sample." 
 
 Mark regarded him with a scowl of the deepest malig- 
 nity, while Kathleen, the real feelings of her heart kept 
 down by coquetry, exclaimed with a laugh : — 
 
 " Don't mind him, Mark, he's only jealous, poor fellow. 
 Come, will you not dance again ?" 
 
 "Aye, and again, and for ever," impetuously replied 
 Mark; "Come." 
 
 And as they went to rejoin the dancers, Kathleen 
 caught the expression of Luke's features, and there 'saw 
 so much misery depicted, that she would have given worlds 
 to have recalled her words. She yearned to implore his 
 forgiveness, but her insatiable appetite for admiration 
 restrained her. "Never mind" thoug^ht she, "when the 
 dance is over, I can easily make it up with him," and 
 away she went, thinking no more about it. 
 
 At the conclusion of the dance, her better feelings all 
 predominating, she quitted Mark and rushed over to the 
 place where Luke had been standing, but he was gone ; 
 with that unfeeling speech rankling in his heart, he had 
 left. It was now her turn to be miserable ; not all the 
 soft speeches that were poured into her ear had power to 
 
120 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 console her, but her annoyance was at its height when 
 Black Mark, presuming upon the encouragement which 
 she had given him, seated himself beside her, and in ardent 
 language declared himself her passionate lover. Poor, 
 unthinking Kathleen, she had evoked a spirit which she 
 had not power to quell. 
 
 It was more than a week after, before Luke could bring 
 himself to venture near Kathleen ; but finding that each 
 succeeding day only made him still more wretched, he 
 determined to know his fate at once, and with a sorely 
 palpitating heart he neared her abode, lifted the latch, and 
 entered ; the first sight that met his eyes was Mark and 
 Kathleen, sitting near to each other, the deep blush that 
 crimsoned her to the very throat, ennced to Luke the 
 interesting nature of their conversation. She could not 
 speak, neither could he, but giving her one look which 
 sank into her very brain, he left the place ; in vain she 
 called after him, lie turned but once — a deep curse was on 
 his lips but his noble heart refused to sanction it. " Fare- 
 well, beloved Kathleen," he cried, while bitter tears flowed 
 fast as he spoke, " May the good God protect you now, for 
 you will need it." And Luke rapidly strode towards the 
 village, inly determining to go to sea on the morrow, and 
 never look upon her or his loved home again. 
 
 Meanwhile, Kathleen, apprehensive that he would do 
 something desperate, implored Mark to follow and bring 
 him back. With a contemptuous sneer, he answered, 
 " Do you think I'm a fool ? No, no ! Kathleen, you've 
 gone too far with me to retract now. The world sees and 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 121 
 
 knows our intimacy; the only barrier to our happiness 
 was your foolish lover, Luke — he has taken the sulks, and 
 gone away — our road is now clear. I love you better than 
 a hundred such milk-sops as he could, so come — say the 
 word !" 
 
 " That word," replied Kathleen, firmly, " shall never be 
 said by me.'' 
 
 " Have a care, girl !" fiercely retorted Mark, " I'm not a 
 man to be trifled with ; you have led me to believe that 
 you liked me, and you shall redeem the pledge your eyes 
 at least have given." 
 
 "Never! Mark Dermot, never!" exclaimed Kathleen, 
 rising from her seat ; but with a fierce gesture, and a 
 determined fire in his eye, Mark forced her down again, 
 saying, in a clear, but terribly earnest manner : " Kathleen, 
 from my youth up, I never allowed the slightest wish of 
 my soul to be thwarted ; think you that I shall submit to 
 be led or driven, coaxed near, or sent adrift, at the caprice 
 of any living thing ? — no ! if you can't be mine from love, 
 you shall from fear ; for," ratifying his threat by a fearful 
 oath, " no obstacle shall exist between me and my desire." 
 
 "What mean you, Mark Dennot?" cried the terrified 
 girl. 
 
 "No matter," he replied, "the choice rests with you. 
 You cannot deny that your manner warranted me in soli- 
 citing your hand. Remember, love and hate dwell very 
 near each other — the same heart contains them both. Be 
 mine, and every wish of your soul shall be anticipated — 
 refuse rae, and tremble at the consequences." 
 
 6 
 
122 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 " Heaven forgive, and help me," inly prayed Kathleen, 
 as the result of her weak conduct now made itself so 
 awfully apparent. Thinking to enlist some good feeling 
 from Mark's g^^nerosity, she frankly acknowledged to him 
 that her affections were entirely bestowed upon the absent 
 Luke. 
 
 She knew not the demon-heart in which she had trusted ; 
 instead of inclining him to mercy, her words only inflamed 
 him into tenfold rage. 
 
 " Vile woman !" he exclaimed, starting to his feet. 
 "Have you then been making a scoff and jest — a play- 
 thing and a tool of me ? Better for you had you raised a 
 fiend than tampered with me thus. How know I that you 
 do not lie, even now, woman-devil ? One w^ord for all ! — 
 by your eternal hope, who is it that you do love ?" 
 
 "On my knees — Luke Bryant," fervently said 'Kath- 
 leen." 
 
 " Then wo to ye both !" cried Mark, casting her rudely 
 from him, and, with a look of intense hate, i-ushing from 
 the cottage. 
 
 There was a perfect tempest of rage in Mark's breast, as 
 he quitted Kathleen ; plans of revenge, deadly and horri- 
 ble, suggested themselves to him, and he nursed the devilish 
 feeling within his heart until every humanizing thought 
 was swallowed up in the anticipation of a sweeping 
 revenge. On reaching the village, his first care was to find 
 Luke ; upon seeing him, he started as though a serpent 
 stood in his path. 
 
 "Keep away from me, Mark Dermot," he sternly 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. ' 123 
 
 exclaimed. " If you are come to triumph in your success, 
 be careful, for there may be danger in it." 
 
 " Luke," replied the other, in a sad tone, " we are rivals 
 no longer. Nay, listen, I bring you good news, there are 
 not many who would have done this; but what care I 
 now — the fact is, like a sensible man, I am come to pro 
 claim my own failure. Kathleen has refused me." 
 
 " She has ?" 
 
 " As true as I'm alive — rejected me for you, Luke. 
 Nay, as good as told me that she merely flirted with me 
 to fix your chains the tighter. Cunning little devil — eh, 
 Luke ? Come, you'll shake hands with me now, I 
 know." 
 
 "If I could believe you, Mark," said Luke, the joy 
 dancing in his very eyes. 
 
 "I tell you she acknowdedged to me that she never 
 could love any one but you. Now am I not a generous 
 rival, to carry his mistress's love to another ? She 
 requested me to ask you to call in this morning, if you 
 would have conclusive proof of her sincerity, and you 
 would then find that she could never use you so again. 
 But now 'tis getting late, and as I have delivered my mes- 
 sage, I shall leave you to dream of Kathleen and happiness. 
 Good night — be sure and see her in the morning ;" and 
 they parted. 
 
 Soon afterwards, Luke missed his clasp-knife with which 
 ha had been eating his supper, but, after a slight search, 
 thought no more of the matter, his verj^ soul glowing with 
 renewed delight at the thought of seeing his loved one on 
 
124 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 the morrow — that their differences should be made up, 
 and all again be sunshine. 
 
 About an hour after, as he was preparing 'to retire for 
 the night, it suddenly occurred to him that he would like 
 to take a walk towards Kathleen's cottage — perchance he 
 should see her shadow on the curtain — he might hear her 
 sweet voice — no matter, to gaze upon the home that con- 
 tained her would at least be something ; so off he started 
 in that direction, a happy feeling pervading his every sense. 
 Arrived within sight of her abode, he fancied he heard a 
 stifled groan, but his thoughts, steeped in joy, dvrelt not on 
 it. In a moment after, a distinct and fearful scream, as of 
 one in agony, bursL on the stillness of the night. It came 
 from the direction of Kathleen's cottage. Inspired with a 
 horrible fear, he ran wildly forward — another, and another 
 terrible scream followed ; there was no longer doubt — it 
 was the voice of his Kathleen. With mad desperation, he 
 reached the place just in time to see the figure of a man, 
 who, in the doubtful light, he could not recognize, rush 
 from the door and disappear in darkness. In breathless 
 horror Luke entered. Great Heaven ! what a sight met 
 his eyes. His beloved Kathleen lay on the blood-dabbled 
 floor, in the last agony of departing nature, her beating 
 heart pierced with many wounds ; she saw and evidently 
 recognized Luke, for 'mid the desperate throes of ebbing 
 life, she clutched his hand in hers, essaying, but in vain, to 
 articulate — she could but smile ; her eye glazed over — 
 her hand relaxed its grasp — and with her gentle head rest- 
 on his breast, her spirit passed away. 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 125 
 
 All this was so sudden and fearfully unexpected to Luke, 
 that he scarcely knew 'twas reality, until several of the 
 surrounding neighbors, who had been alarmed by the out- 
 cry, came hastily in. 
 
 " See !" cried one, " 'Tis as I thought ; murder has been 
 done." 
 
 "And here is the fatal instrument with which it has 
 been eflected," said another, as he picked up a gory knife 
 from the floor. It caught the eye of Luke. " That knife 
 is mine," said he, in the measured tone of one stricken 
 down by terrible calamity. 
 
 " Yours ?" they all exclaimed at once. " Then you have 
 murdered her ?" 
 
 Luke only smiled — a ghastly, soul-crushed smile, most 
 awful to look upon at such a time ; his heart was too full 
 for words. Reason, which had been dethroned by this 
 unexpected blow, had scarcely yet returned to its seat, for 
 all unconsciously he still held the lifeless form tightly 
 clasped in his arms, gazing, with a sort of stony expression, 
 upon the face of her who had been to him the world. 
 
 It was not until they approached to seize him for killing 
 her, that he seemed to be thoroughly aware of his position. 
 
 " What would you do, friends ?" said he, mournfully, as 
 they endeavored to force him away. " Would you deny 
 me the sad comfort of dying in her presence V 
 
 " Have you not murdered her, wretch ?" cried one of the 
 by-standers. 
 
 "What! — ^murder her — God in heaven forbid," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
126 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 "Is not this your knife ?" 
 
 "It is!" 
 
 " And how came it here — if not used by you — in this 
 unknown manner?" 
 
 " It was stolen from me by that arch-demon, Mark Der- 
 mot," said Luke, shuddering to the very heart, as he men- 
 tioned that name. 
 
 " That has got to be proved," cried one of the crowd, 
 who happened to be a friend of Mark's, " we can't take 
 your bare word for it. Let him be secured." 
 
 But Luke needed no securing. Listlessly he suffered 
 them to pinion his arms ; and in the same room with the 
 precious casket which once contained his heart's treasure, 
 he abided the remainder of the nio-ht, in a state of mental 
 torture utterly incapable of being rendered into words. 
 
 The morning after this awful occurrence, a coroner's 
 jury was summoned, and the identity of the knife having 
 been proved, added to his own admission, and the fact of 
 his having had a quarrel with her the day before being 
 testified to, every circumstance tended to fix the guilt upon 
 him ; a verdict was delivered accordingly, and Luke Bry- 
 ant stood charged with the murder of one for whom he 
 would willingly have shed his last drop of blood. 
 
 With a degree of effrontery consonant with his general 
 character. Black Mark made his appearance amongst the 
 spectators who attended the inquiry, and was loudest in 
 denunciation against the supposed criminal. It only re- 
 mained now for the accused, who had been removed during 
 the inquest, to be brought into the chamber of death, pre- 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 127 
 
 viously to the warrant being drawn out for his final com- 
 mittal, to be tried at the ensuing quarter sessions. He was 
 conducted into the room ; with a listless, apathetic gaze he 
 looked around him mechanically, for he cared not now 
 what fate might do to him, when suddenly his eyes rested 
 on Mark Dermot. The consciousness of everything that 
 had taken place seemed all to flash through his brain at 
 once. 
 
 " Murderer !" he cried. " Can it be that Heaven's light- 
 ning slumbers ! Friends ! — behold that fiend ; who, not 
 content with the life's blood of one victim, now comes to 
 triumph in a double murder !" 
 
 " What means the fool ?" contemptuously exclaimed 
 Mark. " Does he suppose that reasoning men will credit 
 his ravings, or help him to shift his load of crime upon 
 another's shoulders ?" 
 
 " As I am a living man — as there is a just God who 
 knows the secrets of all hearts, there stands the murderer, 
 Mark Dermot 1" solemnly replied Luke. " It is not for 
 myself I care, for Heaven knows that I would rather die 
 than bear about this load of misery ; but that he should 
 brave the angels with a shameless brow, he whose hands 
 are crimsoned with her precious blood — it is too much ! — 
 too much !" 
 
 " Then, Luke Bryant," said the coroner, " you deny hav- 
 ing committed this crime ?" 
 
 " On my knees — before the throne of mercy — I do !" 
 
 " I trust, then, that you may cause a jury of your coun- 
 trymen to believe so; but for me, I have only one duty to 
 
128 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 perform, and circumstances clearly bear me out in my 
 assumption. I must send you to trial !" 
 
 " At this juncture, one of tlie jurymen, who thought he 
 could perceive a meaning in Mark's peculiar, ill-concealed 
 glance of savage delight, begged to be heard : keeping his 
 eye steadily fixed on Mark's face, he said, with solemnity : 
 
 " When the judgment of man is in perplexity as to the 
 author of crimes like these, the aid of Heaven may well be 
 solicited, that it might be mercifully pleased to give some 
 indication by which the innocent might be prevented from 
 suflfering for the guilty. We have an old tradition here, 
 that if the accused lays his right hand upon the breast of 
 the corpse, swearing upon the Holy Gospel that he had no 
 act or part in the deed, speaking truly, no results will fol- 
 low ; but if he swears falsely, the dead itself will testify 
 against him ; for the closed wounds will re-open their 
 bloody mouths, and to the confusion of the guilty one, the 
 stream of life will flow once more for a short space ! It 
 seems to me that this is a case in which The Test of 
 Blood might be applied not vainly." 
 
 " Willingly ! — most willingly will I abide the test," ex- 
 claimed Luke. 
 
 '' And you ?" said the juror, with a penetrating glance 
 at Mark. ' *" 
 
 "I I" said the latter, with an attempt at recklessness, 
 " What is it to me ? — why should I be subject to such 
 mummery — who accuses me ?" 
 
 " I do !" thundered Luke, " and I now insist upon his 
 going through the trial — myself will point out the way." 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 129 
 
 So saying, he approached the lifeless body, and sinking on 
 his knees, laid his right hand reverently on the heart, say- 
 ing— 
 
 " My blessed angel ! if thy spirit lingers near, thou 
 knowest that this hand would rather let my life-blood 
 forth, than offer thee the shadow of an injury !" 
 
 They waited an instant — all was quiet ; meantime, 
 Mark, persuading himself that it was but a form, and yet 
 trembling to the very core, advanced. All eyes were upon 
 him ; he paused — cast a glance around, and grinding his 
 teeth savagely, cried out : 
 
 " Why do you all fix your gaze on me ? I'm not afraid 
 to do this piece of folly." He advanced another step — 
 again he hesitated ; heartless-^brutal — though he was, the 
 spell of a mighty dread was on his soul. His face grew 
 livid ; the blood started from his lips ; large round drops 
 burst from his forehead and rolled down his ashy cheeks. 
 At last, with a tremendous effort, he knelt, and attempted 
 to* stretch forth his hand — it seemed glued to his side. 
 Starting to his feet again, he cried fiercely : 
 
 " I will not do it— why should I ?" 
 
 " You cannot ! — you dare not !" solemnly ejaculated 
 Luke. " If you are guiltless, why should you fear ?" 
 
 " Fear !" screamed the other, "I fear neither man nor 
 devil — dead nor living," suddenly placing his hand upon 
 the breast of the dead ! 
 
 " See — see !" cried Luke, wildly, " the blood mounts up 
 — it overflows !" 
 
 " It's a lie !" madly exclaimed Mark. 
 6* 
 
130 THE TEST OF BLOOD. 
 
 But it was no lie ; the ruddy stream welled upward 
 through those gaping wounds, and flowed once more adown 
 her snowy breast, a murmur of awe and surprise breaking 
 from the assembled group ; whilst shivering to the very 
 heart, the terrors of discovered guilt and despair seized upon 
 Mark. 
 
 " Curse ye all !" he roared. " You would juggle my 
 life away : but you shall find I will not part with it so 
 readily." Hastily drawing a pistol, it was instantly wrest- 
 ed from him. Several of the bystanders flung themselves 
 upon him ; but the desperate resistance which he made, 
 added to the frightful internal agony which he had just 
 endured, caused him to break a blood-vessel ; and in raving 
 delirium, the hardened sinner's soul wended to its last 
 account in the presence of those whom, in his reckless vil- 
 lainy, he had expected to destroy. 
 
 Wonder succeeded wonder ; and the mystery was soon 
 discovered to be no mystery at all, but the natural instru- 
 ment in the hands of Providence to confound the guilty. 
 As relapsing into his former listlessness, Luke was intently 
 gazing on the body of his beloved, suddenly his heart gave 
 one tremendous throb. 
 
 " Hush !" he exclaimed, with anxious, trembling voice ; 
 " For Heaven's love, be silent for an instant ! I thought I 
 heard a sound like — Ha ! there it is again — a gasp — a 
 gentle sob, and scarcely audible, but distinct as thunder 
 within my soul — there's warmth about her breast — her 
 eyelids tremble. The God of Mercy be thanked ! — she 
 lives — she lives !" and Luke sunk upon his knees ; a copi- 
 
THE TEST OF BLOOD. 131 
 
 ous flood of tears, the first lie had ever shed, relieved his 
 overcharged feelings. 
 
 It was true — she did live ; from loss of blood only had 
 she fainted, and the excessive weakness had thus far pro- 
 longed the insensibility ; none of the stabs had reached a 
 vital part, and it was the first effort of nature to resume its 
 suspended functions which had caused the blood once more 
 to circulate, just at the instant which so signally estab- 
 lished the guilt of the intended murderer. 
 
 It only remains for me to say that Mark Dermot's pre- 
 vious bad character prevented much sympathy being felt 
 for a fate so well deserved. In process of time Luke's 
 devoted love was well rewarded. Kathleen recovered from 
 the effects of her wounds — gave him her hand, and profit- 
 ing by the terrible lesson which she had received, made an 
 estimable, virtuous, and affectionate wife. 
 
132 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 THE moe:n"ing dkeam. 
 
 The dream of the night, there's no reason to rue, 
 But the dream of the morning is sure to come trrje. 
 
 Old Satiso. 
 
 Pretty Peggy May; a bright-eyed, merry-hearted, IHtle 
 darling you are, Peggy ! there's no gainsaying that fact ; a 
 cunning little gipsy, and most destructive too, as many an 
 achinor heart can testify. But who can blame 'thee for 
 that ? as well might the summer's sun be blamed for warm- 
 ing the sweet flowers into life. It is a natural ordination 
 that all who see you should love you. 
 
 Pretty Peg has just completed her eighteenth year; in 
 the heedless gaiety of youth, she has hitherto gambolled 
 through the road of life, without a grief, almost without a 
 thought. Oh ! for the sunny days of childhood, ere, wed- 
 ded to experience, the soul brings forth its progeny of 
 cares. Why can we not add the knowledge of our wiser 
 years, and linger over that most blessed, least prized period 
 of our existence, when every impulse is at once obeyed, 
 and the ingenuous soul beams forth in smiles, its every 
 working indexed in the face — ere Prudence starts up like a 
 spectre, and cries out : " Beware ! there is a prying world 
 that watches every turn, and does not always make a true 
 report." Prudence ! how • I hate the cold, calculating, 
 
THE MORNING DREAM. 133 
 
 heartless phrase. Be loyal in word, be just in act, be hon- 
 est in all; but Prudence ! 'tis twin-brother to Selfishness, 
 spouse of Mistrust, and parent of Hypocrisy ! But, me- 
 thinks I hear some one say, " This is a most cavalierly way 
 of treating one of the cardinal virtues " — to which I reply, 
 " It certainly has, by some means or another, sneaked in 
 amongst the virtues, and thereby established a right to the 
 position ; but it is the companionship only which makes it 
 respectable, and it must be accompanied by all the rest to 
 neutralize its mischievous tendency." 
 
 But what has all this to do with Peggy and her dreams ? 
 Pshaw ! don't be impatient — we are coming to that If 
 you have taken the slightest interest in little Peg, prepare 
 to sympathize in her first heart-deep sorrow. She is in 
 love ! Now, if she herself were questioned about the mat- 
 ter, I'm pretty sure she would say it's no such thing ; but 
 I take upon myself to declare it to be true, and for fear 
 you should think that I make an assertion which I cannot 
 substantiate, permit me to relate the substance of a con- 
 versation which took place between Peg and her scarcely 
 less pretty, but infinitely more mischievous cousin, Bridget 
 O'Conner. They had just returned from one of those gre- 
 garious merry-meetings, where some spacious granary, just 
 emptied of its contents, gives glorious opportunity for the 
 gladsome hearts of the village, and " all the country round " 
 to meet and astonish the rats — sleek, well-fed rascals, doz- 
 ing in their holes — with uproarious fun and revelry. 
 
 A sudden, and indeed, under the circumstances, extremely 
 significant sigh from Peg, startled Bridget from the little 
 
134 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 glass where she was speculating as to how she looked, for 
 the last hour or two. I may as well say the scrutiny was 
 perfectly satisfactory — she had not danced all her curls out. 
 
 " Gracious me !" she exclaimed, " Peg, how you do 
 sigh !" 
 
 *' And no wonder," rejoined Peggy, with a slight squeeze 
 of acid, " after having danced down twenty couple twenty 
 times, I should like to know who wouldn't ?" 
 
 " Ah ! but that wasn't a tired sigh. Peg. I know the 
 difference ; one needn't dive as low as the heart for them ; 
 a tired sigh comes flying out upon a breath of joy, and 
 turns into a laugh before it leaves the lips ; you are sad, 
 Peg !" 
 
 " How you talk ; why, what on earth should make me 
 sad ?" 
 
 " That's exactly what I want to know ; now there's no 
 use in your trying to laugh, for you can't do it. Do you 
 think I don't know the difference between a laugh and that 
 nasty deceitful croak ?" . 
 
 " Bridget !" exclaimed Peg, with a look which she 
 intended should be very severe and very reproachful, " I'm 
 sleepy." 
 
 " Well, then, kiss me, and go to bed," replied Bridget. 
 " Ho ! ho !" thought she, " there's something curious about 
 V^g to-night. I think what I think, and if I think right, 
 Pm no woman if I don't find out before I sleep." Craftily 
 she changed the conversation, abused the women's dresses, 
 and criticised their complexions, especially the pretty ones. 
 At last, when she had completely lulled the commotion of 
 
THE MORNING DREAM. 13^ 
 
 Peg's thoughts into a calm, she suddenly cried out : " Oh ! 
 Peg, I forgot to tell you, that one of the boys we danced 
 with had his leg broke coining home to-night !" 
 
 Peggy, surprised into an emotion she found it impossible 
 to conceal, started up, pale as snow, and gasped out : 
 
 " Who was it— who ?" 
 
 Ha ! ha ! thought the other, the fox is somewhere about 
 — now to beat the cover. 
 
 " Did you hear me ask you who ?" said Peg, anxiously. 
 
 " I did, dear," replied Bridget, " but I'm trying to recol- 
 lect. I think," and she looked steadily into Peggy's eyes, 
 " I think it v>^as Ned Riley." Peg didn't even wink. 
 
 She doesn't care about him, and I'm not sorry for that, 
 thought Bridget, thereby making an acknowledgment 
 to herself, which the sagacious reader will no doubt inter- 
 pret truly. 
 
 " No, it wasn't Ned," she continued, " now I think of it, 
 it was — it was — a " — 
 
 " Who ? who ?" cried Peg, now sensibly agitated, " do 
 tell me, there's a dear." 
 
 Not she, not a bit of it, but lingered with feminine inge- 
 nuity, now making as though she recollected the name, and 
 then with a shake of her head, pretending to dive back 
 into memory, just as the inquisitors of old us-ed to slacken 
 the torture, to enable the recipient to enjoy another dose. 
 
 " Now I have it," said she, " no, I haven't ; I do believe 
 I've forgotten who it was, but this I know, it was the pleas- 
 antest-mannered and nicest young fellow in the whole 
 heap." 
 
136 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 " Then it must have been Mark !" exclaimed Peg, throw- 
 ing prudence overboard, and fixing her large, eloquent 
 eyes full on Bridget's mouth, as if her everlasting fate de- 
 pended upon the little monosyllable about to issue from it. 
 
 " It was Mark ! that was the name !" 
 
 Peggy gave a gasp, while Bridget went on, with a tri- 
 umphant twinkle in her wicked little eye which did not 
 show over-favorably for her humanity. 
 
 " Mark Brady /" dwelling on the name with slow, dis- 
 tinct emphasis, which made Peggy's heart jump at each 
 word as though she had received an electric shock. 
 
 She knew the tenderest part of the sentient anatomy, 
 Bridget did, and took intense delight in stabbing exactly 
 there ; not mortal stabs, that would be mercy, but just a 
 little too far for tickling. That sort of a woman was Brid- 
 get, who, if possessed of an incumbrance in husband shape, 
 would take infinite pains to discover the weakest points in 
 his temper, and industriously attack those quarters, piling 
 up petty provocations, one upon another ; none in them- 
 selves of sufficient importance to induce a sally, but mak- 
 ing altogether a breastwork of aggravation, that must at 
 last o'ertop the wall of temper. And if the unfortunate 
 besieged don't take his hat, and make a not very honorable 
 retreat, philosophy will be obliged to strike its flag, the 
 signal for a civil war, which, like all such unnatural con- 
 fficts, strikes at the root of all domestic comfort, and 
 whichever side may remain the victors, the trophy is a 
 home destroyed. 
 
 But to return to Peg, for whose benefit I have indulged 
 
THE MOENINa DREAM. 137 
 
 in the foregoing rather spiteful digression, in order that she 
 might have time to recover herself; or rather, I should 
 say, to be thoroughly c-onscious of the extent of her un- 
 happiness. Remember, 'tis her first grief, so pardon its 
 intensity. Phantoms of crutches and of wooden legs came 
 crowding on her imagination, contrasting themselves with 
 the curious agility with which poor Mark had " beat the 
 Jloor " in the merry jig, until he made it echo to every 
 note of the pipes. Then rose up vague spectres of san- 
 guinary-minded surgeons, with strange butcherly instru- 
 ments ; then she saw nothing but fragmentary Marks, 
 unattached legs, a whole room-full dancing by themselves ; 
 there they were, twisting and twirling about, in the various 
 difficult complications of the "toe and heel," "double 
 shuffle," " ladies' delight," and " cover the buckle ;" she 
 shut her eyes in horror, and was sensible of nothing but a 
 gloomy blood-red. There's no knowing to what lengths 
 her terrible fancies might have gone, had they not been 
 dispersed like wreaths of vapor by a hearty laugh from the 
 mischievous Bridget. Peggy opened her eyes in astonish- 
 ment. Was she awake ? Yes, there was her cousin en- 
 joying one of the broadest, merriest, wickedest laughs that 
 ever mantled over the face of an arch little female. 
 
 "Poor Maik!" she cried, and then burst forth again 
 into ringing laughter, which dimpled her crimson cheeks 
 like — what shall I say? — like a fine healthy-looking cork- 
 red potatoe, an Irish simile, I must say ; but had we seen 
 Bridget, and were acquainted with the features of the 
 aforesaid esculent, Pm pretty certain you would acknow- 
 ledge its aptness. 
 
138 THE MOKNING DREAM. 
 
 " What in the name of gracious are you laughing at ?'* 
 exclaimed Peggy, a gleam of hope breaking on the dark- 
 ness of her thought. 
 
 " Why, that you should take on so, when I told you 
 Mark had broken his leg," gaily replied Bridget. 
 
 "Hasn't he?" 
 
 " Not half as much as your poor little heart would have 
 been broken if he had," said the tormentor. 
 
 " Bridget ! Cousin !" said poor Peg, now enduring much 
 more pain from the sudden revulsion of feeling, "you 
 should not have done this ; you have crowded a whole 
 life-time of agony in those few moments past." 
 
 "Well, forgive me, dear Peggy. I declare I didn't 
 know that you had the affection so strong on you, or I 
 wouldn't have joked for the world. But now, confess, 
 doesn't it serve you right, for not confiding in me, your 
 natural born cousin ? Did I ever keep a secret from you ? 
 Didn't I tell you all about Pat Finch, and Johnny Magee, 
 and Jack, the hurler, eh ?" 
 
 "But not one word about Edward Riley, with whom 
 you danced so often to-night," observed Peg, with a very 
 pardonable dash of malice. 
 
 It was now Bridget's turn to change color, as she stam- 
 mered out, " I — I was going to, not that I care much about 
 him ; no, no, Mark is the flower of the flock, and I've a 
 mighty great mind to set my cap at him myself." 
 
 Peggy smiled, a very small, but a peculiar, and it might 
 have been, perfectly self-satisfied smile, as she replied: 
 *' Try, Miss Bridget, and I wish you success." 
 
 'Truth is scarce when liars are near," said Bridget. 
 
THE MORNINa DREAM. 139 
 
 " But I say, Peg, does Mark know you love him so hard ?" 
 
 " Don't be foolish ; how should he ?" 
 
 " Did you never tell him ?" 
 
 " What do you take me for ?" 
 
 " Did he never tell you V 
 
 " What do you take him for V 
 
 " For a man, and moreover a conceited one ; don't you 
 mean to let him know his good fortune ?" 
 
 " It isn't leap year, and if it was, I'd rather die than do 
 such a thing," said Peggy ! 
 
 " Come, I'll bet you a new cap, that I mean to wear at 
 your wedding, you will let him know the state of your 
 feelings, and that, before a week is over your head," pro- 
 vokingly replied Bridget. 
 
 Peggy, said nothing. Prudent Peg. 
 
 "Is it a bet?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, anything, but go to sleep, or we shan't get a 
 wink to-night." 
 
 " True for you, cousin, for it's to-morrow already ! Look 
 at the daybreak, how it has frightened our candle, until its 
 almost as pale as your cheek." 
 
 " Good night, Bridget." 
 
 " Good night, dear Peg, don't forget to remember your 
 dreams. Recollect it's morning, now, and whatever we 
 dream, is sure to come true^ 
 
 Before she slept, Bridget formed a project in her mind 
 to ensure the winning of her bet. What it was, it will be 
 time enough to find out by-and-by. 
 
140 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 Very early in the day, Mark Brady and l^ed called to 
 inquire after the health of their respective partner. It so 
 happened that Bridget received them ; and very quickly, 
 for she was one of those tyrants in love who make their 
 captives feel their chains, on some frivolous pretence or 
 another, dismissed her swain and began to develop her 
 plot with Mark. 
 
 Now, Mark, I may as well tell you now as at any other 
 time, was a very favorable specimen of a class I regret to 
 say, not over numerous in Ireland ; a well to-do farmer, 
 his rent always ready, his crops carefully gathered,, and a 
 trifle put by yearly, so that he enjoyed that most enviable 
 condition in life, " a modest competence." As to his per- 
 sonal appearance, there's scarcely any occasion to describe 
 that, for, with the exception of one individual, I don't sup 
 pose he has a feature or characteristic which would be 
 considered by any one at all uncommon or interesting. 
 SuflSce it to say, Mark was a 77ian ! A volume of eulogy 
 could not say more. 
 
 And, moreover, Mark did love pretty Peggy May ; with 
 a whole-hearted, manly, and unselfish love, he loved her. 
 I tell you this, dear reader, in order that you may not 
 waste time in speculating on the subject of Mark's thoughts, 
 as he sat silent and fidgety, a passive victim to the mis- 
 chievous Bridget, who, shrewd little puss, knew eveiy turn 
 of his mind as though imprinted on his face ; and for the 
 matter of that, so they were, in nature's own chaiacters, 
 tyi^e most readable. 
 
 Mark was apparently very busy, sketching imaginary 
 
THE MORNINQ DEEAM. 141 
 
 somethings on the floor with his blackthorn stick, and 
 seemingly unconscious of Bridget's presence, when she 
 suddenly interrupted his revery by saying : 
 
 " A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Brady !" 
 
 "Eh! what!" he replied, blushing 'till it fairly stung 
 his cheek like a million of needles. " A penny, is it, Miss I 
 faith, an' it's dear they'd be at that same." 
 
 "And what might you be thinking of, may I ask, Mr. 
 Mark ?" said Bridget, accompanying the question with one 
 of her very sweetest smiles. 
 
 " Just nothing at all, Miss," replied Mark. 
 
 "'Nothing!' then they would be 'c/mr,' and that's true 
 Mark ; but supposing, now," she continued, archly ; " I 
 only say, supposing it happened to be your sweetheart you 
 were thinking of, you might find another meaning for that 
 same little word !'' 
 
 Mark felt as though he had been detected in some fault, 
 as he replied, sketching away on the floor faster than ever, 
 "But what if I hadn't a sweetheart to think of. Miss 
 O'Conner." It was a miserable attempt at prevarication, 
 and he felt that it was. 
 
 "Why, then, I should say, as you're not blind, it's 
 mighty lucky that you don't carry such a thing as a heart 
 about you. I'd be ashamed if I were you, rising twenty 
 years old, and neither crooked nor ugly; it's disgraceful 
 to hear you say so — a pretty example to set to the boys !" 
 
 " True for you, and so it is," said Mark, " and more 
 betoken, it's a much greater shame for me to tell any lies 
 about the matter I have a sweetheart, thousfh she doesn't 
 
142 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 know it ; ay, and have had one for this nigh hand a twelve- 
 month." 
 
 " Only to think," replied Bridget, casting down her eyes, 
 and affecting to conceal some sudden emotion, " and for a 
 twelve-month nigh hand ! Oh, dear ! I don't feel well !" 
 
 Mark was puzzled, in point of fact, embarrassed. There 
 was something in Bridget's manner which he couldn't 
 understand ; he had a vague presentiment that there was a 
 mistake somewhere, but when she, pretending to be over- 
 come, flung herself into his arms, the truth burst upon him 
 at once. He was in a precious dilemma ; Bridget was in 
 love with him", and he felt downright ashamed of himself 
 for being so fascinating. What he was to do, or how to 
 extricate himself, he couldn't tell, as she, casting a fasci- 
 nating glance right at him, said, softly : 
 
 " Dear Mark, those good-looking eyes of yours told me 
 of your love, long, long before your lazy tongue." 
 
 "Love," interrupted Mark, endeavoring to put in a 
 demurrer. 
 
 " To be sure," said she, " I saw it, I knew it and well ;" 
 she continued, seeing he was about to speak. " When do 
 you mean to talk to Aunty ? You know my fifty pounds 
 are in her hands." She was an heiress, was Bridget. 
 
 " Pounds ! Aunty ! yes, to be sure," replied Mark, per- 
 fectly bewildered, " but I thought Ned Riley was " — 
 
 "Peggy's sweetheart — well, we all know that," inter- 
 rupted Bridget, inly enjoying the consternation that painted 
 Mark's cheek a livid white. "And you to be so jealous of 
 Riley," she went on, " not to dance with me last night ; I 
 
THE MORNING DREAM. 143 
 
 kne-w the reason, but the jealousy that springs from love is 
 soon forgot, so I forgot yours." 
 
 " Peggy ! his sweetheart ? Eiley's ?" 
 
 "To be sure, don't you know they are going to be 
 married ?" 
 
 " No !" vacantly replied the sorely bewildered Mark. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! and now I want to tell you a pet plan of 
 mine, if you don't think me too bold, Mark, and that is, 
 how nice and cozy it would be, if we could only all be 
 married on the same day." 
 
 This was too much for Mark ; he couldn't endure it any 
 longer; he started up, pushed his hat very far on his 
 head, saying, in what he intended to be a most severe tone ; 
 
 "Miss O'Conner, I don't know what could have put such 
 an idea into your head. Marry, indeed ! I've enough to 
 do to take care of myself. No, I'm sorry to wound your 
 feelings, but I shall never marry 1" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, you will," said Bridget, placing her arm in 
 his, which he disengaged, saying bitterly : 
 
 "Never! never!" 
 
 "Nonsense, I'll bet you will, and, if it was only to 
 humor me, Mark, on the very same day that Peggy is !" 
 
 " Bridget, I didn't think I could hate a woman as I'm 
 beginning to hate you." 
 
 " Better before marriage than after, Mr. Mark. Come, 
 I'll bet you a new Sunday coat, against a calico gown, and 
 that's long odds in your favor, that what I've said will 
 come true." 
 
 " Nonsense !" 
 
144 THE MOKNING DJBEAM. 
 
 "Is it a bet?" 
 
 " Pooh ! I'll bet my life, against " — 
 
 "What it's worth, Mr. Mark — -just nothing at all.'* 
 
 " True for you, now, Bridget ; true for you," and Mark 
 suddenly quitted the house in such real sorrow that it 
 touched for a moment even Bridget's heart ; but only for a 
 moment. Pshaw ! thought she, let him fret ; it will do him 
 good, and make the joy greater when he comes to know 
 the truth. A hunt would be nothing without hedges 
 and ditches. Proceeding to the window, she uttered an 
 exclamation of surprise. 
 
 "Ha! as I live, here comes Peg herself. She must 
 meet Mark ; what fun ! He sees her and stops short ; 
 what a quandary he's in. She sees him ! How the little 
 fool blushes; now they meet. Mark doesn't take her 
 hand. I wonder what he's saying. 'It's a fine day,' I 
 •suppose, or something equally interesting; he passes on, 
 and Peg looks as scared as if she had seen a ghost." 
 
 A sudden thought at this moment seemed to strike 
 Bridget ; she clapped her hands together and laughed a 
 little, sharp laugh, saying, " I'll do it, I will ; I'll iiave a 
 bit of fun with Peg, too," so she pretended to be very busy 
 at her spinning-wheel as Peggy entered, and hanging 
 up her, cloak and bonnet, sat down without saying a 
 word. 
 
 " Ah ! Peg," Bridget began, " is that you ? Mark has 
 just been here." 
 
 " Indeed ?" replied Peggy, twisting up one pretty curl 
 so tightly as to hurt her head. 
 
THE MORNING DREAM. 145 
 
 "The blessed truth," continued the wicked little tor- 
 mentor. " Did you meet him ?" 
 
 A very despondmg " yes," was the response 
 
 " Well," demanded Bridget, anxiously, " did he say any- 
 thing — I mean, anything particular P 
 
 " He only said the weather was pleasant, and then 
 passed on, without ever even shaking hands with me," 
 sadly replied Peggy. 
 
 " Mark needn't have done that ; whatever happens, he 
 ought to be civil to yow," said Bridget, with a peculiar 
 expression that made Peggy's heart flutter within her like 
 a pigeon. 
 
 " Civil to me ! what do you mean, Bridget V 
 
 Bridget hummed an air, and, as if suddenly wishing to 
 change the conversation, said, gaily : 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot, we were to tell each other's dreams this 
 morning. Peg, you begin, what did you dream about ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Bridget, I didn't sleep." 
 
 " Then you couldn't have dreamed," sagely responded 
 the other, " but I did." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I dreamed that I had a beautiful new gown given to 
 me, and by whom do you think ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; Ned Riley, may-be." 
 
 " Ned Riley, indeed," replied Bridget with a sneer ; " not 
 a bit of it. By a finer man than ever stood in his Bboes. 
 Who but Mark Brady?" 
 
 Peg's heart sank within her. 
 
 " That wasn't all I dreamed," and she fixed her wild 
 7 
 
146 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 eyes full on Peg, in a way that made hers fall instantly 
 " 1 dreamed that I was married to him." 
 
 " To Mark ?" whispered Peggy. 
 
 ''To Mark r 
 
 Peggy diln't utter another syllable; didn't even look 
 up, hut pat motionless and pale, very pale. Bridget couldn't 
 understand her seeming apathy ; a more acute observer 
 would have but contrasted it with the intense emotion 
 which she felt within — an emotion not a whit lessened as 
 Bridget continued, with marked expression : 
 
 " I dreamed all that this blessed morning, and morning 
 dreams, you know, always come trueV 
 
 " Peggy, still silent, seemed to be wholly occupied in 
 demolishing, piece by piece, the remnant of a faded flower 
 which she had taken from her bosom, lingering over its 
 destruction as though a portion of her heart went with 
 each fragment — when Bridget suddenly started up, ex- 
 claiming, " Here comes Mark, I declare." 
 
 A painful spasm shot through Peggy's frame, yet she did 
 not stir from her seat ; the only evidence that she heard 
 Bridget's exclamation was that her lips grew as pallid as 
 her cheek. 
 
 " But, law, what am I thinking about ? I must go and 
 tidy my hair.** 
 
 And away flew Bridget up to her. room, from whence 
 she crept stealthily down, and snugly ensconced herself 
 behind the door. Naughty girl ! to listen to what trans- 
 pired. 
 
 Mark, who, since his conversation wdth Bridget, had seri- 
 
THE MORNING DREAM. 147 
 
 ously contemplated suicide, but was puzzled about the best 
 mode of making away with himself, had come to the con- 
 clusion that to enter the army as a common soldier would 
 be the least criminal, although certainly the most lingering 
 process, and it was to lacerate his feelings by a parting in- 
 terview with his dearly-loved Peg, before he consummated 
 the act of enlistment, that he now came. 
 
 Arrived at the door, he hesitated a moment, then giving 
 one big gulp, he lifted the latch and entered. There he 
 saw Peggy herself, looking straight into the fire, never once 
 turning aside or raising her eyes, proof positive to Mark, if 
 he wanted it, that she cared nothing for him. He sat down, 
 and for several minutes there was a dead silence. Mark 
 had fully intended to say something frightfully cutting to 
 his sweetheart, but as he gazed upon her white, sad face, 
 his resentment vanished, and he felt more inclined to im- 
 plore than to condemn. He wanted to speak, but what to 
 sav he had not the remotest idea. At last Peg broke the 
 silence, by murmuring softly, as though it were but a 
 thought, to which she had given involuntary expression — 
 
 "•May you be happy, Mark ! May you be happy 1" 
 
 " Happy !" echoed Mark, with a sharp emphasis, that 
 thrilled painfully through Peggy, " Faith, it's well for yovb 
 to be wishing me happiness." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed I do, Mark — I mean Mr. Brady," meekly 
 replied the poor girl. 
 
 " Oh, that's right !" said Mark, bitteriy. " Mr. Brady ! 
 It used to be Mark." 
 
 " But never can again." 
 
148 THE MORNING DEEAM. 
 
 " YouVe right ! never !" 
 
 " ]N ever !" and poor Peggy sighed deeply. 
 
 After another embarrassing pause, broken only by a sort 
 of smothered sound, which might have been the wind, but 
 wasn't, Mark started up, exclaiming : 
 
 " I see my company is displeasing to you, but I shan't 
 trouble you long. That will be done to-morrow which will 
 separate us for ever." 
 
 " To-morrow ! so soon ?" replied Peggy, with a stifled sob. 
 
 " Yes ! the sooner the better. What is it noio to you V 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing ! But I thought — that is — I'm 
 very, very foolish." 
 
 Poor Pegg}^'s heart overflowed its bounds ; burying her 
 face in her hands, she burst into tears. 
 
 Mark didn't know what to make of it. She must have 
 liked me a little, thought he, or why this grief ? Well, it's 
 all my own fault. Why didn'i I tell her of my love, like 
 a man ? and not sneak about, afraid of the sound of my 
 own voice. I've lost her, lost the only thing that made 
 life to me worth enduring, and the sooner I relieve her of 
 my presence the better." 
 
 " Miss May ! Peggy !" he said, with an eflbrt at calmness, 
 " this is the last time we may meet on earth ; won't you 
 give me your hand at parting ?" 
 
 Peggy stretched out both hands, exclaiming through her 
 tears — " Mark ! Mark ! this is, indeed, cruel !" 
 
 " It is, I know it is !" said Mark, brushing away an ob- 
 trusive tear. " So, God bless you, and good angels watch 
 over you * and if you ever cared for me " — 
 
THE MOilNING DREAM. 149 
 
 " K I ever cared for you ! oh, Mark !" 
 
 " Why ! did you ?" inquired Mark. 
 
 " You were my only thought, my life, my happiness I" 
 There was the same cuwous sound from the chamber door, 
 but the innocent wind had again to bear the blame. Peg- 
 gy continued — " Mark, would that you had the same feel- 
 ing for me 1" 
 
 " I had ! I had P frantically he replied. " And more, 
 oh ! much more than I have words to speak. Why didn't 
 we know this sooner ?" 
 
 " Ah ! why, indeed ?" sadly replied Peggy, " but it is too 
 late." 
 
 " Too later replied Mark, " too late r 
 
 " Not a bit of it !" exclaimed Bridget, bursting into the 
 room, streaming with tears of suppressed laughter, " Don't 
 look so frightened, good people ; I'm not a ghost. Who 
 lost a new cap ? eh. Peg. And more, betoken, who is 
 likely to lose a new gown ? I'll have my bets, if I die for 
 it. So, you've spoke out at last, have you? You're a 
 pretty pair of lovers. You'd have gone on everlastingly, 
 sighing and fretting yourselves, until there wouldn't have 
 been enough between you to make a decent Hddlestring, 
 if I hadn't interfered." 
 
 " You ?" cried Peggy and Mark, simultaneously. 
 
 " Y es, indeed, it made me perfectly crazy to see the two 
 of you groaning and fussing, without the courage to say 
 what your hearts dictated. There, go and kiss each other, 
 you pair of noodles." 
 
 It is hardlv necessary to say that Bridget's explanation 
 
150 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 brouglit about a pleasant understandiug between all parties, 
 and it will be only needful to add that a few weeks after- 
 wards there was a double wedding at the little parish chapel. 
 One of the brides wore a bran new calico gown of such 
 wonderful variety of color, and moreover a new cap of so 
 elaborate a style of decoration, that she was the admiration 
 and, of necessity, the envy of the entire female population. 
 Bridget had won both her wagers, thereby establishing, 
 just as infallibly as all such matters can be established, the 
 truth of the old saying : 
 
 The dream of the morning is sure to come true. 
 
THE FOBTUNE-TEXLER. 151 
 
 THE FOKTUNE-TELLER. 
 
 " Show his eyes, and grieve his heart, 
 Come like shadows so depart." Shaespbaas, 
 
 The insatiable desire to penetrate the dark veil of 
 futurity, which pervades all classes, from the highest to the 
 lowest, renders the occupation of the Fortune-Teller one 
 of considerable profit. In no part of the world are there 
 so many professors of the art^ as in Ireland. The most 
 insignificant village has its cunning person, of one sex or 
 the other, whose province generally is to cure bewitched 
 cattle, be well acquainted with all the scandalous gossip of 
 the vicinity, and give advice and assistance in all delicate 
 and diflScult affairs of the heart ; added to which, in some 
 instances, a " triflle of smugglin\^^ and in all, the vending 
 of interdicted drink : Potieen^ that had never seen the ill- 
 looking face of a ganger ; a kind of liquid fire you might 
 weaken with aquafortis, that would scrape the throat of an 
 unaccustomed drinker as if he had swallowed a coarse file, 
 but which our seasoned tipplers '•'■toss q/f," glass after glass, 
 without a grin, their indurated palates receiving it like so 
 much water. 
 • The class of individuals who take up, or are instructed 
 
152 THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 
 
 in the mysteries of Fortune-telling, combine rather antago- 
 nistic elements. They are generally the shrewdest, cun- 
 ningest, cleverest, laziest people you can find. Studying, 
 and understanding to a charm, the most assailable points 
 of human nature, they obtain from their applicants, by 
 circuitous questioning, the precise nature of their expecta- 
 tions-; then dexterously ^'■crossing the scent^'' with an 
 entirely difierent subject, astonish them at last by expound- 
 ing their very thoughts. Nor are the old-established 
 mysteries, the appliances and incantations omitted, although 
 they necessarily must be of a simple and curious nature ; 
 the great oracle, the cards, is brought into requisition on 
 all occasions, varied by a mystic examination of tea- 
 grounds, melted lead, and indeed, sometimes in imitation 
 of the ancient soothsayer, facilis descensus, by the sacrifice 
 of some poor old cat. 
 
 Bridget Fallow, or Biddy na Dhioul, as she was most 
 commonly designated, was an extraordinary specimen of 
 the genus. Many a heartr-breaking was averted through 
 her agency, and numberless the strange doings ascribed to 
 her powers of witchcraft. The love-stricken '■'■ from all 
 parts of the country round^'' a comprehensive Irish phrase, 
 signifying a circuit of some twelve or fourteen miles, con- 
 sulted ould Biddy, daily. Immense was her mystic repu- 
 tation, and very many the '■''fjypenny bits" the smallest 
 piece of com that could be obtained to " cross her hajid,^^ 
 did she sweep into her greasy pocket, from the credulous 
 of either sex. 
 
 It would be difificult to describe accurately the temple 
 
THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 153 
 
 of this particular dispenser of fortune. Bent nearly double, 
 partly fDom age, and partly to give greater effect to her 
 divinations (for the older a witch appears, the more credit 
 is given to her skill), she sat, or rather crouched in a small, 
 dimly-lighted room, surrounded by some dozen cats, of 
 all ages and complexions, from playful kittendom to grave 
 and reverend cat-hood; black, white, pie-ball'd, skew- 
 ball'd, foxy, tortoise-shell, and tab. Now, those companions 
 of Biddy's were held in especial horror by her visitors, who 
 firmly believed them to be familiar demons, attendant on 
 her will. But never were animals so libelled, for they 
 were in truth, as frolicsome and mundane specimens of the 
 feline, as ever ran after a ball of worsted. Biddy was fond 
 of her cats, and though naturalists doubt the sincerity of 
 cat-love, they certainly appeared to be greatly attached to 
 her; night and day did those three generations of puss 
 gambol about her ; perhaps, indicating their preference for 
 still life, they looked upon Biddy, as, in rigid mobility, she 
 sat motionless and silent, inly enjoying their pranks, as 
 merely a portion of the furniture, and so had as much 
 right to jump on her shoulder, and hunt each other's tail, 
 over and about her as upon anything else in the room. 
 Certain it is they did not respect her a whit more than an 
 old table, and Biddy, delighted with such familiarity, put 
 no restraint on their impertinence. A dingy curtain, 
 reaching half-way across the room, concealed a large, 
 rudely-finished mirror-frame, which Biddy found extremely 
 useful on several occasions. There were none of the awe- 
 compelling accessories of the magic art, no alligator 
 
 1* 
 
154: THE F O li T U :X E - T E L L E E . 
 
 stuffed, no hissing cauldron, no expensive globes ; nothing, 
 save an old black-letter folio, Biddy's universal book of 
 reference, and a terribly dirty pack of cards, the marks 
 nearly effaced from constant use, being the second, which, 
 in a long life of fortune-telling, she had ever consulted. 
 Adapting her mode of operations to the wish of her appli- 
 cant, Biddy had variojis ways of penetrating the clouds of 
 futurity, enumerating them to the curious visitor as fol- 
 lows: "Wirra, thin, it's welcome that yez are to ould 
 Biddy na Dhioul ; may you niver know sickness, sorrow, 
 poverty, or disthress. It's myself that can tell yer fortune, 
 whativer it is. I can tell it be the stars, or the cards, be 
 the tay-grounds, coffee-grounds, meltid lead, or baccy- 
 ashes ; be signs, an' moles, an' dhrames ; be the witch's 
 glass, or be yer own good-lookin' hand." 
 
 The great secret of Biddy's success was, that all her 
 auguries presaged some amount of good, and it was 
 observed that the larger the piece of silver with which her 
 hand was crossed, the more extensive was the fortune pre- 
 dicted. A ^'' fippenny-bit^^^ might produce a ^^ smart boy 
 for a husband^'' but ''''half a crown'''' would insure a '•'• jaunt- 
 ing car^'' or, hint obliquely at " the young masther^'' give 
 mysterious foreshadowings of " silken gounds^'' and an 
 '" ilig ant family of childherT A cute old soul was Biddy, 
 and extensive the knowledge experience had given her of 
 the pregnable points of general character. AMiy should 
 we not give her a call ? 
 
 I'll just tell you a fev\' secrets, known only to two or 
 three indinduals besides myself and as some of them will 
 
THE FORTUNE-TELLEE. 155 
 
 be very likely to need Biddy's assistance, we shall uncere- 
 moniously accompany them on their visit. 
 
 It is Sunday ; mass is just over ; the sober gravity of 
 the morning (for no people are more earnest in the per- 
 formance of their religious duties during the time so allotted, 
 than are the Irish peasantry), is beginning to change to 
 a general aspect of enjoyment. The girls in their neat, 
 clean dresses, are tripping along homeward ; and many a 
 bonnet and shawl, or calico dress, is descanted upon, 
 praised or censured according to the opinion of the 
 speaker, for the universal duty of the feminine chapel or 
 church-goer, is to criticise at intervals the dresses of her 
 neighbors. 
 
 " Athin, Mary," says one, " did you ever see such a pat- 
 tern of a gound as Miss Machree had on her back this 
 blessed day ; if it hadn't as many colors in it as would 
 make nigh hand half a dozen rainbows, I hope I may turn 
 into a nagur. I declare to my goodness, I wouldn't give 
 my ould washed-out gound for two of the likes of it." 
 
 Wouldn't she ? 
 
 " True for you, Nell," replies another, " an' did you 
 remark purty Norah, as the boys call her ? Purty, indeed ! 
 it wouldn't take bhnd Barty, the piper, a month of Sun 
 days to see all the purty there is about her. / wouldn't 
 be seen with such a nose on my face ; an' she comin' over 
 us wid the pride of a sthraw bonnet, this beautiful sum- 
 mer's day ; the hood of an ould grey -cloak was good 
 enough for the mother before her, to wear. It isn't dis- 
 gracin' my mother's memory I'd be, by puttin' sthraw bon- 
 nets on my head." 
 
166 tup: f o ii t u :^ e - t e l l £ b . 
 
 " Well, it is a shame ; do you know what I've heerd ?** 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "AVhv, neither more nor less than that purty Miss 
 Norah is setting her sthraw bonnet at Pat Kinchela." 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " It's the heaven's truth ; didn't I see her to day, lookin* 
 at him dhreadful ? / wouldn't look at a man the way she 
 did, no, not if he was made of goold." 
 
 " Whist ! Nelly ; look yondher ! if there isn't Pat, see 
 and that consated minx walkin' arm-in-arm; bless your 
 sowl, there's quality manners for ye. I wonder, for my 
 part, the road doesn't open and swally such impidence 
 right up ; now just obsarve them, sthruttin' along as if 
 everybody else was the dirt undher their feet. Well, if 
 that' isn't owdaciousness, I wish somebody would tell me 
 what is." 
 
 But, inasmuch as our story has more to do with Pat 
 and Norah than with those chattering specimens of a 
 rather numerous class, we'll attend to them^ and let the 
 others go about their business — of detraction. 
 
 Pat has just hazarded an important question, as would 
 appear from the sudden and more brilliant flush that 
 spread ov^r pretty Norah's cheek, than from any signifi- 
 cancy in her reply, which was simply : 
 
 " You're mighty impident to-day, Mr. Kinchela." 
 
 " Athin, Norieen, jewel," answered Pat, " if it comes to 
 the rights of the thing, how the divil can I help it ? Sure 
 an' haven't you kept me danglin' afther you for nigh hand 
 a twel'month, an' it's neither yis nor no, that I can squeeze 
 out of your purty little mouth." 
 
THE FORTUNE-TELLEB. X57 
 
 " All, indeed !" said Norah, with tlie shadow of a pout 
 that might have been simulated, " then I suppose you'd be 
 satisfied whichever it was." 
 
 "Faix, yis would be satisfactory enough," replied Pat, 
 who did his wooing in rather a careless manner, philosophi- 
 cally. 
 
 " And if it happened to be no ?" 
 
 " Why, thin, I suppose I'd have to put up wid that for 
 the want of a betther." 
 
 " An' try your luck somewhere else, may-be ?** continued 
 Norah, with a dash of lemon. 
 
 " An' why not ?" answered Pat, with apparent careless- 
 ness. " If you couldn't ketch a throut in one place, you 
 wouldn't come back wid an empty basket, would you ? 
 imless, may-be, you had no particular appetite for fish." 
 
 " Then, sir, you have my permission to bait your hook 
 as soon as you like, for I have no idea of nibblin'," said 
 Norah, letting go Pat's arm, and walking very fast— not so 
 fast, though, but that our cavalier friend could keep up 
 with her, flinging in occasional morsels of aggravation. 
 
 " Now, don't be foolish, Norah ; you're only tellin' on 
 yourself. The boys will see that we've had a tiflf, and the 
 girls will be sure to say you're jealous.^^ 
 
 " Jealous, indeed ! I must love you first, Mr. Impidence." 
 
 " So you do." 
 
 " I ain't such a fool, sir^ ' 
 
 " Yes, you are, ma'am ; an* what's more nor that, you 
 can't help it, ma'am.^^ 
 
 "Can't I?" 
 
168 THE FOETUXE-TELLEK. 
 
 "Not a bit of it You've caught the sickness, an* it*8 
 the goolden ring that'll cure you, an' nothin' besides." 
 
 " It isn't you that'll be docthor, anyway." 
 
 " The divil a one else." 
 
 " High hangin' to all liars." 
 
 " I'd say that, too, only I wouldn't like to lose you, No- 
 rah, afther all. Come now, darlin'," he went on, varying 
 his tactics, " don't let us quarrel on this blessed day ; let 
 us make it up acush ; take a howld of my arm, this right 
 arm, that would work itself up to the elbow to do you any 
 sarvice, or smash into small pitatys the blaggard that oS'ered 
 you the ghost of an offiuce." 
 
 This blarney-flavored speech had some effect upon Norah, 
 yet she concealed it like — a woman, sinking it down into 
 her heart, and calling up a vast amount of anger to over- 
 whelm it. Is it at all astonishing that the latter flew away 
 in words, while the former nestled there for ever ? Poor, 
 foolish little Norah, her real feeling concealed by the cloud 
 of temper she had raised, thought at that moment there 
 was not a more unlovable being in existence than Pat, and 
 what's more, she said so. 
 
 " Mr. Kinchela," said she, in her iciest manner, '' I'm 
 obleeged to you for your company, such as it is, but here 
 is Cousin Pether, an' you needn't throuble yerself, or be 
 wearin out shoe-leather any more comin' afther me." 
 
 " Norah 1" said Pat, suddenly stricken into gravity, " are 
 you in airnest ?" 
 
 " I wish you the best of good mornin's, sir ;" and taking 
 Cousin Peter's arm, with a provoking smile on her lip, and 
 
THE F li T U N K - T E L L E K . 159 
 
 triumph in her eye, oflf went Norah, leavnng Pat gazing 
 after her, looking rather the reverse of wise — once only 
 did she turn as she passed the corner of the street, but that 
 simple circumstance rekindled hope within Pat's soul. 
 
 As he was thus standing, utterly unconscious of the ob- 
 servation he attracted, he was suddenly accosted by his best 
 friend, Jim Dermot. 
 
 " Why, tear an' nounthers," said Jim, " is it ketchin' 
 flies, or fairy -sthruck, or dead all out you are, Pat, avic ? 
 why, you look the picther of misfortune, hung in a black 
 frame." 
 
 " Hollo, Jim, is that you ?" cried Pat, w^aking out of his 
 reverie, " wasn't that too bad intirely ?" 
 
 " So it was — what was it ?" replied Jim. 
 
 " Why, to lave me stuck here like a post, and to go oflf 
 wid that omadhaun Pether." 
 
 " Well, it was quare, sure enough," replied Jim, without 
 the slightest idea what Pat was driving at, yet hoping to 
 arrive at it better from an apparent knowledge than by 
 downright questioning. " To run off," he continued, " an' 
 wid Pether, of all fellows in the world ;" adding to himself, 
 " I wondher who the divil Pether is, and where he's run 
 to ?" 
 
 " I didn't think she could sarve me so," said Pat. 
 
 " Oh ! it's a she that's in it, is it ?" thought Jim, saying, 
 with a sage shake of the head, " I nivir would have b'lieved 
 it of her myself; but wimin is conihrary divils, an' that's 
 the truth. When did she go, Pat ?" 
 
 " Why, now, this very minute." 
 
160 THE fORTUNE-TELLER. 
 
 " You don't say ? wpll, an' what do you mane to do ?" 
 
 " Do ? why, nothing ; what would you do ?'' 
 
 " Well, I believe I'd do that same., Pat, an' nothin' elsfr." 
 
 " It isn't very likely that I'll let her know how much her 
 conduct has hurt me." 
 
 " It might make her consated." 
 
 "She's a shameless jilt." 
 
 " That she is, as sure as her name is what it is," 
 
 said Jim, hoping Pat would fill up the pause. 
 
 " What would you advise me to do, Jim ?" inquired Pat. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," replied the other, " it's a mighty 
 delicate point to give a man advice upon ; but if you'd be 
 ruled by me you'd go au' ax ould Biddy na Dhioul." 
 
 " By gorra, but you're right there," said Pat, " I won- 
 dher I didn't think of that afore." 
 
 " It isn't too late." 
 
 " True for you ; an' it's there I'll go this blessed minute. 
 I'd rather know my fate at oust, than be kep' like a mouse 
 in a thrap, wondhering whether the cat'll play wid me, or 
 ate me in the mornin'." 
 
 " So, it is thrapped you are, Pat, is it ? arrah, how did 
 you manage that ?" 
 
 "Faix, an' I walked into it wid my eyes open, like any 
 other omadhoun of a mouse." 
 
 " Bedad, it takes a sinsible mouse to walk away from the 
 smell of cheese, anyway, Pat." 
 
 "That's a fact, Jim, but I must be off to ould Biddy's : 
 I'll get my mind aised one way or the other, wid a blessin' 
 afore I sleep." 
 
THE FOKTUNE-TELLEB. 161 
 
 " Good luck attend you," said Jim, sorely mortified that 
 with all his cunning, he couldn't get at the rights of the 
 matter. 
 
 Pat made the best of his way to Biddy's cabin, truly in 
 a miserable state of mind : this, the first obstacle to his 
 love, had so increased its strength and intensity. After he 
 had knocked once or twice the door opened, and he found 
 Biddy in her usual position, surrounded by her usual play- 
 mates. 
 
 " God save you, Biddy," said he, taking a seat, and brush- 
 ing the perspiration from his brow, " you're a knowledgea- 
 ble woman, an' can tell me what I want to know." 
 
 " In coorse, I can, Mr. Pat Kinchela, whativer it is ; not 
 that I pretind to tell anything but what the iligant stars 
 prognostify," replied Biddy, gravely referring to her mira- 
 culous volume, not that she had the slightest occasion to 
 employ her shrewd plan of pumping this time ; she knew 
 all about it. 
 
 " The saints be good to us, Pat, darlin','' she suddenly 
 exclaimed, " but here's a bitther disappointment for some 
 one." 
 
 " Not for me, Biddy ; don't say for me," cried Pat, 
 " here, take this, an' this, pouring out all the copper, very 
 thinly intersected with silver, which he had about him, 
 into her apron ; now, give us a good fortune if you can ; 
 long life to you." 
 
 " I didn't say it was for you, did I ? just howld your 
 whist, an' let the stars work without bein' hindhered, for 
 they're niighty fractious now and thin," said Biddy, mum- 
 
162 THE FORTFNE-TELLEE. 
 
 bling some unintelligible expressions and slily counting 
 the while the extent of Pat's donation. The result was 
 satisfactory. 
 
 " Pat, jewel," she said, " howld up your head, for there's 
 money bid for you — you'll be a thremendious rich man 
 yet." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't care for that," he interrupted, " tell me 
 of"— 
 
 " Norah Malone," quietly interrupted Biddy. 
 
 Pat was wonder-stricken, he gasped for breath. 
 
 " It's thrue, then, that you do know everything, Biddy." 
 
 " A'most everything," replied the old crone. 
 
 "Then, it's no use in my telling you," continued Pat, 
 " how every life-dhrop of my heart was devoted to that 
 same girl, how every wakin' thought, an' every sleepin' 
 dhrame was filled up with her ; now I've lost her, and the 
 sunshine of my life is gone with her for ever." 
 
 "I know it all" 
 
 " But what — what am I to do ? tell me, or I shall go 
 mad." 
 
 " Thry your luck somewhere else." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I might as well thry to stop the tide with a 
 pitchfork." 
 
 " You do really love her, then ?" 
 
 ** Love her ! Why do you ask ? Do you doubt it ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " That shows how much you know, and now I doubt 
 your power to tell any one's thoughts, since you can't tell 
 
THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 163 
 
 " Oh, yes, but I can, if you want me to prove it. I'll 
 tell you who you're thinking of at this moment." 
 
 " Do, and I'll believe anything.'* 
 
 " Cousin Pether /" 
 
 Pat fairly started from his seat ; large drops suddenly 
 gathered on his brow ; he was frightened. 
 
 Biddy, seeing her advantage, went on : " You're a purty 
 fellow, to call my power in question. I've a great mind to 
 make you feel it in airnest. Will I go on or not ?" 
 
 " Go on ; anything," said Pat ; " I'll say no more." 
 
 Biddy then shuffled the dirty pack of cards, cut and set 
 them out in her lap, saying, as she proceeded : " Bad — 
 nothing but bad luck. There, that queen of clubs is your 
 sweetheart, and that knave of hearts must be Cousin Pe- 
 ther ; he's rather carroty -headed." 
 
 Pat groaned. 
 
 " Here's a wedding," Biddy went on, " and lots of money, 
 to who ? Let me see : if it isn't to that knave of hearts 
 again." 
 
 " Curse the knave of hearts," cried Pat, starting up, " I 
 have had enough of this. I do believe you've been playin' 
 wid me all this time. Good-bye " — 
 
 " Stay one minute ; you think I've been playing with 
 you, eh ?" said the old witch, rising, and speaking in a 
 mysteriously solemn tone of voice, " Young man, have you 
 strength of mind enough to look upon the magic glass, and 
 have your eyes convinced ?" 
 
 " What mean you ?" exclaimed Pat. 
 
 " To show you what you least wish to se^— Norah and 
 her cousin in each otiier's arms." 
 
164 THE FORTUNE-TELLEE. 
 
 " Impossible ; you're juggling with me now ; you cannot 
 show me that." 
 
 " Look /" screamed old Biddy, tearing back the dingy 
 curtain — and there, sure enough, within the frame of the 
 mirror, locked in each other's embrace, were Norah and 
 Peter. 
 
 The suddenness of the disclosure, combined with the 
 terror of the moment, acting upon a frame rendered weak 
 from apprehension, made the blood rush into the brain of 
 the unfortunate lover, and without uttering a sound, he fell 
 heavily to the .floor in a faint. 
 
 It was some time before he was restored to conscious- 
 ness, when the first form that fell upon his sight was that 
 of the detested Peter. He shut his eyes in the misery of 
 unavailing rage, but opened them again in astonishment, 
 as a well-known voice whispered in his ear : 
 
 " Dear Pat, it's your own Norah that's beside you." 
 
 Pat's delight was perfectly indescribable, and I shrink 
 from the responsibility of attempting it ; suffice it to say, 
 for the elucidation of our mystery, that Norah and Peter 
 were beforehand with him at old Biddy's, when, seeing him 
 approach, they hid themselves behind the curtain. Norah 
 had such a convincing proof of Pat's truthful love, that 
 she never quarrelled with him again — at least before they 
 were married : of their further proceedings 1 frankly? con- 
 fess my ignorance. 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 1C5 
 
 THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 
 
 ♦' Don't be conthrairj 
 "Wtth an Irish fairy, 
 Or, I declare, he 
 
 Won't regard you much; 
 But be complaisant, 
 When that he's adjacent, 
 And he'll use you dacent, 
 If you merit such," 
 
 " CoRNEY ; a\nc ?" 
 
 " Ma'm to you." 
 
 " What the mischief are you thinking so tkremendious 
 hard about ?" 
 
 " Me thoughts is me own, anyway, Missis O'Carrol." 
 
 "Unless, may-be, you borrowed them from some one 
 else ; an' that's most likely, Mr. O'Carrol ; for the niver an 
 original idaya did I obsarve iminatin' from your own sinsa- 
 bilities, sence here I've been." 
 
 " Exceptin' once." 
 
 *' An' whin was that, may I ax ?'* 
 
 " Whin I tuk it into me foolish head to marry you." 
 
 " An' have you the owdashious vanity to suppose that 
 nobody thought that before you ?" 
 
 "Not to me knowledge, Mrs. O'C." 
 
 " The saints be good to us ! There's a dale of ignorance 
 
166 THE FAIRT CIRCLE. 
 
 in the world ; but come now, tell me, what is it that makes 
 you lave off your work, evry now an' thin, lookin', for all 
 the world, as cute as a concaited gandherT 
 
 " Why, thin, Moll machree^ I'll tell you ; but you must 
 promise not to make fun o' me, for it's your good that's 
 iver foremost in me heart." 
 
 " The blessin's on your lovin' sowl ! I know it is." 
 
 " Well, then, Moll, come an' sit near me, an' lave off 
 polishin' up that owld copper kittle ; for I want to spake 
 mighty sarious to you. Haven't you noticed that big, 
 slated house that's just builded up, fornenst our very 
 nose ?" 
 
 " Of coorse I have." 
 
 " Yes, but do you know who's livin' in it ? Who, but 
 young Phil Blake, that was as poor as a thranieen, an' as 
 ragged as a mountain goat, in his ivry-day clothes, not 
 more nor six months ago 2" 
 
 » You don't say !" 
 
 " It's the mortial truth ; didn't I see him awhile ago, 
 struttin' up an' down the place, as proud as any other pay- 
 cock, wid a blew coat on his back, covered over wid brass 
 buttons, a'most as big as fryin' pans, enough to dazzle 
 the eyes out of a Christian's head ; an' he ordherin' the 
 min about, as importint as you plaze. Phil Blake, of all 
 fellows in the worrild^ that niver had the ghost of a fip- 
 penny-bit to bless himself wid, to see him now, craramin' 
 his fists into his breeches pockets, an jinkin' the goold an* 
 the silver about, in the most aggravatin' way." 
 
 " But where did he get it all ?" 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 167 
 
 ** That's the chat — where ? Guess, won't vou ?" 
 
 " I don't know, may-be some rich ould lady fell in love 
 wid him." 
 
 " Is it wid Phil ? Small chance of that, I'm thinkin'. 
 Guess agin." 
 
 " May-be he had a lawshuit !" 
 
 " Be my sowkins, you're further in the mud than iver, 
 MoU-shee. Lawshuits isn't the stuff goold mines is made 
 of; if so, it's only the lawyers that's licensed to dig. I'll 
 tell you. Last night, meself an' a few boys was takin' a 
 jug of punch, at the " Cross Kays," whin one of them up 
 and towld us all about it. Moll, as thrue as you're here, 
 it was neither more nor less than sl fairy-gift. ^^ 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Gospel ! He cotch one of the little schamers (saving 
 their prisince, for I suppose there's a lot of thim listenin', 
 if we knew where they were perched), an' so, he wouldn't 
 let him go until he gave him hapes of money. Why, they 
 say Phil's as rich as an archbishop !" 
 
 " But, Corney, darlin', don't you know that fairy money 
 niver thrives ? let us wish Blake good luck, and think no 
 more about it." 
 
 " Pooh ! Nonsense ! He has luck enough ; we had 
 better wish ourselves a slice. Money's money, Moll ; a 
 fairy groat would pay for a pot of portlier just as aisily as 
 Father Fogarty's. It isn't that I'm over covetious, but I 
 can't help envyin' Phil." 
 
 " An' you see what harm even the first beginnin' of such 
 a feelin' does. All this blessed day, you've hardly done a 
 
168 THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 
 
 stitch of work ; instead of makin' the lapstone echo with 
 the sound of your merry voice, you've been lookin' as dis- 
 thracted as a sthray pig ; why, you haven't even kissed the 
 babby sence dinner. Go to work, Corney, while I get a 
 cup of tay ready. Thank God, we've never wanted for a 
 male's vittles yet, and have always a plinty in the house, 
 agin we do." 
 
 " Yes, I know that ; but haven't I to work for it, day 
 afther dayl No rest; nothing but slave, slave, slave, from 
 year's end to year's end, while gintlefolks, like Phil, bad 
 'cess to him, can sthroU up an' down the sunny-side of the 
 street, smoke as many pipes of tibbacky as they plaze; 
 have roast beef ev'ry Sunday, an' wear top-boots. Mur- 
 dher alive ! It's a great thing to be one of the quality P 
 
 " Well, the mischief has got into you, I b'lieve. Corney, 
 you niver tuk such a fit as this, afore." 
 
 " Niver mind, Moll, I know what I know ; luck's like a 
 fox ; you have to hunt it hard before you ketch it ; the 
 divil a toe will it come to you. There's plinty of fairies 
 about, an' who knows but there may be as lucky chaps as 
 Phil Blake in the worrild^'' 
 
 At the conclusion of the above conversation, Corney 
 silently resumed his work, endeavoring to add another 
 piece to a wonderfully patched brogue, while Mary busied 
 herself at the little bright turf-fire, boiling the water for 
 tea — a few scanty grains of some apochrypbal herb, repre- 
 senting that indispensable delicacy. She holds a rasher of 
 exceedingly fat bacon on the end of a fork, which screws 
 and twists itself about like some living thing enduring 
 
THE FAIKT CIKCLE. 169 
 
 fierce agony, while a sleepy-looking puss, with her tail 
 twisted comfortably around her paws like a muff, sits intently 
 watching the operation, evidently wondering in her own 
 mind what it can possibly be that spits so cat-like and so 
 spitefully into the fire. The walls of the little room are 
 comfortably whitewashed ; only one broken pane of glass 
 in the window, and that neatly mended with a piece of old 
 newspaper ; the dresser is as white as soap and sand 
 applied by tidy hands can make it, while the few house- 
 hold utensils that adorn it, shine to the utmost extent of 
 their capability. It's hardly necessary to say, that a good, 
 cleanly, homely and sensible wife, was Mary O'Carrol ; and 
 our friend Corney was an ungrateful rascal to be dissatis- 
 fied with his condition. The mistake he made was this 
 (and it is by no means confined to Corney), he contrasted 
 his situation in life with the few who were better off than 
 himself instead of the many who were infinitely worse. 
 
 And now, dear, domestic, tidy Maiy spreads her little 
 cloth, coarse 'tis true, but scrupulously clean and ironed, 
 every fold showing like a printed line ; she opens a little 
 cupboard and produces an enormous home-baked loaf, so 
 close and dense that a dyspeptic individual would feel an 
 oppression by merely looking at it, but which our toil- 
 hungered friends can dispose of by the pound, without the 
 assistance of tonics ; then, the small, black teapot, having 
 stood the conventional time, is carefully wiped, and placed 
 on the table, and the whole frugal but comfortable meal 
 arrayed with that appetizing neatness without which it 
 becomes a mere matter of feeding and not of enjoyment. 
 
 8 
 
170 THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 
 
 " Now, Corney, dear," said Mary, " tay's ready." 
 
 " Faix, an' there's a pair of us," replied Corney, " Fm 
 just about as hungiy as a dragiii." 
 
 And no gourmet, even after he had lashed his appetite 
 with .stimulants, which would otherwise have sneaked 
 away from the laborious work it had to undergo, ever sat 
 down with so keen a palate, or rose from table with so 
 capital a sense of satisfaction as did Corney on this par- 
 ticular occasion. 
 
 " Well, Molly machree," he cried, " I don't know that I 
 iver had a greater thrate nor that same rasher; if the fat 
 of it wasn't, for all the worrild, like double-distilled marra, 
 may I niver use another tooth; an' that ta?/ / Gogs 
 hleahey, Moll, if you haven't a recait for squeezin' the par- 
 liaminthary flaviour out of the herrib ! regard the color 
 of it!" 
 
 " An' afther three wathers," replied Mary, with pardona- 
 ble vanity. 
 
 " Thrue for you, darlin' ; why, the bread seems lighter, 
 an' the butther sweeter, an' the crame thicker. I'll be 
 judged by the cat — look at the baste ; if she hasn't been 
 thryin' to lick the last dhrop ofi' of her hushkers, for as 
 good as a quarther of an hour, an' it's stickin' there still, 
 as tight as a carbuncle to a Christian's nose ; an' may-be 
 I ain't goin' to enjoy this," he continued, as drawing his 
 chair close to the fire, out came his use-blackened pipe. 
 He took just as much time in preparation, cutting his 
 tobacco and rolling it about in. his hand, as Mary did to 
 clear away the tea-things, in order that nothing should 
 
THE FAIRY CIKCLE. 171 
 
 interfere witli that great source of comfort — his smoke. 
 Ilaviiig phiced a small piece of lighted turf on top of his 
 pipe he tiirew himself back in his chair. With eyes half 
 closed, and an expression of the most profound gratifica- 
 tion creeping over his features, he sent torth several volu- 
 minous whiffs — what lie called " saysonin' his mouth ;" 
 but very soon, as though the sensation was too delicious to 
 be hurried over, he subsided into a slow, dignified, and 
 lazy smoke, saying, between puffs : 
 
 " Blessin's on the fellow that first invented 'baccy ; it's 
 mate an' dhrink to the poor man ; I'd be on me oath, if I 
 wouldn't rather lose me dinner nor me pipe, any day in 
 the week." 
 
 " Where did 'baccy come from, Corney ?" inquired 
 Mary. 
 
 " Why, from 'Meriky ; where else ?" he replied, " that 
 sint us the first pitaty. Long life to it, for both, say I !" 
 
 " What sort of a place is that, I wonder ?" 
 
 " 'Meriky, is it ? They tell me it's mighty sizable, Moll, 
 darlin'. I'm towld that you might rowl England through 
 it, an' it would hardly make a dent in the ground ; there's 
 fresh water oceans inside of it that you might dround Ire- 
 land in, and save Father Matthew a wonderful sight of 
 throuble ; an' as for Scotchlaud, you might stick it in a 
 corner of one of their forests, an' you'd niver be able to 
 find it out, except, may-be, it might be by the smell of the 
 whisky. If I had only a thrifle of money, I'd go an' seek 
 me fortune there." 
 
 " Arrah, thin, what for Comey ?" 
 
172 THE FAIET CIRCLE. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; I'm not aisj in me mind. If we 
 were only as rich now as Phil Blake, how happy we might 
 be !" 
 
 There was the cloud that shut out content from Corney's 
 heart — far-sighted envy, that looks with longing eyes on 
 distant objects, regardless of the comfort near. Most stu- 
 pid envy^ which relinquishes the good within its grasp to 
 reach at something better unattainable, and only becomes 
 conscious of its folly when time has swept away the sub- 
 stance and the shadow. 
 
 " It was the fairies that gave it to him," resumed Corney, 
 as though communing with himself, while poor Mary, with 
 a fond wife's prescience, mourned, as she foresaw that the 
 indulgence of this new feeling would, most probably, change 
 her hitherto industrious mate into an idle \nsionary. 
 
 " The Fairies ! — An' why the divil shouldn't they give 
 one man a taste of good luck, as well as another ? I'll do 
 it — I will — this very blessed night — Fll do it !" 
 
 " Do what ?" interrupted Mary, in alarm. 
 
 "Oh, nothing, nothing! — an' yet, I've niver kept any- 
 thing from you, Molly, an' I don't know why I should now ! 
 Sure, it's you that'll have the binifit of it, if it comes to 
 good." 
 
 "Dear Corney," replied Mary, "I'm happy enough as it 
 is, so long as Heaven gives us strength to provide for each 
 other's wants, an' you continue to be, what you always 
 have been, a good husband to me. I'd rather not be 
 throubled with any more." 
 
 "It's nothin' but right for you to say so, Mary, darlin'," 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 173 
 
 returned Corney ; " but now, siipposin' that I could make 
 a lady of you — eh? Think of bein' able to wear a fine 
 silken gound, an' a beautiful sthraw bonnet, wid a real 
 feather stuck in it ; wouldn't you jerk your showlders to 
 show ofl" the silk, an' toss your purty head for to humor 
 the feather ?" 
 
 I must confess Mary's heart did flutter a little, at the 
 mention of the silk gown and the feather. Corney saw 
 his advantage, and continued, 
 
 " You know how it was Phil got his money ; it was by 
 sleepin in ^ fairy circle. I know where there's one, an' 
 wid a blessin', I'll thry it meself." 
 
 " You ^von't be so foolish, Corney ?" 
 
 " May I niver taste glory, if I don't do it !" 
 
 Of course, after that solemn, though doubtful obligation, 
 Mary dared not endeavor to dissuade him from following 
 out his intention, notwithstanding the most melancholy 
 forebodings of kidnapping, fairy-blighting, and all the ter- 
 rors associated with supernatural agency, filled her imagin- 
 ation. 
 
 The evening was now far advanced, and Corney, having 
 finished his pipe, rose to go. 
 
 " Come, Molly," he exclaimed, gaily, " kiss me before I 
 start, an' wish me iligant luck." 
 
 Mary, with tearful eyes, replied, " Dear Corney, if you 
 had all the luck I wish you, you wouldn't have' to go out 
 into the cowld to hunt for it." 
 
 " Well, God bless you, darlin', if I don't come back to 
 you Cornalius O'Carrol, Esquire." 
 
174 THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 
 
 " You'll come home my own dear, contented husband." 
 " We'll see," said Corney, and away he went. 
 It was nothinor but reasonable that he should pay a visit 
 to the " Cross Kays " before he went on his fair}' hunt, and 
 it was nothing but natural upon his arrival there, to find 
 his resolution had receded so far that it took sundry pots 
 of beer to float it up again. At last, brimful of that un- 
 thinking recklessness, which the intoxicated generally mis- 
 take for courage, off he started on his expedition, singing 
 remarkably loud, in order to persuade any lurking feeling 
 of cowardice that might be within him, that he wouldn't 
 be influenced by it a morsel. As he neared the village 
 church, however, his voice unconsciously subsided into utter 
 silence ; there was a short cut through the churchyard to 
 the place of his destination, but he made a full stop at the 
 little stile ; many and many a time had he crossed it night 
 and morning, without a thought, and now it seemed to call 
 up ghostly images ; the wind as it moaned through the 
 trees, appeared to address itself particularly to him ; it 
 ■wasn't more than a stone's throw to the other side, and he 
 wanted to clear it with a bound. At this moment the 
 rusty old clock suddenly squeaked and boomed out upon 
 the startled air. The first stroke, so sharp and unexpected, 
 shattered Corney's nerves like a stroke of paralysis ; recov- 
 ering from his fright, he laughed at his folly, but the sound 
 of his own voice terrified him still more. It was not fa- 
 miliar to him — he didn't know it! A fancy came into his 
 head that somebody was laughing for him, and he fairly 
 shivered ! 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 
 
 A sudden thought relieved him : there was no occasion 
 to go througli the churchyard at all ! 
 
 " What a fool I am," thought he, " it isn't so far round, 
 and there's plenty of time. Divil take me if I wouldn't 
 go liome agin, only Mary would think me such a coward, 
 besides, didn't Phil do it ? That's enough ; faint heart 
 never won anything worth spakin' of — so here goes," 
 
 About half an hour's walk brought him to the meadow 
 in which lay the object of his search — a fairy-circle. Now 
 this same fairy-circle, is nothing more nor less than a ring 
 of grass, which, from some cause or another, probably 
 known to botanists, but certainly a mystery to most people, 
 is of a difterent shade of color to that which surrounds it. 
 Tradition celebrates such places as the favorite resort of 
 fairies, by whom they were formed, that they might pursue 
 their midnight revelry without fear of danger fi-om inimical 
 powers. The Irish peasantry carefully avoid trespassing 
 on those sacred precincts, and indeed scarcely ever pass 
 them without making a reverential bow. 
 
 Our ambitious friend, Corney, hesitated for some timd, 
 before he entered the magic enclosure, exceedingly doubt- 
 ful as to the treatment he should receive ; at last, swallow- 
 ing his trepidation with a spasmodic gulp, he placed one 
 foot within the circle, taking care to propitiate the invisi- 
 bles on whose exclusive property he was so unceremoni- 
 ously intruding. 
 
 "The blessin's on all here," said he, "an' I hope I'm not 
 disturbin' any frolic or business that yez may be indulgin' 
 in. It's mighty sleepy that I am, an' if yer honors would 
 
176 THE FAIETCIKCLE. 
 
 give me lave to recline meself atop of the grass, an' make 
 it convanient not to stick any rheumaticks into me for tak- 
 in' such a liberty, I'd recaive it as a compliment. If it's a 
 thing that I happen promiscuously to thread on anybody's 
 toes, I have no manin' whativer in it. By your laves, I'm 
 goin' to lie down, an' I'll drop aisy, in order that I mayn't 
 hurt anything." 
 
 So saying, Corney let himself down very gingerly, and 
 lay fall length within the fairy circle ; he was one of those 
 weather-proof individuals to whom the meadow-grass was 
 as good as a feather-bed. Consequently what with the 
 walk and the beer, it wasn't many minutes before he was 
 snoring fast. 
 
 He hadn't been asleep, as he thought, an instant, before 
 he felt an innumerable quantity of tiny feet traversing him 
 all over ; with regular step they marched up his throat, 
 and scaled his chin ; making two divisions up his cheeks, 
 they arrived at his eyes, where they commenced tugging 
 at the lids until they were forced open ; the sight that met 
 his view filled him with dreadful wonder. The circle of 
 meadow, in which he had barely room to stretch himself 
 out, formed all he could see of earth. Church, village, 
 country, all had vanished ; he rubbed his eyes and looked 
 again, but there was nothing ; with an inexpressible sensa- 
 tion of awe, he turned round, and creeping cautiously to 
 the edge of the circle, gazed downward, and could just dis- 
 cover the village he had quitted about a mile below ; with 
 still increasing dread, he was now aware that he was grad- 
 ually mounting higher and higher. One more look, vil- 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 177' 
 
 lages, cities, countries, were blended into an undistingiiisha- 
 ble mass, and soon the globular form of the earth appeared, 
 thoroughly defined, swinging in the air. 
 
 He then became sensible of a tremendous heat, which 
 increased m intensity, until he found to his dismay that he 
 was rapidly shrinking in size ; his flesh dried up, shrivelled, 
 cracked, and clasped his diminishing bones tighter, until 
 at last he was not bigger than a respectable fly. " This is 
 mighty quare," thought Corney, " there's a great lot of 
 things like me frolicin' about. I feel as light as a feather. 
 I wonder if I couldn't make one among them." So say- 
 ing, he bounded up, and to his great amazement foifnd 
 that he had literally jumped out of his skin. He perched 
 upon his own head, which had resumed its natural size 
 and flying off, found himself floating securely in the air, 
 while the carcass which he had just deserted fell, fairy- 
 circle and all, rapidly towards the earth, and finally, also 
 disappeared. Oh ! the pranks that Corney played in the 
 first delight of being able to fly ; he dived down, he ca- 
 reered up, he threw mad summersets like a tumbler-pigeon 
 — so light and buoyant had he become, that the passing 
 vapors served him for a resting-place ; he was happy, intox- 
 icated with glee, thousands upon thousands of atomies 
 gambolled around him like gnats in a sunbeam, the whole 
 surrounding expanse was instinct with joyous life. 
 
 And they knew Corney, and saluted him as he passed 
 by, with a compliment. 
 
 " Hallo !" said they, " here's Corney O'Carrol ; how are 
 you, Corney ? It's well you're looking ;" and Corney was 
 
 8* 
 
178 THE FAIKY CIRCLE. 
 
 astonished at the extensive nature of his atmospheric 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "How do you like a fairy's life, Corney ?" said one slim, 
 midge-waisted chap. 
 
 " Iligant, your fairyship, iligant," said Corney. 
 
 " Then, I'd advise you to make the most of it, while it 
 lasts. You'll soon have to appear before our king, and if 
 you don't give a satisfactory reason for seeking him, woe 
 betide you." 
 
 " Don't be frightened, sir," said Corney ; " I've rayzon 
 enough for comin', to satisfy any dacint-disposed fairy." 
 
 " Doubtful," said the good-natured elf, and off he 
 flew. 
 
 " Stupid sperrit," thought Corney, and over he tumbled 
 in mad recklessness, enjoying actually, that delicious sensa- 
 tion which sometimes occurs to people in dreams — the 
 ability to skim through the air with the speed and safety 
 of a bird. What struck Corney most particularly was the 
 universal expression of glee which prevailed ; nothing 
 could he hear but a universal hum, which rose and fell on 
 the ear with a purr-like undulation, such as one might 
 imagine would proceed from a paradise of remarkably 
 happy cats. 
 
 While Corney was thus revelling in his new-found ele- 
 ment, he was suddenly accosted by two very genteel fair- 
 ies. " Mr. Cornelius O'Carrol, we presume ?" said they. 
 
 " There's not a doubt of it, gintlemen," replied Corney. 
 
 " We have come to have the honor of conducting yoa 
 into the presence of our king," they continued. 
 
THE FAIRY CIRCLE. 179 
 
 " With a heart and a half," said Corney ; " where might 
 his majesty domesticate ?" 
 
 "lu yonder goold-tinted cloud, a few seconds' fly from 
 this ; follow us." 
 
 Upon nearing the regal abode, Corney observed sundry 
 small substances, like duck-shot, dropping downward. 
 " What's thim ?" inquired he of his conductors. 
 
 " Oh !" answered one, " only a few discontented souls, 
 who, like you, have sought our king, and haven't given 
 sufficient reason for troubling him with their complaints." 
 
 Corney began to feel nervous, but coming to the con- 
 clusion that he had as good a right to be enriched through 
 fairy agency as ever Phil Blake had, he put on a bold 
 front, and was ushered into the presence of the fairy 
 potentate. There, a sight of such dazzling splendor pre- 
 sented itself to his view, that, as he said himself, " You 
 might as well try to count the stars of a frosty night, or 
 look right into the sun's heart of a summer's day, as to 
 give the slightest notion of the grandeur that surrounded 
 me." All he could compare it to, was, a multitude of 
 living jewels of every variety of hue, sparkling and flashing 
 in perpetual light. 
 
 As soon as he could collect his scattered senses, he 
 heard a voice exclaim, " What, ho ! soul of O'Carrol, 
 approach !" 
 
 "So I'm thravelin' without my trunk this time, any 
 way," thought Corney, as he advanced toward the voice. 
 
 It continued, '' Soul of a mortal, why hast thou sought 
 our presence ?" 
 
180 THE F A I ii Y C I K C L E . 
 
 " May it plaze yer majesty," Corney began to stammer 
 out, " bekase I was a trifle unaisy in me mind." 
 
 " What about ?" 
 
 *' In regard of the scarcity of money, plaze your rever- 
 ence." 
 
 " What is your trade ?" 
 
 " A shoemaker, sir." 
 
 " Cobbler, you mean," said the voice, severely. " Xo 
 lying here ; recollect your poor, miserable, naked soul 
 stands before us." 
 
 Corney thought of the height he'd have to fall, and 
 ti'embled. 
 
 " You can't get work, I suppose," the voice returned. 
 
 " Too much of it, if it plaze yer honor. I niver have a 
 minute to spare." 
 
 " For what ?" 
 
 " Why, yer honor, to to " 
 
 "Remember the punishment of prevarication. To 
 what ?" 
 
 " To take a drink." 
 
 " Then you have no home ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, but I have, sir." 
 
 " But 'tis pleasanter to lounge in a tap-room ?" 
 
 "A trifle, may-be, your honor." 
 
 " Perhaps you have no wife to make your home com- 
 fortable?" 
 
 " Have't I though ; the best that ever drew the breath 
 of life," cried Corney, with a loving remembrance of Mary. 
 
 " Poor fellow," continued the voice ; " your situation is 
 
THE F A 1 K Y C I IC C L E . 181 
 
 deplorable, it appears. You have a good trade, an excel- 
 lent wife, a comfortable home, and yet you are discon- 
 tented." 
 
 Corney felt himself resolving into a leaden pellet. 
 
 " One question more," said the voice ; " when did you 
 first feel dissatisfied ?" 
 
 " Why, to tell the truth, yer honor, as soon as that 
 fellow, Phil Blake, began to build his big brick house 
 opposite to my little mud cabin. Before that, I was as gay 
 as a lark, but it stood like a great cloud between me and 
 the sun." 
 
 " Envy was the cloud, envy, that gloomiest of all earthly 
 passions. Why do you covet this man's fortune ?" 
 
 " Because, sir, he always looks so srailin', and jinks his 
 money about, an' dispises the poor boys he used to be 
 friendly with." 
 
 " Foolish, foolish soul !" said the voice, in accents of 
 commiseration, " but not yet wholly tainted. Thy love of 
 home hath partially redeemed thee. Listen to me. Dost 
 thou see yonder piled up mass of rainbow-tinted clouds. 
 Do they not look gloriously, as the rising sun flings his 
 beams through them, as though revelling in their embrace ? 
 Wouldst thou not like to behold such magnificence 
 closer ?" 
 
 "Nothing in life betther, yer majesty," said Corney. 
 
 " Then away ; a wish will place you in their midst — a 
 thought return you here." 
 
 So with the wish and thought Corney went and came 
 back. 
 
182 THE FAIKY CIRCLE. 
 
 " Well, what didst thou see ?" inquired the Fairy King. 
 
 " The divil a haperth," replied Corney, " but a mighty 
 black and most unwholesomely damp cloud." 
 
 " What should that teach you ?" 
 
 " Never to thravel without an umbrella, yer honor, I 
 suppose," answered Corney, who to say the truth, was a 
 little obtuse. 
 
 "Fool," said the fairy, " since I cannot lesson thee, go to 
 thy kindred earth, and learn experience from realities. 
 Proceed to the chamber of the man whose good fortune 
 thou enviest ; then to thine own, and if thou art not satis- 
 fied with thy condition, seek me again, and meet with thy 
 reward. Away !" 
 
 As if by magic, the brilliant assembly dispersed like 
 clouds of gold-dust floating on the wind, and Corney was 
 left alone. 
 
 " That's a mighty high sort o' chap," said Coniey, " but 
 I suppose I'd betther do what he tow Id me for fear'xi he'd 
 turn spiteful." 
 
 So Corney wished himself within the chamber of Blake, 
 and there he saw the most piteous sight earth can pro- 
 duce : a young mother weeping tears of agony over the 
 body of her first-born. A man stood beside her with fea- 
 tures set and hard, as though turned to stone by hopeless 
 grief 
 
 " My God," thought Corney, " and these are the people 
 whose lot I have envied, and my own blue-eyed darling, 
 is he safe ? Home, home," cried he, and with the wish 
 was there. In his little cradle lay the beautiful boy 
 
THE F R T r N K - T E L L K li . 1 83 
 
 steeped in the angel-watched, the holy sleep of infant inno- 
 cence, while Mary, on her knees, mingled her prayer for 
 her absent husband. Corney was rusliing towards her, but 
 suddenly remembering himself : " What a fool I am," 
 thought he, " I forgot I was a sperrit, at all events, I can 
 kiss the babby." With that, lie bounded into the cradle, 
 and nestled on the boy's lip. Mary, seeing the child smile 
 in his sleep, exclaimed : " Good angels are putting sweet 
 thoughts into your head, my blessed babe," and she softly 
 kissed him too. 
 
 " Oh ! murdher," thought Corney, " this will never do ; 
 I must go and look afther my body and bring it home. 
 Thanks to the good fairies, I've lamed a lesson that shall 
 last my life and my boy's, too, if I have any influence 
 over him." 
 
 So saying, Corney wished himself in the meadow where 
 his tangible proportions were extended, and having kicked 
 and got in, shook himself carefully to see if he had obtained 
 absolute possession. 
 
 " It^s all right," said he, " I've come back." Looking up 
 and around him, he was surprised to see the bright sun- 
 light of morning, and still more so to observe Mary trudg- 
 ing through the churchyard to meet him. 
 
 "Oh, well," said Mary, anxiously, when they encoun- 
 tered, " what luck ?" 
 
 " A power of knowledge, but no money," said Corney, 
 sententiously. 
 
 " Did you see the fairies ?" 
 
 " Did I see them ! bedad, I was one myself." 
 
184 THE FOETUNE-TELLEE. 
 
 "Oh! beaisy!" 
 
 " The divil a doubt of it ; wasn't I at borne a bit ago, 
 unbeknownt to you ? Answer me this, didn't you kiss the 
 babby just before you came out?" 
 
 " As thrue as life, I did," said Mary, slightly awe-struck. 
 
 " I was there and saw you do it." 
 
 " Where were you, Corney ?" 
 
 " Sittin' on the end of his nose." 
 
 Of course that was proof positive, but inasmuch as Mary 
 always did kiss the boy before she left the house, the coin- 
 cidence becomes less remarkable. 
 
 It only remains for me to say, that the circumstance 
 made a very favorable change in Corney's disposition, or 
 rather dissipated the cloud which obscured his real charac- 
 ter. Mary found her account in it, by an increase of 
 industry on his part, and he was rewarded by a correspond- 
 ing anxiety in her, to make ^s home happy. Many and 
 many a time would he give an account of his aerial jour- 
 ney, religiously convinced of its reality ; once only Mary 
 just ventured to insinuate that it might possibly have been 
 a dream, but the I-pity-your-ignorance-looJc which Corney 
 gave her, made her heartily ashamed of having hazarded 
 so stupid an opinion, and, as a matter of course, she soon 
 believed as implicitly as her husband, the wonderful adven- 
 ture of The Fairy Circle, 
 
LUCK. 185 
 
 O'BRYAN'S LUCK 
 
 A TALE OF NEW YORK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE MERCHANT-PRINCE. 
 
 In the private office of a first-class store sat two indi- 
 viduals, each thoroughly absorbed iu his present employ- 
 ment, but with very different feelings for the work. One 
 — it was the head of the establishment, the great Mr. 
 Granite, the millionaire merchant — was simply amusing 
 himself, as was his usual custom at least once a day, figuring 
 up, by rough calculation, the probable amount of his 
 worldly possessions, they having arrived at that point when 
 the fructifying power of wealth made hourly addition to 
 the grand total ; while the other, his old and confidential 
 clerk. Sterling, bent assiduously over a great ledger, me- 
 chanically adding up its long columns, which constant use 
 had enabled him to do without the possibility of mistake. 
 With a profound sigh of relief, he laid down his pen, and 
 rubbing his cramped fingers, quietly remarked : 
 
 " Accounts made up, sir." 
 
186 
 
 " Ah, very good, Sterling," replied the stately principal, 
 with a smile, for his arithmetical amusement was very satis 
 factory, " how do we stand ?" 
 
 "Balance in our favor, two hundred and fifty-seven 
 thousand eight hundred and forty-seven dollars, and twenty- 
 three cents," slowly responded the old clerk, reading from 
 his abstract. 
 
 " You're certain that is correct, Mr. Sterling ?" inquired 
 the merchant-prince, in a clear, loud voice, which indicated 
 that the old, time-worn machine was wearing out. He was 
 so deaf that it was only by using his hand as a conductor 
 of the sound, that he could hear sufficiently to carry on a 
 conversation. 
 
 " Correct to a cypher, sir," he replied. " I have been up 
 and down the columns a dozen times." 
 
 " Good." 
 
 " Did you speak, sir ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ah ! my poor old ears," the old clerk whispered, half 
 aside. " Five and forty years in this quiet office has put 
 them to sleep. They'll never wake up again, never, 
 never." 
 
 " You have been a careful and useful assistant and friend, 
 Sterling," said the merchant, in a kindly tone, touching him 
 on the shoulder with unaccustomed familiarity, "and I 
 thank you for the great good your services, have done the 
 house." 
 
 " Bless you, sir, bless you — you are too good. I don't 
 leserve it," replied SterHng, unable to restrain the tears 
 
187 
 
 which tliis unusual display of good feeling, had forced up 
 from the poor old man's heart. 
 
 " I shall have no further need of you to-day, Sterling, if 
 you have any business of your own to transact." 
 
 " I have, I have, my good, kind friend, and thank you 
 for granting me the opportunity," said Sterling, descending 
 with difficulty from his place of torture. — Why will they 
 not abolish those inflexible horrors, those relics of barbar- 
 ism, those inquisitorial chattels — oflBce-stools ? "I'll go 
 now, and mingle my happiness with the sweet breath of 
 Heaven — and yet, if I dared to say what I want — I " — 
 
 " Well, speak out, old friend." The merchant went on, 
 with an encouraging look : " If your salary be insuffi- 
 cient " — 
 
 " Oh ! no, no !" interposed the other, suddenly, " I am 
 profusely paid — too much, indeed — but" — and he cast 
 down his eyes hesitatingly. 
 
 " This reserve with me is foolish, Sterling. What have 
 you to say ?" 
 
 " Nothing much, sir ; indeed, I hardly know how to 
 bring it out, knowing, as I well do, your strange antipa- 
 thy " — Granite turned abruptly away. He now knew 
 what was coming, and it was with a dark frown upon his 
 brow he paced the office, as Sterling continued : 
 
 " I saw him to-day." 
 
 " Travers V 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, " Travers. But don't speak his 
 name as though it stung you. I was his father's clerk be- 
 fore I was yours." 
 
188 
 
 " You know what I have already done for him," moodily 
 rejoined the merchant. 
 
 " Yes, yes — I know it was kind, very kind of you — you 
 helped him once ; but he was unsuccessful. He is young 
 — pray, pray, spare him some assistance. You won't miss 
 it — indeed you won't," pleaded the clerk. 
 
 " Sterling, you are a fool," Granite replied, sternly, 
 " Every dollar lent or lost is a backward step that must be 
 crawled up to again by inches. But I am inclined to lib- 
 erality to-day. What amount do you think will satisfy 
 this spendthrift ?" 
 
 " Well, since your kindness emboldens me to speak — it's 
 no use patching up a worn coat, so even let him have a 
 new one — give him anotBer chance — a few hundred dollars, 
 more or less, can't injure you, and may be his salvation. 
 About five thousand dollars will suffice." 
 
 " Five thousand dollars ! are you mad. Sterling ?" cried 
 the merchant, starting to his feet in a paroxysm of anger. 
 
 " Y^'our son will have his half a million to begin with," 
 quietly suggested Sterling. 
 
 " He will, he will !" cried the other, with a strange, 
 proud light in his eye, for upon that son all his earthly 
 hopes, and haply those beyond the earth, were centered. 
 " Wealth is power, and he will have sufficient ; he can lift 
 his head amongst the best and proudest ; he can wag his 
 tongue amongst the highest in the land — eh, my old 
 friend ?" 
 
 "That can he, indeed, sir, and be ashamed of neither 
 head nor tongue, for he's a noble youth," replied the clerk. 
 
LUCK. 189 
 
 " Here, tate this check, Sterling. Fll do as you wish 
 this time; but mind it is the last. I have no right to in- 
 jure, even in the remotest degree, my son's interests, of 
 which I am simply the guardian. You can give it to — to 
 — him, and with this positive assurance." 
 
 "Bless you — this is like you — this is noble, princely," 
 murmured the old clerk, through his tears, which now were 
 flowing unrestrainedly ; " when I tell " — 
 
 " Hold ! repeat his name again, and I recall the loan. 
 I repent already of hanng been entrapped into this act of 
 folly." 
 
 "You wrong your own liberal nature," said Sterling, 
 mildly. " You are goodness itself, and fear not but you 
 will receive your reward four-fold for all you have done 
 for"— 
 
 " Away, you prating fool," cried Granite, in a tone that 
 hurried the old clerk out of the ojQBce, full of gratitude for 
 the service done, and of unaffected joy, that Providence 
 had selected him to be the bearer of such happy intelli- 
 gence to the son of his old employer. 
 
 Meantime, the merchant-prince flung himself into his 
 comfortable easy-chair, a spasm of agony passing across 
 his harsh features. " Oh ! Travers, Travers !" he inly ejac- 
 ulated, " must that black thought ever thrust itself like a 
 grim shadow across the golden sun-ray of my prosperity ?" 
 
190 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MAN OF LABOR. 
 
 The accommodating reader will now be kind enough to 
 accompany me to a far different place from that in which 
 the foregoing dialogue was held. With an effort of the 
 will — rapid as a spiritual manifestation — we are there. 
 You see, it is an exceedingly small habitation, built entirely 
 of wood, and, excepting that beautiful geranium-plant on 
 one window, and a fine, sleek, contented-looking puss 
 winking lazily on the other — both, let me tell you, con- 
 vincing evidence that the household deities are worshipped 
 on the hearth within — for wheresoever you see flowers 
 cultivated outside of an humble house, look for cleanliness, 
 and domestic comfort on the inside — excepting those two 
 things, but little of ornament is visible. Kind people 
 dwell within, you may know ; for, see, the placid puss 
 don't condescend to change her position as we near her ; 
 her experience hasn't taught her to dread an enemy in our 
 species. 
 
 " Lift the latch ; 'tis but a primitive fastening — nay ! 
 don't hesitate ; you know we are invisible. There ! you 
 are now in the principal apartment. See how neat and 
 tidy everything is. The floor, to be sure, is uncarpetec 
 but then it is sedulously clean. Look at those white wii 
 
LUCK. l;>i 
 
 dow-curtains ; at that well-patched table-cloth, with every 
 fold as crisp as though it had been just pressed; the 
 dresser over there, each article upon it bright as industry 
 and the genius of happy home can make it. — What an 
 appetizing odor steams in from yonder kitchen ! and listen 
 to those dear little birds, one in each window, carrying on 
 a quiet, demure conversation, in their own sweet way! 
 Do they not say, and does not every quiet nook echo : 
 - "Though poor and lowly, there is all of Heaven that 
 Heaven vouchsafes to man, beneath this humble roof; for 
 it is the sphere of her who is God's choicest blessing — 
 that world angel — a good, pure-hearted, loving wife. 
 
 But hark! who is that singing? You can hear him, 
 although he is yet a street off; and so can she who is 
 busy within there, you can tell by that little scream of joy. 
 
 That is Tom Bobalink, the honest truckman, and the 
 owner of this little nest of contentment. 
 
 But, if you please, I will resume my narrative my own 
 way, for you are a very uncommunicative companion, 
 friend reader, and it is impossible for me to discover 
 whether you like the scene we have been looking at, or 
 do not. 
 
 In a few moments, Tom rushed into the little room, his 
 face all a-glow with healthy exercise, and a joyous song at 
 his lips. 
 
 " Hello ! pet, where are you ?" he cried, putting down 
 his hat and whip. 
 
 " Here am I, Tom !" answered as cheerful a voice as 
 ever bubbled up from a heart, full of innocence and love. 
 
192 o'bkyan's luck. 
 
 " Din in a sec," meaning dinner in a second ; for 
 "Tom and Pol," in their confidential chats, abbreviated 
 long words occasionally ; and I give this explanation as a 
 sort of guide to their pet peculiarity. 
 
 "Hurry up, Polly!" cried Tom, with a good-humored 
 laugh, " for I'm jolly hungry, I tell you. Good gracious ! 
 I've heard of people's taking all sorts of thing to get up an 
 appetite; if they'd only have the sense to take nothing^ 
 and keep on at it, it's wonderful what an effect it would 
 have on a lazy digestion." 
 
 Polly now entered with two or three smoking dishes, 
 which it did not take long to place in order. Now, I 
 should dearly like to give you a description of my heroine 
 — aye ! heroine — for it is in her station that such are to 
 be found — noble spirits, who battle with privation and 
 untoward fate — smoothing the rugged pathway of life, and 
 infusing fresh energy into the world-exhausted heart. Oh ! 
 what a crown of glory do they deserve, who wear a smile 
 of content upon their lips, while the iron hand of adversity 
 is pressing on their hearts, concealing a life of martyrdom 
 beneath the heroism of courageous love. 
 
 I say I should like to give you some slight description 
 of Polly's external appearance, but that I choose rather that 
 my readers should take their own individual ideas of per- 
 fect loveliness, and clothe her therein ; for, inasmuch as 
 she is the type of universal excellence, in mind and charac- 
 ter, I wish her to be so in form and beauty. 
 
 " What have you got for me, Polly ?" says Tom. 
 
 " It ain't much," she replied ; " cos you know we can't 
 
S LUCK. 193 
 
 afford Itix^es ; but it's such a sweet little neck of mut^ and 
 lots of wedges.^^ 
 
 " Gollopshus !" says Tom ; " out with it ! I'm as hungry 
 as an unsuccessful office-seeker." 
 
 " Office-seekers ! what are they, Tom ?" 
 
 "Why, Polly, they are — faith, I don't know what to 
 compare them to ; you've heard of those downy birds, that 
 when some other has got hisself a comfortable nest, never 
 rests until he pops into it. But them's politics, Polly, and 
 ain't proj) for worn to meddle with." 
 
 "I agree with you there, Tom, dear ; there's enough to 
 occupy a woman's time and attention inside of her house, 
 without bothering her heart with what's going on outside." 
 
 " Bless your homey little heart !" cried Tom, heartily. 
 " Oh ! Polly, darling, if there were a few more good wives, 
 there would be a great many less bad husbands. This is 
 glorious ! If we could only be sure that we had as good a 
 dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I should be ; 
 but I often think, ray girl, that if any accident should 
 befall me, what would become of you." 
 
 " Now, don't talk that way, Thomas ; nor don't repine 
 at your condition ; it might be much worse." 
 
 " I can't help it. I try not ; but it's impossible, when I 
 see people dressed up and tittevated out, as I go jogging 
 along with my poor old horse and truck — I envy them in 
 my heart, Pol — I know it's wrong ; but it's there, and it 
 would be worse to deny it." 
 
 " Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better 
 than you did, Tom ?" said Polly, with a cheering smile. 
 
 9 
 
194: 
 
 " No, my girl !" shouted be, and the joy spread over his 
 face again — "not if they had forty courses. But eating 
 isn't all, Pol," he continued, growing suddenly serious once 
 more. " This livmg from hand to mouth — earning with 
 hard labor every crust we put into it — never seeing the 
 blessed face of a dollar, that isn't wanted a hundred ways 
 by our necessities — is rather hard." 
 
 " Ah ! Tom, and thankful ought we to be that we have 
 health to earn that dollar. Think of the thousands of 
 poor souls that are worse off than ourselves ! Never look 
 above your own station with envy, Thomas ; but below it 
 with gratitude." 
 
 It was at this moment that there appeared at the open 
 door, a poor, wretched-looking indiAndual, evidently an 
 Irishman, and, from the singularity of his dress, only just 
 arrived. He said not a word, but upon his pale cheek was 
 visibly printed a very volume of misery. 
 
 " Hello ! friend, what the devil do you want ?" asked 
 Tom. 
 
 " Don't speak so, Thomas. He's sick and in distress," 
 said Polly, laying her finger on his mouth. " There ! sup- 
 pose you were like that ?" 
 
 "What? a Paddy!" replied the other, with a jolly 
 laugh ; " don't mention it !" then calling to the poor stranger, 
 who was resignedly walking away ; " Come on Irish !" he 
 cried. " Do you want anything ?" 
 
 " Av you plaze, sir," answered the Irishman, " I'd like to 
 rest meself." 
 
 '' Sit down, poor fellow !" said Polly, dusting a chair, 
 and handingr-it towards him. 
 
LUCK. 195 
 
 "I don't mane that, ma'm ; a loan o' tlio ^^all, an' an air 
 o' the fire 'II do. The blessin's on ye for lettin' nie have 
 it !" so saying, he placed himself near the cheerful fire- 
 place, and warmed his chilled frame. 
 
 " A big lump of a fellow like you, wouldn't it be better 
 for you to be at ^vo^k than lounorino: about in idleness ?" 
 said Tom. 
 
 " Indeed, an' its thnie for ye, sir, it would so ; but where 
 is a poor boy to find it ?" 
 
 " Oh ! anywhere — everywhere.'* 
 
 " Bedad, sir, them's exactly the places I've been lookin' 
 for it, for the last three weeks ; but there was nobody at 
 home. I hunted the work while I had the stringth to 
 crawl afther it, an' now, av it was to come, I'm afear'd 
 that I haven't the stringth to lay howld ov it." 
 
 " Are you hungry ?" inquired Polly. 
 
 "I'm a trifle that way inclined, ma'm," he replied, with 
 a semi-comic expression. 
 
 "Poor fellow, here, sit down and eat," said Polly, 
 hurriedly diving into the savory stew, and forking up a 
 fine chop, which she handed to the hungry stranger. 
 
 " I'd relish it betther standin', if you plaze, ma'm," said 
 he, pulling out a jack-knife and attacking the viands ^tith 
 vigorous appetite, exclaiming, " May the Heavens bless you 
 for this good act ; sure it's the poor man that's the poor 
 man's friend, afther all. You've saved mo, sowl-and body 
 this blesseo day. I haven't begged yet, but it was comin' 
 on me strong. I looked into the eyes of the quality folks, 
 but they carried their noses so high they couldn't see the 
 
196 
 
 starvation that was in my face, and I wouldn't ax the poor 
 people for fear they were worse off than meself." 
 
 "Ain't you sorry, Thomas, for what you said just now?" 
 inquired Polly of her husband. 
 
 " No," he replied, striking his fist on the table. " Fm 
 more discontented than ever, to think that a few hundred 
 scoundrel schemers, or fortunate fools, should monopolize 
 the rights of millions ; isn't it devilish hard that I can't 
 put my hand in my pocket and make this poor fellow's 
 heart jump for joy." 
 
 " Point out to him where he can get some employment, 
 Thomas, and his heart will be continually jumping," replied 
 Polly. 
 
 By this time the poor stranger had finished his extem- 
 pore meal, and shut up his pocket-knife, which he first 
 carefully wiped on the tail of his coat. " May God bless 
 you for this," said he. " I'm stronger now. " I'll go an' 
 hunt for a job ; may-be luck won't be a stepfather to me 
 all my days." 
 
 " Stop," cried Tom, " suppose I were to give you some- 
 thing to do, what would you say ?" 
 
 " Faix, I wouldn't say much, sir," said the Irishman, 
 "but I'd do it." 
 
 " Come along with me, then, and if I get any job, I'll 
 get you to help me." 
 
 "Oh, then, may long life attend you for puttin' fresh 
 blood in my veins," responded the excited Milesian, giving 
 his already curiously bad hat a deliberate punch in the 
 crown, to show his gratitude and delight. 
 
.0 Bryan's luok. 197 
 
 " Bless bis noble, honest, loving heart," cried Polly, as 
 Tom, having impressed his usual kiss upon her lips, started 
 to his labor again. " If it were not for those little fits of 
 discontent every now and then, what a man he'd be; but 
 we can't be all perfect; don't I catch myself thinking silks 
 and satins sometimes, instead of cottons and calicoes ? and 
 I'll be bound, if the truth was known, the great folks that 
 wear nothing else but grand things, don't behave a bit 
 better, but keep longing for something a little grander still, 
 so he mustn't be blamed, nor he shan't, neither, in my 
 hearing." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BOARDING-HOUSE. 
 
 Turn we now to the highly-genteel establishment whoio 
 Henry Travers and his young wife are now domiciliated, 
 presided over by a little more than middle-aged, severe- 
 looking personage, who rejoiced in the euphonious name 
 of Grimgriskin ; her temper, phraseology, and general dis- 
 position may be better illustrated by the conversation which 
 is now going on between her and her two unfortunate in- 
 mates. The mid-day accumulation of scraps, which was 
 dignified by the name of dinner, but just over, Henry Tra- 
 vers, in his small, uncomfortable bed-room, was ruminating 
 upon the darkness of his present destiny, when a sharp 
 
198 
 
 knock at his door admonished him that he was about to 
 receive his usual dunning visit from his amiable landlady. 
 
 " Come in," he gasped, with the articulation of a person 
 about to undergo a mild species of torture. 
 
 " You'll excuse me, good people," said Grimgriskin, " for 
 the intrusion ; but business is business, and if one don't 
 attend to one's business, it's highly probable one's business 
 will make unto itself wings, and, in a manner of speaking, 
 fly away : not that I want to make you feel uncomfortable. 
 I flatter myself, in this establishment, nobody need be 
 under such a disagreeable apprehension ; but houses won't 
 keep themselves, at least / never knew any so to do. 
 Lodgings is lodgings, and board is board ; moreover, mar- 
 kets — specially at this season of the year — may reasonably 
 be said to be markets ; beef and mutton don't jump spon- 
 taneously into one's hands ; promiscuous-like, neither do 
 the hydrants run tea and cofi'ee — at least as far as my 
 knowledge of hydrants goes." 
 
 " The plain sense of all this is " — 
 
 " Exactly what I am coming to," interrupted the voluble 
 hostess. " I'm a woman of few words ; but those few, such 
 as they are, I'm proud to say, are generally to the purpose. 
 I make it a point to send in my bills regularly every month, 
 and I presume that it's not an unreasonable stretch of ima- 
 gination to expect them to be paid. Now, for the last 
 three months they have come up to you receipted, and 
 down to me with what one might call the autographical 
 corner torn off*. Now, as it is not in my nature to make 
 any one feel uncomfortable, and being a woman of very few 
 
199 
 
 words, I would merely intimate to you that rents is rents — 
 and, moreover, must be paid — and mine, I am sorry to ob- 
 serve, is not a singular exception in such respect." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Grim "— 
 
 "One moment!" interposed the woman of few words. 
 " Perhaps you may not be aware of the circumstance, but 
 r have my eyes open — and, moreover, my ears — whispers 
 is whispers, and I have heard something that rnight make 
 you uncomfortable ; but as that is not my principle, I won't 
 repeat it; but talkers, you know, will be talkers, and 
 boarders can never be anything else in the world but 
 boarders." 
 
 " What have they dared to say of us V inquired Henry. 
 
 " Nothing — oh ! nothing to be repeated — dear, no ! I'm 
 proud to observe that my boarders pay regularly every 
 month, and are therefore highly respectable ; and respecta- 
 ble boarders make a respectable house, and I wouldn't keep 
 anything else. Thank Heaven, I have that much consid- 
 eration for my own respectability !" 
 
 " May I be permitted to ask what all this amounts to ?" 
 asked Henry, with commendable resignation. 
 
 " Just two hundred dollars," sharply replied Mrs. Grim- 
 griskin ; " being eighty for board, and one hundred and 
 twenty for extras. I'm a woman of few words" — 
 
 " And I'm a man of less," said Henry, " I can't pay it." 
 
 " I had my misgivings," cried the landlady, tartly, " not- 
 withstanding your boast of being connected with the rich 
 Mr. Granite. Allow me to say, sir," she continued, seating 
 herself upon a chair, " I've just sent for a hackman to take 
 
200 o^bryan's luck. 
 
 your trunks away, and I mean to retain the furniture until 
 some arrangement is made." 
 
 " May I come in ?" murmured a small, but apparently 
 well-known voice at tlie door, from the alacrity with which 
 Henry's poor, young wife rushed to open it, admitting old 
 Sterling, the clerk. 
 
 " Let me look in your eyes," cried she ; " is there any 
 hope ?" 
 
 Sterling shook his head. 
 " No — no more !" 
 
 " Heaven help us !" she exclaimed, as she tottered back 
 to her seat. 
 
 " Heaven has helped you, my bright bird," said Sterling. 
 "I only shook my head to make your joy the greater." 
 
 " What say you ?" exclaimed Travers ; " has that stony 
 heart relented ?" 
 
 " It is not a stony heart," replied Sterling ; " I am 
 ashamed of you for saying so. It's a good, generous heart. 
 It has made mine glow with long-forgotten joy this day." 
 "Does he give us relief?" inquired Henry. 
 " He does," said the old man, the enthusiasm of gener- 
 ous happiness lighting up his features ; " great, enduring 
 relief. What do you think of five thousand dollars ?" 
 
 " You dream, I dream !" cried Travers, starting up in 
 astonishment ; while Mrs. Grimgriskin, smoothing her una- 
 miable wrinkles, and her apron at the same time, at the 
 mention of so respectable a sum, came forward, saying, in 
 her newest-lodger voice — 
 
 " You'll excuse me ; but I'm a woman of few words. I 
 
201 
 
 hope you won't take anything I've said as at all personal 
 to you, but only an endeavor, as far as in me lies, to keep 
 up the credit of my own establishment ; as for that little 
 trifle between us, of course you can take your own time 
 about that.'' So saying, and with a profusion of unnoticed 
 courtesies, she quitted the room. 
 
 She had scarcely done so, when, with a deep groan of 
 agony. Sterling pressed his hand against his head, and 
 staggered to a chair. In an instant, Henry and his wife 
 were by his side. 
 
 " What is the matter, ray dear Sterling V cried Henry. 
 
 " Don't come near me," replied the old clerk, the very 
 picture of despair and wretchedness ; " I am the destroyer 
 of your peace, and of my own, for ever. Oh ! why was I 
 allowed to see this dreadful day ? Curse me, Travers ! 
 Bellow in my blunted ear, that my vile sense may drink it 
 in. I've lost it— lost it !" 
 
 " Not the money ?" exclaimed Henry and his wife at a 
 breath. 
 
 " That's right ! kill me — kill me ! I deserve it !" contin- 
 ued Sterling, in an agony of grief. " Oh ! careless, guilty, 
 unhappy old man, that in your own fall must drag down 
 all you love, to share your ruin ! lost — lost — lost, for ever I" 
 
 " Forgive even the appearance of injustice, my good, 
 kind old friend," soothingly observed Travers. " It is I 
 who am the doomed one. There is no use in striving 
 against destiny." 
 
 " Don't, Henry, don't !" gasped the old clerk, through 
 his fast-falling tears. " This kindness is worse than your 
 
 9* 
 
202 
 
 reproof. Let me die — let me die ! I am not fit to live !" 
 Suddenly starting to his feet, lie cried : " I'll run back — 
 perhaps I may find it. Ob ! no — no ! I cannot ; my old 
 limbs, braced up by the thought of bringing you happi- 
 ness, are weakened by the effect of this terrible reac- 
 tion !" 
 
 " Come — come, old friend, take it not so much to heart !" 
 said Travers, cheering him as well as he could. " There, 
 lean upon me ; we'll go and search for it together, and 
 even if it be not found, the loss is not a fatal one, so long 
 as life and health remain." 
 
 " You say this but to comfort me, and in your great 
 kindness of heart, dear, dear boy !" cried Sterling, as he 
 rose from the chair, and staggered out to retrace his steps, 
 in the hope of regaining that which had been lost. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PIECE OF LUCK 
 
 It so happened that the very truckman who was sent to 
 take Henry's trunks, was our friend Bobolink, who was 
 plying in the vicinity, and as it was his first job, he was 
 anxious enough to get it accomplished ; therefore, a few 
 minutes before Sterling came out, he and his protege, Bry- 
 an, the Irishman, trotted up to the door. 
 
203 
 
 "There! away with you up, and get the trunks," said 
 Bobolink ; " Til wait for you here." 
 
 Bryan timidly rung at the bell, and entered. In the 
 meantime, Tom stood at his horse's head, pulling his ears, 
 and having a little contidential chat. Taking out his wal- 
 let, he investigated its contents. 
 
 " Only fifty cents," he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, 
 " and this job will make a dollar — that's all the money in 
 the world." 
 
 In putting back his greasy, well-worn wallet, his eye 
 happened to fall upon an object, which made the blood 
 rush with a tremendous bound through his frame. Lying 
 close to the curb, just below his feet, was a large pocket- 
 book. 
 
 " Good gracious !" he exclaimed, " what's that ? It looks 
 very like " — (picking it up hurriedly, and taking a hasty 
 survey of its contents) — " it is — money — heaps of money 
 — real, good money, and such a lot — all fifties and twen- 
 ties !" And now a crowd of contending thoughts pressed 
 upon his brow. First, he blessed his good luck ; then, he 
 cursed the hea\iness of the temptation — he thrust it deep 
 into his bosom ; again, he thought he would place it where 
 he found it ; at one moment he would whistle, and endea- 
 vor to look unconcerned ; at another, he would tremble 
 with apprehension. What to do with it, he did not know ; 
 but the tempter was too strong ; he at last determined to 
 retain it. "It's a windfall," said he to himself; " nobody 
 has seen me take it. Such a large sum of money could 
 not have been lost by a poor person, and nobody wants it 
 more than I do myselfl I'll be hanged if I don't keep it I'' 
 
204 o'bryan's luck. 
 
 Just then Bryan emerged from the door, with a most 
 lachrymose expression of countenance, and was very much 
 astonished to find that his stay did not produce an equally 
 woe-begone effect upon Tom. 
 
 " There's no thrunks goin'," said Bryan. " The fellow 
 as was leavin', ain't leavin' yet ; because somebody's after 
 leavin' him a lot o' money. 
 
 "Come, jump up, then," cried Bobolink, "and don't be 
 wasting time there." 
 
 At that moment his eye caught that of Sterling, who, 
 with Travers, had commenced a search for the lost pocket- 
 book. Instinct told him in an instant what their occupa- 
 tion was, and yet he determined to keep the money. 
 
 " My man," said Travers to Bryan, " did you see any- 
 thing of a pocket-book near this door ?" 
 
 " Is it me ?" replied Bryan. " Do I look as if I'd seen 
 it « I wish I had !" 
 
 " What for ? you'd keep it, I suppose ?" observed Travers. 
 
 " Bad luck to the keep," replied Bryan ; " and to you 
 for thinkin' it! but it's the way of the world — a ragged 
 waistcoat's seldom suspected of hidin' an honest heart." 
 
 " Come, old friend," said Henry to Sterling, " these men 
 have not seen it, evidently ;" and off they went on their 
 fruitless errand, while a feeling of great relief spread it- 
 self over Bobolink's heart at their departure. 
 
 " How wild that ould fellow looked," said Bryan. 
 
 " Humbug !" replied Bobolink; "it was only put on to 
 make us give up the pocket-book." 
 
 " Make us give it up ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that is to say, if we had it. There, don't talk. 
 
8 LUCK. 205 
 
 Pm sick. Fve got an oppression on my chest, and if I 
 don't get relief, I'll drop -in the street." 
 
 " Indeed, an' somethin's come over ye since mornin', sure 
 enough," said Bryan ; " but you've been kind, an' good, an' 
 generous to me, an' may I never taste glory, but if I could 
 do you any good by takin' half yer complaint, I'd do it." 
 
 " I dare say you would," replied Tom ; '' but my consti- 
 tution's strong enough to carry it all. There, you run 
 home, and tell Polly Til be back early. 1 don't want you 
 any more." 
 
 As soon as Bryan was off. Bobolink sat down on his 
 truck, and began to ruminate. His first thought was about 
 his wife. " Shall I tell Polly ?" thought he. " I've never 
 kept a secret from her yet. But, suppose she wouldn't let 
 me keep it ? I shan't say a word about it. I'll hide it for 
 a short time, and then swear I got a prize in the lottery." 
 It suddenly occurred to him that he was still on the spot 
 where he had found the money. " Good Heaven," said he, 
 " why do I linger about here ? I must be away — away 
 anywhere ! and yet I feel as though I was leaving my life's 
 happiness here. Pooh ! lots of money will make any one 
 happy." So saying, and singing — but with most con- 
 strained jollity — one of the songs which deep bitterness 
 had called up spontaneously from his heart, he drove to 
 the nearest groggery, feeling assured that he should require 
 an unusual stimulant of liquor, to enable him to fitly bear 
 this accumulation of good luck, which did not justly be- 
 long to him. 
 
206 o'bkyan's luok 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 " What a dear, considerate, good-natured husband I 
 have, to be sure ! The proudest lady in the land can't be 
 happier than I am in my humble house," said Polly, as she 
 bustled about to prepare for Tom's coming home, having 
 been informed by Bryan that she was to expect him. 
 " Poor fellow ! he may well be tired and weary. I must 
 get his bit of supper ready. Hush ! that's his footstep," 
 she continued. But something smote her as she noticed 
 the fact, that he was silent. There was no cheering song 
 bursting from his throat — no glad word of greeting ; but 
 he entered the door, moody and noiseless. Another glance. 
 Did not her eye deceive her ? No ! The fatal demon of 
 Liquor had imprinted his awful mark upon his brow. She 
 went up to him, and, in a voice of aflection, asked what 
 was the matter. 
 
 " Matter ? What should be the matter ?" he answered, 
 peevishly. 
 
 " Don't speak so crossly, Thomas," said she, in a subdued 
 voice ; " you know I did not mean any harm." 
 
 " Bless your little soul ! I know you didn't," he exclaimed, 
 giving her a hearty embrace. " It's me that's the brute." 
 
 " Indeed, Thomas, you are nothing of the kind," she 
 went on, the cheerful smile once more on her lip. 
 
LUCK. 207 
 
 " I am, Polly ; I insist upon being a brute. Ah 1 you 
 don't know all." 
 
 " All NvLat } you alarm me 1" 
 
 " I wish I dared tell her," thought Bobolink ; " I will ! 
 I've found a jolly lot of money to-day, Polly.' 
 
 " How much, Thomas ?" 
 
 " Shall I tell her ? I've a great mind to astonish her 
 weak nerves. How much do you think ?" cried he, with a 
 singular expression, which Polly attributed but to one ter- 
 rible cause, and she turned sadly away. That angered him 
 — for men in such moods are captious about trifles. " I 
 won't tell her," said he ; " she doesn't deserve it. Well, 
 then, I've earned a dollar" 
 
 " Only a dollar ?" replied Polly. " Well, never mind, 
 dear Thomas, we must make it do ; and better a dollar 
 earnt, as you have earnt yours, by your own honest indus- 
 try, than thousands got in any other way." 
 
 Somehow Tom fancied that everything she said was 
 meant as so many digs at him, forgetting, in his insane 
 drunkenness, that she must have been ignorant of what 
 had passed. The consequence was, that he became crosser 
 than ever. 
 
 " Why do you keep saying savage things, that you know 
 must aggravate me ?" he cried. " I can't eat. Have you 
 any brandy in the house ? I have a pain here !" and he 
 clasped his hands upon his breast, where the pocket-book 
 lay concealed. " I think the brandy would relieve me." 
 
 *' My poor Thomas," replied his wife, afl"ectionately ; 
 ** something must have happened to annoy you ! I never 
 
208 
 
 saw you thus before ; but you are so seldom the worse for 
 drink, that I will not upbraid you. The best of men are 
 subject to temptation." 
 
 At that word Bobolink started from his seat, and orazinc 
 intently in her face, exclaimed — 
 
 " What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 " Why, even you, Thomas, have been tempted to forget 
 yourself" she replied. 
 
 " How do you know ?" he thundered, his face now sickly 
 pale. 
 
 " I can see it in every feature, my poor husband !" said 
 she, sorrowfully, as she quitted the room to get the brandy 
 he required. 
 
 " I suppose you can," muttered Bobolink to himself, as 
 he fell into the chair, utterly distracted and unhappy ; 
 " everybody can. I'm a marked, miserable man ! and for 
 what ? I'll take it back ; no, no ! I can't now, for I've 
 denied it !" 
 
 " Something has happened to vex you terribly, my dear 
 husband !" cried Polly, as she returned with a small bottle 
 of brandy. 
 
 " Well, suppose there has," replied he, in a loud and 
 angry tone, " is a man accountable to his wife for every 
 moment of his life ? Go to bed ! Where's the use in 
 whimpering about it ? You've had such a smooth road 
 all your life, that the first rut breaks your axle. Come, 
 don't mind me, Polly !" he went on, suddenly changing to 
 a joyous laugh, and yet somewhat subdued by the tears 
 that now flowed down his wife's pale cheeks ; " I don't 
 
209 
 
 mean to worry you, but — but you see that I'm a little 
 sprung. Leave me to myself, there's a good girl ! Come, 
 kiss me before you go. Ha ! ha ! I'll make a lady of you 
 yet, Pol ! see if I don't. Didn't you hear me tell you to 
 go to bed ?" 
 
 " Yes, Thomas, but "— 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Pray, drink no more." 
 
 "Fll drink just as much as I please; and, moreover, I 
 won't be dictated to by you, when I can buy your whole 
 stock out, root and branch. I've stood your nonsense long 
 enough, so take my advice and start." 
 
 " Oh 1 Thomas — Thomas !" cried his weeping wife, as 
 she hurried to her little bedroom ; " never did I expect 
 this, and you'll be soriy for it in the morning." 
 
 " Damn it ! I am an unfeeling savage. Don't cry, Pol !" 
 he shouted after her, as she quitted the room ; " I didn't 
 intend to hurt your feelings, and I won't drink any more, 
 there. Say God bless you before you go in, wou't you 1" 
 
 " God bless you, dear husband !" said the loving wife. 
 
 "That's right, Pol!" 
 
 As soon as Tom found himself quite alone, he looked 
 carefully at the fastenings of the doors and windows, and 
 having cleared the little table of its contents, proceeded to 
 examine the interior of the pocket-book. With a tremu- 
 lous hand and a quick-beating heart, he drew it forth, start- 
 ing at the slightest sound ; tearing it open, he spread the 
 thick bundle of notes before him ; the sight seemed to 
 dazzle his eye-sight ; his breath became heavy and suffoca 
 
210 o'beyan's luck. 
 
 ting; there was more, vastly more, than he had ever 
 dreamed of. 
 
 " What do I see ?" he cried, while his eyes sparkled with 
 the fire of suddenly-awakened avarice, " tens — fifties — 
 hundreds — I do believe — thousands ! I never saw such a 
 sight before. What sound was that ? I could have sworn 
 I heard a small voice call out my name. For the first time 
 in my life, I feel like a coward. I never yet feared to 
 stand before a giant ! now, a boy might cow me down. 
 Pshaw ! it's because I'm not used to handling money." 
 
 Again and again, he tried to count up liow much the 
 amount was, but grew confused, and had to give it up. 
 
 '* Never mind how much there is," he cried, at last ; " it's 
 mine — all mine ! nobody saw me ; nobody knows it : 
 nobody — but one — but one !" he continued, looking upward 
 for an instant, and then, clasping his hands together, and 
 leaning his head over the money, he wept bitter tears over 
 his great Piece of Luck. 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 At a splendid escritoir Mr. Granite sat, in his own room, 
 surrounded by the luxurious appliances which wait upon 
 wealth, however acquired. The face of the sitter is deadly 
 
o ^Bryan's luck. 211 
 
 pale, for be is alone, and amongst his most private papers. 
 Ho has missed one, upon which the permanence of his 
 worldly happiness hung. Diligently has he been searching 
 for that small scrap of paper, which contained the sentence 
 of death to his repute. Oh ! the agony of that susi)ense ! 
 It could not have been abstracted, for it was in a secret 
 part of his writing-desk ; although by the simplest accident 
 in the w^orld it had now got mislaid ; yet was he destined 
 not to recover it. In hastily taking out some papers, it 
 had dropped through the opening of the desk, which was 
 a large one, upon the carpet, where it remained, unper- 
 ceived. In the midst of his anxious and agonized search, 
 there was a knock at the door, and even paler and more 
 heart-broken than the merchant himself, Sterling tottered 
 into the room. 
 
 " Well, my good Sterling," said the merchant, with a 
 great eflbrt stifling his own apprehension, " I am to be 
 troubled no more by that fellow's pitiful whiniugs. I was 
 a fool to be over-persuaded ; but benevolence is my failing 
 — a commendable one, I own — but still a failing." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that, sir, for you now have 
 a great opportunity to exercise it." 
 
 " Ask me for nothing more, for I have done " — inter- 
 rupted Granite ; fancying for an instant that he might have 
 placed the missing document in a secret place, where he 
 was sometimes in the habit of depositing matters of the 
 first importance, he quitted the room hurriedly. 
 
 " Lost ! lost, for ever ! I have killed the son of my old 
 benefactor !" cried Sterling. " He can't recover from the 
 
2111 o'bkyan's luck. 
 
 shock — nor I — nor I ! my heart is breaking — to fall from 
 such a height of joy into such a gulf of despair — I, who 
 could have sold my very life to bring him happiness." At 
 that moment his eye caught a paper which lay on the car- 
 pet, and with the instinct of a clerk's neatness solely, he 
 picked it up and put it on the table before him. " The 
 crime of self-destruction is great," he continued, " but I 
 am sorely tempted. With chilling selfishness on one side, 
 and dreadful misery on the other, life is but a weary bur- 
 den." Carelessly glancing at the paper which he had 
 taken from the floor, he read the name of Travers ; he 
 looked closely at it, and discovered that it was an abstract 
 of a will. Curiosity prompted him to examine it, and his 
 heart gave one tremendous throb, when he discovered it to 
 bear date after the one by w^hich Henry, in a fit of anger, 
 was disinherited by his father. 
 
 The old man fell upon his knees, and if ever a fervent, 
 heartfelt prayer issued fi-om the lips of mortal, he then 
 prayed that he might but live to see that great wrong 
 righted. 
 
 He had but just time to conceal the paper within his 
 breast, when Granite returned. 
 
 " You here yet ?" he cried. " Have I not done enough 
 to-day? What other beggarly brat do you come suing 
 for?" 
 
 " For none, dear sir," said Sterling. " I would simply 
 test that benevolence, of which you spoke but now — the 
 money which you sent to Travers " — 
 
 " Well, what of it ?" 
 
o'bryan's luck. 213 
 
 ** I have lost !" 
 
 " Pooh ! old man," continued the other, contemptuously, 
 " don't think to deceive me by such a stale device ; that's 
 A very old trick." 
 
 " You don't believe me ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " After so many years !" cried the old man, with tear- 
 choked utterance. 
 
 " The temptation was too much for you," bitterly replied 
 the merchant. The old leaven exhibited itself once more. 
 " You remember " — 
 
 " Silence, sir !" cried the old man, drawing up his aged 
 form into sudden erectness, while the fire of indignation 
 illumined his lustreless eye. " The majesty of my integ- 
 rity emboldens me to say that, even to you — your cruel 
 taunt has wiped out all of feeling that I had for you — fel- 
 low-sinner, hast thou not committed an error also ?" 
 
 " Insolent ! how dare you insinuate ?" 
 
 " I don't insinuate ; I speak out ; nay, not an error, but 
 a crime. I know you have, and can prove it." 
 
 " Away, fool ! you are in your dotage." 
 
 " A dotage that shall wither you in your strength, and 
 strip you of your ill-bought possessi^s," exclaimed the 
 old man, with nearly the vigor of youth ; " since Humanity 
 will not prompt you to yield up a portion of your stolen 
 wealth. Justice shall force you to deliver it all — aye, all 1" 
 
 " Villain ! what riddle is this ?" cried Granite, with a 
 vague presentiment that the missing paper was in some 
 way connected with this contretemps. 
 
 *' A riddle easily solved," answered Sterling. " Behold 
 
214 o'bryan's luck. 
 
 its solution, if your eyes dare look at it ! A will, devising 
 all the property you hold to Henry Travers ! There are 
 dozens who can swear to my old employer's signature. 
 Stern, proper justice should prompt me to vindicate his 
 son's cause ; yet, I know that he would not purchase wealth 
 at the cost of your degradation. Divide equally with him, 
 and let the past be forgotten." 
 
 There was but one way that Granite could regain his 
 vantage-ground, and he was not the man to shrink from it. 
 
 With a sudden bound, he threw himself upon the weak 
 old clerk, and snatching the paper from him, exclaimed — 
 
 " You shallow-pated fool ! think you that you have a 
 child to deal with ? The only evidence that could fling a 
 shadow across my good name would be your fragment of 
 miserable breath, which I could take, and would, as easily 
 as brush away a noxious wasp, but that I despise you too 
 entirely to feel your sting. Go, both of you, and babble 
 forth your injuries to the world ! go, and experience how 
 poor a conflict starveling honesty in rags can wage against 
 iniquity when clad in golden armor ! I defy ye all ! Be- 
 hold how easily I can destroy all danger to myself, and 
 hope to him at once." So saying, he held the paper to the 
 lamp, and, notwithstanding the ineflfectual eflbrts of Ster- 
 ling to prevent it, continued so to hold it until a few tran- 
 sitory sparks were all that remained of Henry Travers's 
 inheritance. 
 
 Sterling said not a syllable, but, with a glance at the 
 other, which had in it somewhat of inspiration, pointed 
 upward, and slowly staggered from the room. 
 
8 LUCK. 215 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MORNING THOUGHTS. 
 
 'I'liE early grey of dawn peeped furtively through the 
 shutters of Tom Bobolink's home, and as they strength- 
 ened and strengthened, fell upon a figure which could 
 scarcely be recognized as the same joyous-hearted individ- 
 ual of the day before. On the floor lay Tom ; the candle, 
 which had completely burned out in its socket, close to his 
 head ; one hand grasped the empty bottle, and the other 
 was tightly clutched within his breast. 
 
 And now another scarcely less sorrowful-looking figure 
 is added. Polly gazes, with tearful eyes, upon the pros- 
 trate form. He is evidently in the maze of some terrible 
 dream, for his head rolls fearfully about, his limbs are con- 
 vulsed, and his breathing is thick and heavy. 
 
 Polly stooped down to awake him gently, when, at the 
 slightest touch, he started at one bound to his feet, mutter- 
 ing incoherent words of terror and apprehension ; his eyes 
 rolled about wildly. He seized Polly, and held her at 
 arras' length for an instant, until he fairly realized his 
 actual situation, when he burst into a loud laugh, that 
 chilled his poor wife's very blood. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! Pol, is that you ?" he cried, wildly. " I've 
 been a bad boy, I know ; but I'll make up for it gloriously, 
 
216 
 
 my girl. Ugh ! what a dream I've had. Ah ! the dark- 
 ness is a terrible time to get over when one's conscience 
 is filling the black night with fiery eyes." Then, turning 
 to his wife, he said, loudly : " Polly, darling, I'm ashamed 
 of myself; but it will be all right by and by. You were 
 cut out for a rich woman, Pol." 
 
 " Dear Thomas, let me be rich in the happiness of our 
 humble home ; 'tis all I ask." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Suppose now you got a heap of money 
 a prize in the lottery, wouldn't you like to elevate your 
 little nose, and jostle against the big bugs in Broadway ?" 
 
 *' Not at the price of our comfort, Thomas," she answered, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " You're a fool ! Money can buy all sorts of comfort." 
 
 " What do you mean, Thomas, by those hints about 
 money ? has anything happened ?'* 
 
 " Oh ! no — no !" he replied, quickly, turning his eyes 
 away ; " but there's no knowing when something might. 
 Now m try her," thought he. " It's my dream, Pol. Shall 
 I tell it to you ?" 
 
 " Do, my dear Tom. Oh ! I'm so glad to see you your- 
 self once more." 
 
 " Well, dear," he continued, sitting close to her, and 
 placing his arm around her waist, " I dreamed that as I 
 was returning from a job, what should I see in the street, 
 under my very nose, but a pocket-book, stuffed full of 
 money. Presently the oyner came along. He asked me 
 if I had found it. I said no, and came home a rich man — 
 oh ! so rich !" 
 
LUCK. 217 
 
 ** I know your heart too well, Tom, to believe that such 
 a thing could happen except in a dream," said his wife, to 
 his great annoyance. He started up, and after one or two 
 turns about the little, now untidy, room, exclaimed, angrily : 
 
 " Why not ? I should like to know if fortune did — I 
 mean — was, to fling luck in my way, do you think I'd be 
 such a cursed fool as not to grab at it ?" 
 
 " Thomas, you have been drinking too much," said she, 
 
 " No, no," he interrupted, " not enough ; give me some 
 more." 
 
 " Not a drop, husband," she replied, seriously, and with 
 determination. " If you will poison yourself it shall not 
 be through my hand." 
 
 " Don't be a fool," he cried, savagely, " or it may be the 
 worse for you. I'm master of my own house, I think." 
 
 " Home ! ah, Thomas, some evil spirit has stolen away 
 our once happy home for ever," said Polly, as she slowly 
 and sorrowfully returned again to weep in the silence of 
 her own room. 
 
 " There has, there has," cried Tom, as she quitted him. 
 " And this is it " — pulling out the pocket-book, which he 
 had not left hold of for an instant, and frowning despe- 
 rately at it — " Confound your skin, it's you that has stolen 
 away our comfort. I'll take the cursed thing back ; I 
 wouldn't have Polly's eyes wet with sorrow to be made of 
 money — I'll take it back this very blessed morning ; and 
 somehow that thought brings a ray of sunlight ba,ck to my 
 heart." So saying, he thrust the pocket-book, as he 
 10 
 
218 
 
 thought, safely within his vest, but in his eagerness to take 
 extra care of it, it slipped through, and dropped upon the 
 floor ; his mind being taken off for a moment by the 
 entrance of Bryan, to tell him that the horse and truck 
 were ready. 
 
 " Very well, I'm glad of it," cried Tom. " Now Til see 
 what the fine, bracing, morning air will do for- this cracked 
 head of mine ; now then, to take this back," and he slapped 
 his chest, under the full impression that the pocket-book 
 was there. " Bryan, I don't want you for half an hour ; 
 just wait till I come back, will you ?" 
 
 " That I will, sir, and welcome," said Bryan, and with a 
 merry song once more at his lip, and a cheerful good-bye 
 to Polly, to whose heart both brought comfort in her great 
 sadness, Bobolink mounted his truck, and trotted off. 
 
 Meantime Bryan, now left alone in the room, dived into 
 the recesses of his capacious coat-pocket, and producing 
 from thence a piece of bread and cheese, moralized the 
 while upon the pleasant change in his prospects. 
 
 "Long life to this tindher-hearted couple," said he. 
 " Shure an' I'm on the high road to good luck at last ; 
 plenty of the best in the way of atin', and an elegant sta- 
 ble to sleep in, with a Christian-like quadruped for com- 
 pany ; av I had only now a trifle o' money to get myself 
 some clothes — these things doesn't look well in this part 
 of the world," casting his eyes down in not over-delighted 
 contemplation of his nether integuments. " A little bit o' 
 money now would make me so happy an' industrious, I 
 could take the buzz out of a hive o' bees. The saints be- 
 
LUCK. 219 
 
 tween us and all mischief, what's that ?" he continued, start- 
 ing to his feet, as his glance fell upon the pocket-book 
 which Tom had dropped. " It serves me right," he went 
 on, his face suddenly becoming pale as paper, " to wish for 
 any such thing. I don't want it — it was all a mistake,' 
 cried he, apologetically. " This is the devil's work ; no 
 sooner do I let a word out o' me mouth, that I didn't mane 
 at all at all, but the evil hlaggard sticks a swadge of tempt- 
 ation right before me. I won't have it — take it away." 
 
 At that instant Polly returned into the room. " Take 
 care liow you come — don't walk this way," said Bryan. 
 " Look !" 
 
 " What is it ?" cried Polly, in alarm. 
 
 " Timptation !" shouted Bryan. " I was foolish enough 
 just now to wish for a trifle of money, and may I niver see 
 glory if that lump of a pocket-book didn't sprout up before 
 me very eyes." 
 
 " Pocket-book, eh ?" cried Polly, seizing it in her hands, 
 despite of the comic apprehension of Bryan, who insisted 
 that it would burn her fingers. The whole truth flashed 
 across her mind at once. Tom's dream was no dream, but 
 a reality, and the struggle in his mind whether to keep or 
 return it, had caused that sleepless and uncomfortable 
 night. "Bryan,"-said she, quickly," did you hear any one 
 say that they had lost any money yesterday ?" 
 
 " Let me see," replied the other. " Yes, to be sure, 44 
 came out of the hall-door, and axed me if I saw a pocket- 
 book." 
 
 " It must be his. Thank God for this merciful dispensa 
 
220 
 
 tion," cried the agitated wife. " Quick, quick, my bonnet 
 and shawl, and come you, Bryan, you know the place ; this 
 money must be that which was lost." 
 
 " I'm wid you, ma'am," answered Bryan. " Who knows 
 but that may be the identical pocket-book ; at any rate it'll 
 do as well if there's as much money in it, and if there 
 isn't, there'll be another crop before we come back." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 RE TRI BUTION, 
 
 Snugly ensconced in his own particular apartment, Mr. 
 Granite had flung himself in post-prandial abandon into 
 his easiest of easy-chairs. Leisurely, and with the smack 
 of a true connoisseur, he dallied with a glass of exquisite 
 Madeira. The consciousness of the enviable nature of his 
 worldly position never imbued him so thoroughly as at 
 such a moment. Business was flourishing, his health was 
 excellent, and his son, on whom he concentrated all the 
 affection of which his heart was capable, had recently dis- 
 tinguished himself at a college examination. Everything, 
 in fact, seemed to him couleur de rose. 
 
 It can readily be imagined that to be disturbed at such 
 a period of enjoyment was positive high treason against 
 the home majesty of the mercantile monarch. 
 
'Bryan's luck. 221 
 
 Fancy, therefore, what a rude shock it was to his quiet, 
 when he was informed that Mr. Sterling wished to see him 
 on a matter of the greatest importance. " I cannot, I will 
 not see him, or anybody," said the enraged potentate ; 
 " you know, he knows, my invariable rule. It must not 
 be infringed, for any one whatever, much less for such a 
 person," and, closing his eyes in a spasm of self-sufficiency, 
 he again subsided into calmness, slightly ruffled, however, 
 by the outrageous attack upon his privacy. 
 
 He had just succeeded in restoring his disturbed equa- 
 nimity, when he was once more startled into ill-humor by 
 the sound of voices as if in altercation, and a sharp knock 
 at the chamber-door. 
 
 The next instant, to his still greater surprise and anger, 
 the old clerk. Sterling, who had been ignominiously dis- 
 missed since the last interview between him and Granite, 
 stood before him. Every particle of his hitherto meekness 
 and humility had apparently vanished, as for a few moments 
 he regarded the merchant with a fixed and penetrating look. 
 
 " What villainous intrusion is this ? Where are my ser- 
 vants? How dare they permit my home to be thus in- 
 vaded?" cried Granite, with flashing eyes and lowering- 
 brow. 
 
 " I am here, not for myself," replied Sterling, calmly, 
 " but for the victim of your rapacity — of your terrible 
 guilt. I have intruded upon you at this unusual time to 
 inform you of the extremity in which Travers is placed, 
 and from my carelessness — my criminal carelessness. Will 
 you not at least remedy that ?" 
 
222 
 
 " No !" thundered the exasperated merchant. " Your 
 indiscreet zeal has ruined both you and those for whom 
 you plead. I'll have nothing to do with any of ye — be- 
 gone !" 
 
 " Not before I have cautioned you that my lips, hitherto 
 sealed for fear of injury to him, shall henceforward be 
 opened. Why should I hesitate to denounce one who is 
 so devoid of common charity ?" 
 
 " Because no one will believe you," responded the other, 
 with a bitter sneer. " The denunciations of a discharged 
 servant are seldom much heeded ; empty sounds will be of 
 no avail. Proof will be needed in confirmation, and where 
 are you to find that ?" 
 
 "Ah ! where, indeed 1 you have taken care of that ; but 
 have you reflected that there is a power tc^ whom your 
 machinations, your schemes of aggrandizement, are as 
 flimsy as the veriest gossamer web ?" solemnly ejaculated 
 Sterling. 
 
 "Canting sways me as little as your hurtless threats. 
 "What I have, I shall keep in spite of" — 
 
 " Heaven's justice ?" interposed the old clerk. 
 
 " In spite of anything or everything," savagely replied 
 the irritated merchant. " You have your final answer, nor 
 is it in the power of angel or devil to alter it ; and so, the 
 sooner you relieve me from your presence the better I will 
 like it, and the better it may be for your future prospects." 
 
 " Of my future, God knows, I take no care ; but for the 
 sake of those poor young things, so cruelly left to struggle 
 with a hard, hard world, I feel that I have strength even 
 
o'bryan's luck. 223 
 
 to oppose the stern rock of your obstinacy, almost hopeless 
 though the effort may be. I am going," he went on, see- 
 ing the feverish impatience working in Granite's face, " but, 
 as a parting word, remember that my dependence is not in 
 my own ability to unmask your speciousness, or contend 
 against the harshness of your determination. No, I sur- 
 render my case and that of my clients into His hands who 
 never suffers the guilty to triumph to the end. The ava- 
 lanche falls sometimes on the fruitfullest vineyards, as well 
 as on the most sterile waste." 
 
 " By Heaven ! you exhaust my patience," roared the 
 other, as he rung the servants' bell impetuously ; " since 
 you will not go of your own accord, I must indignantly 
 thrust you forth into the street like a cur." 
 
 " There shall be no need of that," meekly replied the 
 clerk, turning to leave the apartment, just as the servant 
 entered, bringing a letter for Mr. Granite on a silver waiter. 
 
 The latter was about to address an angry sentence to the 
 servant, when he perceived that the letter he carried was 
 enclosed in an envelope deeply bordered with black. 
 
 His heart gave one mighty throb as he snatched it — 
 tearing it open, and gasping with some terrible presenti- 
 ment of evil, he but glanced at the contents, and with a 
 fearful shriek fell prostrate. 
 
 Sterling rushed to his side, and with the aid of the ser- 
 vant, loosed his neckcloth, and placed him in a chair, using 
 what immediate remedies he could command in the hope 
 of restoring animation. It was some minutes before the 
 stricken man, clutched from his pride of place in the wink- 
 
224 
 
 ing of an eyelid, gave signs of returning vitality. During 
 bis unconsciousness, Sterling ascertained from the open 
 letter lying at his feet, that the merchant's son, the sole 
 hope of his existence, for whom he had slaved and toiled, 
 set at naught all principle, and violated even the ties of 
 kindred and of honesty, had died suddenly at college. 
 No previous illness had given the slightest shadow of an 
 apprehension. He had quietly retired to his b^ at his 
 usual hour on the previous night, and in the morning was 
 found stark and cold. None knew the agony which might 
 have preceded dissolution. No friendly tongue was nigh 
 to speak of consolation ; no hand to do the kindly ojOfices 
 of nature. 
 
 Slowly, slowly and painfully the wretched parent re- 
 turned to consciousness, and with it, the terrible reality of 
 his bereavement. Glaring around him fiercely : " Where 
 am I ? — what is this ? — w hy do you hold me ?" he cried, 
 madly. At this instant his glance fell upon the fatal letter ; 
 " Oh, God 1 I know it all — all ! my son ! my son 1" Turn- 
 ing upon Sterling, fiercely, he grasped him by the throat. 
 " Old man," he cried, " you have murdered him ! you, and 
 that villain Travers!" Then he relaxed his gripe, and in 
 an agony of tears, fell to supplication. " It cannot be — it 
 shall not be — oh ! take me to him — ^vhat am I to do ? 
 Sterling, my old friend, oh, forgive me — pity me — let us 
 away." He tried to stand, but his limbs were paralyzed. 
 " The judgment has fallen — I feared it — I expected it, but 
 not so suddenly — it may be that there is still hope — hope, 
 though ever so distant. Perhaps a quick atonement may 
 
o'be'yan's luck. 225 
 
 avert the final blow. Quick, SterliDg— give me paper, and 
 pen." They were brought. " Now write," he continued, 
 his voice growing fainter and fainter : " I give Travers all 
 — all — if this late repentance may be heard, and my son 
 should live. I know I can rely on his benevolence — quick, 
 let me sign it, for my strength is faiHng fast." 
 
 With extreme difficulty, he appended his signature to 
 the document Sterling had drawn up at his desire. When 
 it was done, the pen dropped from his nerveless grasp, his 
 lips moved for an instant as though in prayer — the next — 
 he was — nothing ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 Our scene shifts back to Mrs. Grimgriskin's elegant es- 
 tablishment, where poor Travers' affairs are once more in a 
 very dilapidated state, as may be inferred from the conver- 
 sation now progressing. 
 
 " People as can't pay," said the now curt landlady, 
 smoothing down an already very smooth apron, " needn't 
 to have no objections, I think, to turn out in favor of them 
 as can. I'm a woman of few words — very few indeed. I 
 don't want to make myself at all disagreeable ; but impos- 
 sibles is impossibles, and I can't provide without I have 
 the means to do so with." 
 
 10* 
 
226 o'bryan's luck. 
 
 " My good lady," interposed Travers, " do pray give me 
 a little time ; my friend Sterling has again applied to Mr. 
 Granite " — 
 
 " Pooh ! I'm sick of all such excuses ; one word for all 
 — get your trunks ready. I'd rather lose what you owe 
 me than let it get any bigger, when there's not the remo- 
 test chance, as I can see, for its liquidation ; and, dear me, 
 how lucky — I declare there's the very truckman who came 
 the other day. I'll tell him to stop, for I don't mind giv- 
 ing you all the assistance I can, conveniently with my own 
 interest." 
 
 So saying, she hailed Tom Bobolink, who was indeed 
 looking somewhat wistfully towards the house. He was 
 just cogitating within his mind what excuse he could make 
 to get into the place, and so rid himself of his unfortunate 
 good fortune at once. 
 
 " You trunks, I presume from appearance, won't take a 
 long time to get ready," said the delicate Grimgriskin. 
 " Here, my man ; just come in here," she continued, as 
 Tom, in a state of considerable trepidation, entered the 
 room ; " this young man will have a job for you." The 
 poor wife now joined Travers, and on inquiring the cause 
 of the slight tumult, was told by Henry that she must pre- 
 pare to seek an asylum away from the hospitable man- 
 sion which had recently afforded them a shelter. 
 
 " Come, my love," said he, with a tolerable effort at 
 cheerfulness, " let us at once leave this mercenary woman's 
 roof" 
 
 " Mercenary, indeed !" the landlady shrieked after them, 
 
s LUCK. 227 
 
 as they entered their ovm room. " Because a person won't 
 suffer themselves to be robbed with their eyes open, they're 
 mercenary. The sooner my house is cleared of sucli rub- 
 bish, the better. Mercenary, indeed !" and with an indig- 
 nant toss of her false curls, she flounced out of the room. 
 
 " Now for it !" cried Tom ; " the coast is clear ; what the 
 deuce shall I do with it? I dare not give it openly 
 suppose I say I found it under the sophia. Egad, that will 
 do famously ; here goes." So saying, he plunged his hand 
 into his bosom, and to his horror and consternation it was 
 not there ; his blood froze in his veins for an instant, then 
 deluged him with a perfect thaw of perspiration. " Oh, 
 miserable, miserable wretch, I've lost it, I've lost it ; what 
 is to become of me !" In vain he searched and searched ; 
 it was clean gone. " Oh, how can I face Polly again ?" he 
 groaned. "My life is made unhappy for ever; cursed, 
 cursed luck. That ever my eyes fell upon the thing at all : 
 ha !" a shadowy hope flitted across him, that he might have 
 left it at home. " Could I have been so drunken a fool as 
 to leave it behind me ? if so, where is it now ? At all 
 events, I must go back as fast as I can, for if I cannot 
 recover it, my God ! I shall go mad." With a few big 
 jumps he reached the street, and hastily mounting his 
 truck, drove rapidly home, unmindful of liie public obser- 
 vation his demented look and unusual haste produced. 
 
 A short time after Tom's sudden departure, which was a 
 perfect mystery to Mrs. Grimgriskin, and also to Henry and 
 bis wife, a timid ring was heard at the hall-door, and soon 
 Travers, to whom every sound brought increase of appre- 
 
228 
 
 hension, trembled as he became aware of an altercation 
 between his irate landlady and the new comers, whoever 
 they were. 
 
 " I tell you I must see 44, the man that had the thrunks, 
 goin' away a few days agone," said an unmistakably Irish 
 voice, rich and round. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, ma'am," placidly continued a small, 
 silvery one. 
 
 The dispute, however, was very suddenly cut short by 
 the owner of the loud voice exclaiming, " Arrah, get out o' 
 the road, you cantankerus witch of Endher," and O'Bryan 
 and Polly rushed up the stairs without further ceremony. ■ 
 The door of Travers' room was flung open. " Ha ! ha 1" 
 cried O'Bryan, " there he is, every inch of him ; that's 44 ; 
 long life to you ; and it's glad I am I've found you, and glad 
 you'll be yourself, I'm" thinkin', if a trifle o' money will do 
 yez any good." 
 
 " What's the matter with you, my friend, what do you 
 seek from me ?" demanded Travers. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I beg your pardon for breaking in upon you 
 BO suddenly," said Polly, "but have you lost any mo- 
 ney !" 
 
 " I have, indeed," replied Henry, " a large sum ; do you 
 know anything about it ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," cried Polly, with a radiant flash of her eye, 
 " Here it is ;" handing over the wallet, with its contents, 
 with a sigh of the greatest possible relief. " Tell me one 
 thing, sir," she hesitatingly went on, "was it — was it- 
 taken from you ?'* 
 
o'bryan's ltjck. 229 
 
 " No, my good woman, it was lost by an old friend of 
 mine, dropped, he believes, in the street." 
 
 " It was, sir, just as you say, thank Heaven for it. Yes, 
 sir ; ray husband found it. Is it all there, sir ? oh, pray 
 relieve me by saying it is." 
 
 " Yes, every penny." 
 
 " Then, sir, whatever joy you may feel at its restoration 
 cannot equal what I feel at this moment," said Polly, 
 while the tears gushed forth unrestrainedly from her eyes, 
 
 "Here, my good woman, you must take a portion and 
 give it to your honest husband," said Henry, handing to 
 her a liberal, amount of the sum. 
 
 " Not a shilling, sir, not a shilling," Polly firmly repeated. 
 " I hate to look at it." 
 
 " Then would you, my friend, take some reward," con- 
 tinued he, addressing O'Bryan. 
 
 "Is it me? not av you were me father, I wouldn't," 
 said the Irishman, with a look of horror. " I know where 
 it came from ; bedad I know the very soil it sprouted 
 out of. I'll tell you how it was, sir. You see I was sittin* 
 by myself, and, like an ungrateful blaggard as I am, 
 instead of thankin' the blessed Heavens for the good luck 
 that had fell a-top o' me, what should I do but wish I had 
 a bit o' money, for to dress up my ugly anatomy, when all 
 at once that swadge of temptation dropped on the floor 
 before my very face." 
 
 " Don't heed him, sir, he knows not what he talks about," 
 aaid Polly. " It is all as I told you, sir. My husband" — 
 
 She was interrupted by O'Bryan, who cried, " Here he 
 
230 
 
 comes. May I niver stir if he doesn't, skelpin' along the 
 street in a state of disthractitude ; by me sowl it's here he's 
 coming, too." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Henry, " he is employed, I believe, 
 by our worthy landlady, to remove our things." 
 
 At this moment Tom burst into the room, but on seeing 
 Polly and O'Bryan he stopped short, as if arrested by a 
 lightning stroke. " You here, Polly ? have you heard of 
 my crime," he said, wildly : but she restrained him by gently 
 laying her hand upon his arm. 
 
 " Yes, Tom," she said, quietly, " I know all about it, and 
 so does this gentleman. I have restored the money." 
 
 " What ?" exclaimed Bobolink, while a thrill of joy went 
 through his frame ; " is this true ?" 
 
 " Hush ! husband, dear, hush !" she continued ; " I did 
 as you told me, you know. I have brought and given 
 back the lost money to its owner. You know you left it 
 at home for me to take." 
 
 " Ah, Polly, I wish I could tell this fellow that," said 
 Tom, laying his hand upon his heart ; " but I did intend 
 to give it back. I did, by all my hopes of happi- 
 ness." 
 
 " I know you did, my dear Tom," replied Polly, earnest- 
 ly. "Your true heart could not harbor a bad thought 
 long." 
 
 " ^^y good friend," said Travers, approaching the truck- 
 man. " Your wife has refused any reward for this honest 
 act." 
 
 " She's right, sir, she's right," interrupted the other. 
 
O \li K Y A N ' S L U C ^ . 231 
 
 " At least you'll let me sliake you by the Land, and 
 proffer you my frieudship ?" 
 
 " I can't, Poll, I can't," said Tom, aside, to his wife. " I'm 
 afraid — Vm half a scoundrel yet — I know I am ; but I've 
 learned a wholesome lesson, and while I have life I'll strive 
 to profit by itJ' 
 
 Urged to it by Polly, he did, however, shake hands with 
 Travers and his wife, just as old Sterling, his face shrouded 
 in gloom, and Mrs. Grimgriskin, stiff and tigerish, entered 
 the room. 
 
 " Ah, Sterling, my good old friend, rejoice with us — this 
 honest fellow has found, and restored the money lost," said 
 Travers, gaily; "but, how is this? you don't join in our 
 gladness. Has that old rascal " — 
 
 " Hold !" interrupted the old clerk, in an earnest voice, 
 and impressive manner ; " Heaven has avenged your wrongs 
 in a sudden and fearful manner. Mr. Granite is dead." 
 
 "Deatl!" exclaimed Henry, in a subdued tone; "with 
 him let his misdeeds be buried. His son will perhaps be 
 more merciful ; he will inherit " — 
 
 " He has inherited — his ftither's fate," solemnly replied 
 the old clerk. " Justice may slumber for a while, but retri- 
 bution must come at last. You are now, by the merchant's 
 will, his sole heir." 
 
 " Ho, ho 1" thought Mrs. Grimgriskin, who had been an 
 attentive listener, " I'm a woman of few words, but if I had 
 been a woman of less, perhaps it would be more to ray 
 interest ; but sudden millionaires are usually generous ;" 
 and 80, smoothing her feline demeanor into quietude, she 
 approached Travers. 
 
232 
 
 O'BETANS LUCK. 
 
 " Allow me most sincerely to congratulate you upon 
 your good fortune," she simpered. " Apropos, the first 
 floor is somewhat in arrear ; lovely apartments, new car- 
 pet, bath, hot water " 
 
 '* Plenty of that, Til be bail," remarked O'Bryan ; 
 " arrah, howld yer prate, Mrs, Woman-of-few-words — don't 
 you see there's one too many here ?" 
 
 " Then why don t you go, you ignorant animal," shargly 
 suggested the other. 
 
 '* Because Fm not the an^." 
 
 Suffice it to say, Henry, with his young wife, and dear 
 old Sterling, were soon installed in a house of their own, 
 and, to their credit, never lost sight of the interest of Tom 
 Bobolink and Polly, who from that day increased in con- 
 tent and prosperity. 
 
 As for O'Bryan, the last intimation we had of his well- 
 doing, was the appearance of sundry gigantic street-bills, 
 which contained the foUowinof announcement : 
 
 
 VOTE FOR 
 
 THE 
 
 PEOPLES" FRIEND. 
 
 
 O'BRYAX, 
 
 
 FOB ALDERMAN. 
 
THE TIPPERAEY VENUS. 233 
 
 THE TIPPEKAKT YE:[:^US 
 
 Amongst a people so simple-hearted and enthusiastic att 
 the Irish, it is not at all surprising that a firm and implicit 
 belief in supernal agency should be almost universal. To 
 vivid imaginations, ever on the stretch for the romantic, 
 yearning ever for something beyond the dull realities of 
 ■ commonplace existence, there is something extremely fascL 
 nating in the brain revellings of Fairy Land. 
 
 Now the Irish fairies are very numerous, and all as well 
 classified, and their varied occupations defined and described 
 by supernaturalists, as though they really were amongst the 
 things that be. The " learned pundits " in such matters 
 declare that the economy of human nature is entirely carried 
 on through their agency. Philosophers have demon- 
 strated the atomic vitality of the universe, and the believer in 
 fairies simply allots them their respective places and duties 
 in the general distribution. They tell you that every 
 breath of air, every drop of water, every leaf and flower, 
 teems with actual life. Myriads of tiuy atomies, they say, 
 are employed carrying on the business of existence, animal, 
 vegetable, and atmospheric. Here are crowds of industrious 
 little chemists, extracting dew froni moonbeams^ which they 
 
234 THE TIPPEEAKT VENUS. 
 
 deliver over to relays of fairy laborers, by them to be 
 applied to the languishing grass. The noxious exhalations 
 of the earth are, by a similar process, gathered from decay- 
 ing vegetation, and dispersed or condensed into refreshing 
 rain. The warm sunbeams are by them brought down 
 and scattered through the fields ; it is the beautiful ministry 
 of one class to breathe upon, and gently force open, the 
 budding blossoms, while another seduously warms and 
 nurtures the ripening corn, and tends the luscious fruits. 
 Mschievous fellows there also are, whose delight it is to 
 try and frustrate the exertions of the workers. They 
 travel from place to place, loaded with malign influences ; 
 blight and mildew, and all the destructive agents that blast 
 the hopes of the agriculturist are under their control ; and, 
 with an industry nearly equal to their opponents, they employ 
 their time in trainiDg caterpillars and other devouring 
 insects to assist them in the work of desolation. 
 
 Many are the battles, we are informed, that occur 
 between the two opposing classes, and it depends upon 
 which side has the best of the contest what the result may 
 be to the defeated object ; whether they contend for the 
 life of some delicate flower, or whether the poor farmer's 
 toils were to be rewarded or rendered hopeless by the 
 safety or the destruction of his entire crops. 
 
 But to leave this fanciful, and, it must be admitted, 
 poetical theory, our business now is with an individual of 
 a highly responsible class in the world of Faiiydom — The 
 Leprechaun. A most important personage he is ; being the 
 custodian of all hidden treasure, it is he who fabricates the 
 
THE TIPPEKARY VENUS. 235 
 
 gold within the rock-encircled laboratory. The precious 
 gems, the diamond, sapphire, ruby, amethyst, emerald, and 
 all the world- coveted jewels, are in the safe guardianship of 
 the Leprechaun ; and fatal it is to him when aught is dis- 
 covered and torn from his grasp — for his fairy existence, 
 his immortal essence, is lost with it ; he can no longer 
 sport through the air, invisible to mortal ken, but is com- 
 pelled to take a tangible form, and to work at a degrading 
 occupation — that of making and mending the shoes of his 
 former fiiiry companions. 
 
 The experiences of the writer of this sketch in fairy lore 
 and anecdote, were mostly gathered from a wild, Tippe- 
 rary sort of cousin, some dozens of times removed, one 
 Roderick* O'Callaghan — familiarly Rory — or as, by an 
 easy corruption, he was known "the country round," 
 Roarin' O'Callaghan, who, in his time, had gathered them 
 from the wilder henchmen and followers by whom he was 
 surrounded, w^hen, a devil-may-care gossoon, he wandered 
 among the Galtie mountains^ the especial pet and perse- 
 cutor of the entire neighborhood. 
 
 Many and many were the mischievous pranks recorded 
 of young Rory. I almost wish that I had begun with the 
 determination of recounting a few of them ; but, as I have 
 •set myself another task, I must defer that intention until a 
 future opportunity. I am not at all certain still, but that 
 my erratic nib — for I write " currente calamo^'' and without 
 much especial method — may diverge from the grand cur- 
 rent of narrative, and, in spite of myself, imperceptibly 
 stray into the now interdicted by-way. 
 
236 THE TIPPEKAKY VENUS. 
 
 It was from Rory that I heard the strange tale I am 
 now about to relate. Desperate boy-rivals were we, at 
 that time, I must tell you, for the affectionate regards of a 
 young beauty who played old Harry with the juvenile 
 susceptibilities of the whole vicinage. Ah ! now that my 
 memory has reverted to that epoch, . igression is inevita- 
 ble. Lovely Polly O'Connor ! — bless my soul ; a sigh, even 
 at this distant period ; how very tenacious these boy-at- 
 tachments are. I see her as plainly now, mentally pictured, 
 as though in very deed she stood before me. 
 
 Both Rory and I endeavored, in the ardent enthusiasm of 
 our fledgling passion, to give vent to the burning thoughts 
 that flamed within us, through the lover's peculiar channel 
 — poetry. My own extraordinary effusion I remember — his 
 I have preserved, and although, at the time, I knew well 
 which was best entitled to the world's consideration, I sub- 
 mit both productions now without a remark. They will at 
 least serve for a description, however insufficient, of our 
 inspiratress. 
 
 I had an immense advantage over my competitor in 
 one instance ; for, hadng an acquaintance in the editorial 
 department of the local newspaper, my lucubration lent a 
 lustre to the poets' corner, while, I am ashamed to confess, 
 I exerted, successfully, the saqje influence to keep Rory's 
 out ; it was was ungenerous, I own, unpardonable ; but 
 what won't a boy-rival do to clear the onward path before 
 the impetuosity of a first love. 
 
 But here is the affair, just as it appeared in the Tippe- 
 rary Gazette, headed, as I thought, with becoming modesty : 
 
THE TIPPERART VENUS. 237 
 
 LINES TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 I will not venture to compare 
 Those flashing eyes 
 To Buuny skies ; 
 To threads of gold thy wealth of hair; 
 Thy cheek unto the rose's glow ; 
 Thy polished brow, 
 To lilies glancing in the light, 
 Or Parian white; 
 Tliy bosom to the virgin snow — 
 For these 
 Are weak and well-worn similies. 
 
 Thine eyes are like— like— let me see ; 
 
 The violet's hue. 
 
 Reflected through 
 
 A drop of dew; 
 
 No, that won't do. 
 
 No semblance true 
 In ample nature can there be 
 To equal their intensity — 
 
 Their heavenly blue. 
 T'were just as vain to seek, 
 Through every flower to match thy glowing cheek. 
 
 No gold could shed 
 Such radiant glory as ensaints thy head. 
 
 Besides, I now remember, 
 Your golden tresses are but flattered red. 
 
 And thine are living amber, 
 As, when 'tis ripest through the waving corn, 
 The sunbeams glance upon a harvest morn. 
 
 To the pale lustre of thy brow, 
 The lily's self perforce must bow — 
 
 The marbles cold. 
 
 And very old ; 
 Thy bosom as the new-fallen snow 
 
238 THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 
 
 Is quite 
 
 As white, 
 And melts as soon with Love's warm glow. 
 
 But then, 
 ■\Vhile that receives an early stain, 
 Thy purer bosom doth still pure remain. 
 
 Since, to my mind, 
 I cannot find 
 A simile of any kind, 
 I argue hence 
 Thou art the sense 
 And spirit of all excellence ; 
 The charm-bestowing fount, from whence 
 
 Fate doti dispense 
 Its varied bounties to the fair, 
 The loveliest of whom but share 
 A portion of the gifts thou well canst spare. 
 
 It will scarcely be credited, that after that brilliant com- 
 pliment to Polly's charms, the little jilt, her well-fortified 
 heart not being assailable by Parnassian pellets, looked still 
 colder upon the suflfering perpetrator. However, the per 
 severing nature of my passion — and, indeed, it was then a 
 real one — was not to be set aside by rebuffs. Again and 
 again I returned to the attack, and, pen in hand, racked 
 my unfortunate brains through all the strategy of acrostics; 
 birth-day odes, and sonnets. It was not until some time 
 afterwards that 1 discovered the real reason of my ill-suc- 
 cess. The writing of the " Lines " was, perhaps, a pardon- 
 able liberty, but printing them was atrocious ; so that, in 
 fact, my unworthy suppression of Rory's concoctions 
 brought its own punishment — not that he was a bit more 
 successful than I, for, as we soon became sensibly aware, 
 
THE TIPPEEAKT VENUS. 239 
 
 the charming, but conscienceless little coquette had even 
 more strings to her bow than she could conveniently fiddle 
 with ; indeed, that there wasn't a decent-looking boy in the 
 academy that she didn't encourage, or seem to encourage, 
 so generalizing was her flirtation system. 
 
 And, after all, to decline upon foxy Tom Gallagher, the 
 more than middle-aged Dispensary doctor, a long, strag- 
 gling, splay-footed disciple of .^culapius, with a head of 
 hair like a door-mat — that she has time and again watched 
 and laughed her little ribs sore at, as he shuffled along the 
 street. Ah ! Polly O'Connor ! 
 
 But, allow me to present to your notice Rory's poetical 
 offering at her inexorable feet. It is, as you may perceive, 
 ambitious, and, however I might have underrated its merits 
 at one time, I now think it smacks somewhat of the old 
 Elizabethan relish. 
 
 Judge for yourself : 
 
 Upon some sly affair 
 
 Connubially dishonest — 
 Vide Lempriere — 
 
 Jupiter was no?i est. 
 And dame Juno thought 
 
 Scandal and 6carte 
 Consolation brought, 
 
 So gave a little party. 
 
 Soon the Grates three 
 
 Came, in evening dresses, 
 Very fond of tea 
 
 They were, with water-cresses. 
 Venus came, and son, 
 
 Who richly did deserve a 
 Birching for the fun 
 
 He made of Miss Minerva. 
 
240 THE t:??ebast vE>ru5. 
 
 
 1 ■ - - -_-■,- = 
 
 Myr 
 
 iJ -0.;; ice,. 
 
 . :j. endesTor, 
 
 fiery manifestations, hoireTer, had not the slightest 
 apon the arctic natare of tiie &%id Polly. To b« 
 
THE TIPPERAET VENUS. 24:1 ' 
 
 sure, ter smile was still " kindly, but frosty," to reverse the 
 Shakespearean aphorism, and as it was dispensed with due 
 impartiality amongst the entire school of her admirers, 
 none were driven to immediate despair, but each flattered 
 himself at the time being that he was the favored one. 
 Our limited supply of pocket-money was transmuted into 
 rings and brooches, for Polly had an inordinate, or rather, 
 the usual predilection of her sex, for bijouterie, and as the 
 rings on trees denote the number of years that have rolled 
 over their leafy heads, so the corresponding trophies upon 
 Polly's taper fingers, denoted the amount of her victims. 
 
 The majority of her swains began, however, to slacken 
 in their attentions, finally dropping off one by one, until 
 the course was left to Rory and me — praiseworthy exam- 
 ples of a constancy of many months, although as yet not 
 fully known to each other. It was about this time that 
 rumors besran to reach us that old Tom Gallao^her, the red- 
 headed, rusty-jointed medico, was a constant, and it was 
 hinted, not unwelcome visitor at Polly's father's house — by 
 the way, I forgot to mention that the O'Connor, pere, was 
 the master of a Charter-house school in the town, and as 
 very a character as such individuals almost invariably are. 
 He had originally been a soldier, so rough, unpolished, and 
 uncouth, that it was a serious question in the neighborhood, 
 if pretty Polly could by any possibility be an ofl'shoot from 
 such a crabbed stock. 
 
 At the time of which I write, availability for the partic- 
 ular post assigned to favorites at court, was the last thing 
 thought of, and the O'Connor having rendered some ques- 
 
 11 
 
242 THE TIPPEEARY VENUS. 
 
 tionable service to the then government, either in making 
 rebels or ensnaring them, he was rewarded with the posi- 
 tion he occupied, although he did not possess a single 
 requisite for that responsible situation. 
 
 Ignorant of the first principles of education, he delegated 
 his task to subordinates, w^hose capacity he was incompe- 
 tent to judge of. His military antecedents made him a 
 harsh, unbending disciplinarian, and as it was in a routine 
 of which he knew nothing whatever, he felt it incumbent 
 upon him to make up in severity and bluster for his lack 
 of knowledge. 
 
 But to return to Polly. When the certainty of her pro- 
 digious perfidy reached me, I imagined myself a kind of 
 master of Ravenswood, and took to melancholy and light 
 food for some days. Reflection and strong physic, how- 
 ever, soon restored me to something like equanimity, and, 
 becoming a little better reconciled " to the annoyance of 
 life, I rushed for consolation and revenge to the poet's cor- 
 ner of the Tipperary Gazette. It was then and there thit 
 I produced the following solemn warning to Polly O'Con- 
 nor, and all others of her sex, w^ho, when love and a full 
 purse are weighed together, get into the scale on the lucre 
 side, making poor, shivering Cupid " kick the beam." It 
 was near the 14th of February, so, in the savage expecta- 
 tion of crushing her heart beneath the satirical avalanche, 
 I designated my contribution — 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 2i3 
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 FOR HER WHO WILL UNDERSTAND IT. 
 
 As Plutus one day, in his chariot of gold, 
 
 Was languidly taking the air, 
 Looking, spite of his riches, distressingly old, 
 
 Although dressed with remarkable care ; 
 He met with young Cupid, who, stayed in his flight 
 
 By the wealthy god's dazzling array. 
 Hovered joyously round on his pinions of light, 
 
 Highly pleased with the tempting display. 
 " Ride with me," said Plutus, " all this you may share ; 
 Ride with me, and garments of gold you may wear." 
 
 Quite delighted, the urchin stepped into the car, 
 
 Little deeming the roads were so rough ; 
 But, repenting his rashness, before he went far 
 
 He cried, " Stop ! I've been jolted enough. 
 Pray excuse me, friend Plutus, though rich be the prize 
 
 You obligingly offer to me. 
 Your i-ealm is the gloomy earth, mine the bright skies, 
 
 'Tis not likely that we should agree. 
 Farewell," said the boy, as he mounted in air, 
 "The he*t that Gold worships. Love never can share." 
 
 Having boldly appended my own initials to this scarify- 
 ing outburst, I waited patiently to watch its effect upon 
 the false one. In a few days I saw her — she looked sad. 
 Ha ! she is touched, thought I ; and, alas for the ferocity 
 of human nature, I rejoiced in her apparent affliction. In 
 a few moments, the sadness deepened on- her brow ; her 
 lovely lashes became burdened with her pearly tears ; reso- 
 lution, revenge, injured feelings, all dissolved into nothing 
 before the cruel shower. I'm not quite certain what im- 
 
2M THE TIPPEEART VENUS. 
 
 mediatelj followed. I believe I flung myself enthusiastic- 
 ally on the carpet, before the Tipperary Niobe — beseeching 
 her to repose her sorrows in my sympathizing bosom. At 
 all events, I succeeded in calming her agitation, and after 
 a delicious inter\aew, wherein she thrilled my soul to its 
 centre by the avowal that, however appearances might 
 convict her of vacillation, I was, ever had been, and ever 
 should be, the sole lord of her aflections. 
 
 In that moment of blinding delirium, of course, all that 
 had hitherto occurred was blotted from my memory as 
 thoroughly as a damp sponge obliterates the records on a 
 tablet of ass-skin. With the unreserved confidence of a 
 relieved heart, she rested her cheek in dangerous proximity 
 to my eager lips, but I had not suflBcient courage to take 
 advantage of the position. Her wonderful eyes looked 
 sincerity and love even into the very depths of my soul. 
 I was fascinated — bewildered — doubled up and done for, 
 most effectually. " The evenings were now beautiful," 
 she hinted, together with remote allusions to " sofb twilight's 
 balmy hour," setting suns, and such like delectations, until 
 I actually summoned up courage sufficient to make an ap- 
 pointment to meet her 
 
 "By moonlight alone." 
 
 Nor had she any reserve while naming the particular 
 grove wliere our try sting was to take place. 
 
 It was with the proud port of a conqueror that I deigned 
 to tread the vulgar pavement after my never-to-be-forgot- 
 ten interview with the Circean Polly ; victory swelled 
 
THE TIPPERART VENTJS. 245 
 
 within my expanding chest, like too much soup. Polly 
 was mine ; what a triumph I had achieved. I do verily 
 believe, if, at this juncture, it were at all essential, or even 
 could be remotely conducive to Polly's tranquillity, that 
 I should go through the then popular amusement of hang- 
 ing, I would have gone to the halter with nearly as much 
 cheerfulness as though it were the altar ; but, fortunately, 
 I was not called upon to testify the loyalty of my devotion 
 by asphyxiation. 
 
 Rory and I, met as usual that afternoon, and I remarked 
 that a sort of ill-concealed joy was working like an under- 
 current through his features — now he would sing vocife- 
 rously ; anon, suddenly subside into quiet — it was very 
 curious — I determined, however, to discover, if possible, 
 the cause of his self-satisfaction. 
 
 "Rory," said I. 
 
 " Hallo !" • . 
 
 " What makes you so silent ?" 
 
 " Am I silent ?" he replied, bursting instantly into a 
 merry song. 
 
 " There's something on your mind, at all events ; that I 
 know." 
 
 " May-be there is ; but do you know that's exactly 
 what I was going to say to you ?" 
 
 " Is it possible ?" I rejoined, as demurely as I could, but 
 my stinging cheek betrayed me. 
 
 " Why, how you blush," he went on. " Ha ! have I 
 found you out ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said I, in an instant changed 
 from convict to criminal. 
 
24:Q THE TIPPEKART VENUS. 
 
 ** You have a sweetheart." 
 
 "And so have you," I retorted, as severely as I could. 
 
 "I don't deny it," said he, laughing like mad. 
 
 " Neither do I, if it comes to that." 
 
 Now, be it understood, we had neither of us, as yet, 
 confessed to the other the reality of the attachment we 
 had each conceived for the di\'ine Polly. 
 
 " You are really in love, then, Rory ?" 
 
 " Oh ! don't mention it," replied he. " Ocean deep, my 
 boy ; fathomless ; out of soundings one instant ; the next, 
 floating nautilus-like upon the warm, tranquil bosom of an 
 oriental lake ; now, lifted upon the very top wave of 
 lunacy, to clutch at stars ; and sunk in the hollow depths 
 of dark despair." Rory was curiously ornate in his ama- 
 tory outbreaks; " What do you think ?" he went on, with 
 a dash of his hitherto confidence. "I have been at the 
 Heliconian again. 
 
 " No !" 
 
 " Upon my life ! deep draughts ! inspiration. Her 
 eyes — oh I such eyes. You've seen them ; small heavens, 
 with a sun in each ; saw her to day — all fixed, my boj; ; 
 she loves me— said so, and yet my pulse didn't overflow 
 and choke me ; heart in my mouth, to be sure — but 
 gulped it down again with a ponderous efibrt; going to 
 meet her to-night, by appointment ; what do you think of 
 that, my boy ? what do you think of that T' 
 
 Curious coincidence, thought I, but said nothing. 
 
 " Shall I read you what I have been doing ?" said Rory, 
 with a sliglitly apologetic gesture. 
 
 *'Only too happy, of course," said I, mentally anathe- 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 24T 
 
 matizing him for an injudicious bore, thus to parade his 
 flaming productions before — ahem ! a writer for the press ; 
 but here is Rory's effusion ; he gave me a copy. 
 
 " You must know," he premised, " that I had some mis- 
 givings about a certain elderly codger, whom I frequently 
 discovered in tantalizing companionship with my beloved ; 
 hence my Valentine is a little suggestive." 
 
 More curious coincidences, said something within me, 
 striking upon the ear of my heart rather alarmingly ; but 
 the great pacificator, conceit, soon quelled the emotion, 
 and I was all absorbed in self love and delicious antici- 
 pations, when Rory cleared his throat, and read 
 
 AN ALLEGORY. 
 
 As Cupid one day, with his quiver well stored, 
 
 Fluttered round, upon wickedness bent, 
 Right and left, his insidious love-messengers poured, 
 And hearts by the hundred were shamefully scored, 
 
 To the mischievous archer's content. 
 Till at last he encountered King Death on his way, 
 
 Whose arrows more fatally flew. 
 In vain did the emulous urcliin display 
 All his arts, his companion stiU carried the day, » 
 
 For his shafts were, as destiny, true. 
 
 Boy Cupid, annoyed at the other's success. 
 
 Invoked cousin Mercury's aid. 
 Who, having for mischief a talent no less, 
 Changed their quivers, so featly that neither could guesa. 
 
 Such complete transposition were made. 
 The result, up to this very hour you may see, 
 
 For when very old folk feel love's smart, 
 Cupid's arrow by Death surely missioned must be ; 
 But when youth in its loveliness sinks to decay, 
 
 Death's quiver doth furnish the dart. 
 
248 THE TIPPEEABY VENUS. 
 
 Here was a startling resemblance, with a vengeance ; 
 in spite of my new-fledged confidence, and the unmistaka- 
 bly excellent opinion I entertained of number one, I began 
 to f(?el somewhat nervous. 
 
 " How do you like it ?" said Rory, evidently nettled at 
 my inattention. 
 
 "I don't like it all." 
 
 "Eh!" 
 
 " I don't mean that ; I mean — the poetry is superb — 
 lovely — but " — 
 
 " But what ? you are laboring to give vent to some- 
 thing, evidently — out with it, man," Rory continued, 
 moodily. 
 
 " Well, then, since you press me," said I, " I certainly 
 have my misgivings." 
 
 ''And what about, pray?" 
 
 " May I venture to ask who the elderly person is, at 
 whom your allegory is directed ?" 
 
 " I have no objection at all," Rory replied, " if you give 
 me your word you won't mention it again." 
 
 " Honor bright." 
 
 " Well, then, it's old Tom Gallagher, the saw-bones." 
 
 Oh ! my internal machinery ceased working, for an 
 instant ; had I a girl's privilege, I should have fainted out- 
 right ; it was a shock ; a stunning one, and no mistake. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ?" inquired Rory, seeing 
 me gasp like a fresh-caught perch. 
 
 " Oh ! Rory," I cried, grasping his hand with the sudden 
 affection that similarity of misfortune always instigates. 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 249 
 
 ** Rory, my friend, did you see my Valentine in the Tippe- 
 rary OazetteP'' 
 
 " Yes, and liked it," said he, in a tone of sincerity ; " but 
 who was Plutus?" 
 
 " By all that's excruciating, old Tom Gallagher." 
 
 Rory turned as pale as a turnip. 
 
 "And the confounded little coquette who bamboozled 
 you to day," I continued, courageously, despite of Rory's 
 dark frown, " and who conglomerated my reasoning faculties 
 in the same way, was Miss Polly O'Connor." 
 
 It was now Rory's turn to have his mechanism bothered. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" he whispered, tremblingly. 
 
 " I mean," said I, " that this very morning. Miss Polly 
 O'Conner swore as binding an oath as ever flashed out of 
 a pair of eyes, or was sealed upon a pair of lips, that I was 
 to have the fee simple of her heart for life, and to settle 
 the affair, we are to meet this evening, at eight o'clock, in 
 Duffy's borieen, at the little stile leading into Murphy's 
 lane." 
 
 " Just the spot, and just the time, by Jove, that 1 was to 
 be there for the same purpose," cried Rory, gnashing his 
 teeth in a biting rage. 
 
 For a few moments, we stood silently regarding each 
 other, and at last, broke into a violent fit of laughter ; 
 it was what old Tom himself, confound his coppery heart, 
 would call " the crisis ;" we were cured — not immediately, 
 however — the dangerous point was passed — time and low 
 diet did the rest. 
 
 Tho i nil 11 man little savage confessed, shortly after, that 
 11* 
 
250 THE TIPPERART VENUS. 
 
 sbe had adopted that nefarious plan, in order that, hf 
 meeting together, we might — how, she didn't care — come 
 to some explanation with regard to the duality of our 
 attachment, and the double duplicity of our Tipperary 
 Venus. 
 
 And now to return — it's a long way back, but never 
 mind. I'm riding an old hack ; few that's used to such 
 journej^s. To my fii'st intention ; that is, to illustrate the 
 position in Fairydom of the Leprechaun. 
 
 It is one Rory's wild tales, and, as it mightily interested 
 me — to be sure, I was young at the time — I trust, gentle 
 reader, it may not prove entirely devoid of attraction for 
 you. . 
 
 In the little \dllage of Templeneiry, situated at the base 
 of one of the Galtee mountains, whose summit looks down 
 upon the diminutive hamlet from the altitude of two thous- 
 and feet, there dwelt a very celebrated and greatly-sought- 
 after individual, one Terry Magra, the Piper ; there wasn't 
 apathern, fair, wake, wedding, or merriment of any 
 description, for miles round, in which he and his dhrones 
 were not called into requisition : there wasn't a performer 
 on that noisy, but much-loved instrument, that could at all 
 compare with Terry; it was solemnly asserted, indeed, 
 that his superiority was the result of fairy agency ; a belief 
 which he was not unwilling to foster and encourage, inas- 
 much, as it gave him a wonderful importance among the 
 superstitious peasantry. 
 
 Now, with grief it must be recorded, Terry was too 
 much addicted to the almost national failing, that of 
 
THE TIPPEKARY VENUS. 251 
 
 intoxication. Whisky was to him the universal panacea j 
 did his sweetheart, and he had plenty of them, frown upon 
 his tender suit, whisky banished the mortification ; was his 
 rent in arrear, and no sign of anything turning up, whisky 
 wiped off the account, instanter; did all the ill-omened 
 birds that tlock around the head of poverty, assail him, 
 he fired a stiif tumbler of whisky punch at them, and they 
 dispersed. 
 
 On the whole, it was a jolly vagabond, reckless, and 
 variegated life, that of Terry Magra ; his supernatural 
 reputation, together with the general belief in the positive 
 existence of fairies, entertained by the community in which 
 he exercised his pleasant vocation, rendering him a fit sub- 
 ject to receive any spiritual impression, howsoever removed 
 from the common course of events. 
 
 It was one moonlight night that Terry, after having 
 attended a grand festival in the neighborhood, brought up, 
 as was his usual custom, at a Sheebieen house, where a 
 few seasoned old casks, like himself, invariably "topped 
 ofi" " with a round of throat-raspers ; here he was the Sir 
 Oracle ; the lord of the soil himself — did they ever see 
 him, which was not at all probable, for, upon the means 
 wrung by his agents from the poor wretches, by Providence 
 delegated to his care — those same agents, by the way, 
 managing to squeeze out a comfortable per-centage for 
 themselves — he lives in London. The lord of the soil, as 
 I said, could not be served with readier obedience, or 
 listened to with more profound attention. 
 
 The roaring song, and joke, and fun abounded upon this 
 
252 THE TIPPEBAKY VENUS. 
 
 occasion, and Terry improvised so wild and inspiriting a 
 strain upon his famous pipes, that it was generally conce- 
 ded, with enthusiasm tinctured with awe, that no mortal 
 hand could have produced such astounding music. 
 
 At length, the sleepy proprietor of the place put a sud- 
 den end to the jollification, by stopping the supplies, the 
 only way in which the Widow Brady — for Fm sorry to say 
 it was a woman, and a decent-looking one too, who pre- 
 sided over this Pandora's box, where Hope forever lies im- 
 prisoned — could break up the party. 
 
 Terry, after vainly endeavoring to mollify the widow, 
 gathered up his magic pipes, and sallied forth. Adieus 
 were exchanged ; friendly hugs, and protestations of eter- 
 nal friendship passed between the stammering, roaring 
 crowd, to be ratified hereafter, it might be, by a crack on 
 the skull from a tough alpieen. At last they separated, 
 each to find, as he could, his way home by the devious 
 light of a clouded moon. 
 
 Now, Terry lived a smart way up the mountain, and so, 
 with, as he said, " the sense fairly bilin' in him everywhere 
 but his murdherin' legs," that persisted in carrying him in 
 the opposite direction to that which his intention pointed, 
 the contest between his will and his locomotive powers 
 making his course somewhat irregular — our bold piper 
 proceeded on his way, humming snatches of songs, and 
 every now and then, by way of diversion, waking the echoes 
 by a fierce blast from his " chanter." 
 
 Whether Terry resorted to these means for the purpose 
 of keeping his courage from slumbering within his breast, 
 
THE TIPPEKART VENUS. 253 
 
 I know not ; but, inasmuch as the ground he was traversing 
 had a general fairy repute, I think it more than likely that, 
 notwithstanding the whisky-valor with which he had armed 
 himself, it was not without considerable trepidation he 
 endeavored to make his way through the enchanted pre- 
 cincts. 
 
 There was one isolated mound, which tradition had pos- 
 itively marked as a favorite resort of the *' good people," 
 and as Terry neared it, apprehension smote against his 
 heart lustily. For the first time, he faltered. The moon, 
 which had hitherto seemed to light him famously, shot 
 suddenly behind a dense, black cloud, and Terry thought 
 that blindness had fallen upon him, so black did everything 
 appear. At the same moment, a gust of wind shook the 
 crisp leaves of the aspen trees, with a noise like the rattling 
 of dry bones, that sunk into his very soul. He was fright- 
 ened — he couldn't go a step further. Down on his knees 
 he fell, in the middle of the road, and, as a last resource, 
 tried to collect himself sufficiently to mutter through the 
 form of exorcisement used by the peasantry in similar 
 emergencies. To his horror he discovered that he couldn't 
 remember a syllable of the matter. He resorted to his 
 prayers, but his traitor-memory deserted him there also. 
 
 Now his perturbation and dismay increased, for he knew 
 by those signs that he was " fairy-struck." There was no- 
 thing left him but to run for it ; but, to his yet greater ter- 
 ror, on endeavoring to rise from his knees, he found him- 
 self rooted to the ground like a tree ; not a muscle could 
 he move. Then — as he described it — 
 
254: THE TIPPEKAKY VENUS. 
 
 " The fairy bells rung like mad inside of me skull. The 
 very brains of me was twisted about, as a washerwoman 
 twists a wet rag ; somethin' hit me a bat on the head, an' 
 down I dropped, as dead as a herrin'." 
 
 When Terry came to himself .again, the darkness had 
 vanished, and the whole scene was glowing with the mel- 
 low softness*of an eastern morning. The atmosphere was 
 imbued with a delicious warmth, while a subdued crimson 
 haze hung between earth and sky. The common road- 
 stones looked like lumps of heated amber. The very dew- 
 drops on the grass glittered like rubies, while the noisy 
 little mountain-fall, where it broke white against the rocks, 
 flashed and sparkled in the rosy light, like jets of liquid 
 gold, filling the air with living gems. 
 
 " Be jabers, an' this is Fairy-land, sure enough," said 
 Terry ; " an' if the little blaggards has got anything agin' 
 me, it's in a murdherin' bad box I am, .the divil a doubt of 
 it. I've nothin' for it, anyway, but to take it aisy." So he 
 sat upon a large stone on the wayside, and gazed with 
 intense admiration on the lovely scene before him, inly 
 wondering what kind of demonstration the inhabitants of 
 this enchanted spot would. make when they discerned his 
 audacious intrusion. 
 
 Several minutes had elapsed, and Terry heard nothing 
 but a small, musical hum, barely discernible by the sense, 
 which every warm current of air caused to rise and fall 
 upon his charmed ear, in undulations of dreamy melody. 
 Suddenly, however, his attention was directed towards a 
 fallen leaf, which some vagrant breeze appeared to toss to 
 
T U E T I P r E K A R Y VENUS. 255 
 
 and fro in merry play. For a long time he watched its 
 eccentric movements, until at last a gust of wind lifted it 
 up, and whirling it round and round in circling eddies, 
 dropped it on the piece of rock where he was sitting. 
 
 Now Terry perceived a multitude of tiny creatures, ant- 
 like, busied around the still fluttering leaf, and on stooping 
 to examine them closely, his heart leaped like a living 
 thing within his bosom, his breath came short and gasping, 
 and his tongue clove to his palate. 
 
 " There they are, an' no mistake," thought he ; " an' my 
 time is come. May the blessed saints stand betune me an 
 harm." 
 
 The crowds of atomies which he had supposed to be 
 ants, were beings of the most exquisite human form ; anon, 
 the air grew thick with them. Some, winged like butter- 
 flies, disported around his head, and alighted upon his 
 garments, pluming their bejewelled pinions and then dart- 
 ing oflf again. 
 
 " It's mighty quare that they don't give me a hint that 
 I'm out of me element," thought Terry, as, emboldened 
 by their passiveness, he gently took the leaf up in his 
 hand, on which were dozens of them yet clustered ; he 
 held the fairy-laden leaf up to his eyes ; still they kept 
 gambolling about it ; they overrun his fingers, and clam- 
 bered up his sleeve, but no intimation did they give that 
 Terry was of other material than one of the rocks by 
 which they were surrounded ; they invaded his face, 
 examined his mouth, and peered into his eyes, yet there 
 was no indication that his presence was acknowledged. 
 
256 THETIPPERARY VENUS. 
 
 Resolving to test the matter at once, with an effort of 
 courage, he rose up gradually, and looked around him ; 
 all was quiet 
 
 '' If any thing will make them spake, the pipes will," 
 said he, bravely, and so, filling his chanter, he gave one 
 preliminary blast, and finding that it met with no response, 
 save from the distant echoes, that sent it sweeping back 
 in multiplied reverberations, he commenced to play one 
 of his most lauded planxtys ; never had he satisfied him- 
 self better, but never had he exerted himself before a more 
 unappreciative* assembly ; the universal fun and frolic went 
 on as before. 
 
 His artistic self-love was sadly wounded. " The divil 
 such a lot of stupid fairies did I ever hear tell of," said he, 
 throwing down his pipes in disgust. "An' bad luck 
 attend the grunt more yez'll get out o' me ; such elegant 
 music as I've been threaten yez wid, an' the never, an ear 
 cocked among the lot of yez." 
 
 " A thin, Misther Terry Magra," said the smallest possi 
 ble kind of a voice, but which thrilled through the pipei 
 as though it were thunder-loud. " Shure, an' you're not 
 goin' to concate that it's music you've been tearin' out ov 
 them tree-stumps of yours ; be the powers of war, it's a 
 tom-cat I thought you wor squeezin' undher yer arms." 
 
 " Thank you, kindly, yer honor, for the compliment, 
 whoever you are," replied Terry, when, on turning round 
 to the quarter from whence the voice proceeded, he saw, 
 sitting on the branch of a tree beside him, a diminutive 
 piper, in all respects a perfect resemblance to himself; 
 
THE TIPPEKAKY VENUS. 257 
 
 dressed in similar garments, even to the dilapidated cau- 
 bieen, with an atom of a dhudieen stuck in it ; but what 
 elicited his admiration most of all, was the weeny set of 
 pipes the swaggering little rufHan carried on his arm. 
 
 " Your soul to glory," cried Terry, his excitement com- 
 pletely mastering his apprehension. "An' if you can 
 blow any music out of them, I'll give in soon an' sud- 
 dent." 
 
 " Howld yer prate, you ugly man, an' bad Christian," 
 cried the little fellow ; " sure, an' it's plinty of help I'll 
 have ;" with that, he'll put the bellows under his arm, and 
 blew a blast that sounded like the whistle of a tom-tit in 
 distress ; a signal which w^as quickly answered by similar 
 sounds, issuing from all directions ; and very soon Terry 
 saw groups of little pipers climbing up the tree until the 
 branch was fairly alive with them, each one an exact 
 counterpart of the first.- 
 
 " May I never sin if the sowls of all the Terry Magras, 
 past, present, an' to come, ain't to the fore, it's my belief, 
 this minnit," said the piper, in an ecstasy of amazement. 
 
 " We must graize our elbows before we begin, boys,'* 
 said Terry's friend, producing a fairy bottle. 
 
 " Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra," says the 
 little vagabond, with a ghost of a laugh ; and up went the 
 bottle to his head. 
 
 "Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra," they all 
 repeated, as the real mountain dew went merrily round. 
 
 " Faix, an' it's glad enough I'd be to return thanks for 
 the favor," said Terry, " if it's a thing that I had a toothful 
 
258 THE TIPPEKAKY VENUS. 
 
 of sperrits to join yez in ; more, betoken, I'm as drouthy a3 
 a sand-baor this blessed hour." 
 
 o 
 
 " Never be it said that a dhiy Christian should keep 
 cotton in his mouth, while we can give him a dhrop to 
 ■wash it out," said the little piper, throwing his bottle at 
 Terry. 
 
 "Bedad, it's a dhrop, sure enough, that I'll be suckin' 
 out of this," said Terry, as he regarded the tiny atom that 
 rested in the palm of his hand. " Bad 'cess to me, if a 
 scooped-out duck-shot wouldn't howld more nourishment. 
 I'm obleeged to you for your good intentions, any way, but 
 T b'leeve I won't 'be robbin' you this time." 
 
 " Don't be refusin' your liquor, you fool," said the piping 
 little chap, with a wicked look out of his mites of eyes. 
 " I'll be bound that §uch liquor never tickled your throat 
 before." 
 
 " Well, rather than appear onfriendly, I'll just go 
 through the motions ; so here's jolly good luck to yez all," 
 said Terry, raising the pellet-like material to his lips, 
 when, to his intense satisfaction and wonder, his mouth 
 instantly filled up, and run over, with a perfect flood of 
 such w^hisky as he owned never yet had blessed his palate ; 
 again and again he repeated the experiment, and with the 
 like delicious result. 
 
 " Hollo ! there, give me back my bottle, you thief of the 
 world ; would you ruin us, entirely ?" cried the little 
 piper. " If the blaggard wouldn't drink the say dhry, I'm 
 not here." 
 
 " By the sowl of me mother," said Terry, with a loud 
 
THE TIPPEEARY VENUS. 259 
 
 smack of enjoyment, " if the say was made of such stuft' as 
 that, may I never, if I wouldn't change places wid a mer- 
 maid's husband, and flourish a fish's tail all the days of my 
 life." 
 
 " But this has nothiu' to do concarnin' the music," says 
 the fairy, " so, here goes to show you how much you know 
 about huraorin' the pipes." So saying, the whole army of 
 pipers set up a chant, so small, and yet so exquisitely sweet 
 and harmonious, that Terry scarcely dared to breathe, for 
 fear of losinor the slio-htest echo of such bewitchino- strains. 
 
 " What do you say to that ?" inquired the little fellow, 
 when they had finished. 
 
 " Say to it," cried Terry, flinging his hat upon the ground 
 in an ecstasy of delight ; " what the mischief can I say ? 
 Bedad, there never was a mortial had the concate so com- 
 plately licked out o' him as it's been deludhed out o' me at 
 this present writin, an' to make my words good, av there 
 was a bit of fire near, if I wouldn't make cindhers of that 
 murdherin' ould catherwauler ov mine, I'm a grasshopper." 
 
 " It does you credit to own up to it so readily, Terry 
 Magra," said the head fairy, pleased enough at the compli- 
 ment. " An', by the way of rewardin' you for that same, 
 we'll give you a blast of another sort." With that they 
 turned to and exeeuted a jig-tune, so swiftly-fingered, so 
 lively and irresistibly .so^e-inspiring, that, with a wild 
 scream of delight, Terry whipped ofi" his great coat, and 
 jumping on the level rock, went through the varied com- 
 plications of the most intricate description of Irish dance. • 
 
 " Murdher alive, av I only had a partner now," he cried. 
 
260 THE TIPPESAEY VENUS. 
 
 "Such elegant music, an' only one to be enjoyin* it." 
 Faster and faster played the fairy pipers, and yet more 
 madly Terry beat time upon the stone, making the moun- 
 tains resound to his vociferous shouts, until exhausted at 
 last, he jumped oflf, and sunk panting on the ground. 
 
 " Oh ! tear arC aigers .'" he cried, " an' av yez have a 
 grain of compassion in thim insignificant tiniments of 
 yours, fairies, darlin', won't yez lend us the loan of a pull 
 out of that same bit of a bottle, for it's the seven senses 
 that you've fairly batthered out o' me wid that rattlin' leg- 
 teazer of a chune." 
 
 " Wid a heart an' a half, my hayro !'' said the little 
 piper, flinging Terry the fairy -bottle ; " it's you that has 
 the parliaminthary unction for the creather, if ever a sowl 
 had. Don't be afeard of it, it won't hurt a feather of you, 
 no more nor wather on a duck's back." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Terry lifted his elbow considerably, be- 
 fore he thought it prudent to desist, the fairy liquor ap- 
 pearing more delicious with each gulp, when, all at once — 
 for Terry had a tolerable share of acuteness for a piper — 
 the thought struck him that the little schemers might have 
 a motive in thus plying him with such potential stuff. 
 
 " If you're at all inclined for a nap, Terry, my boy,'* 
 said the fairy, blandly, " there's a lovely bank of moss for- 
 nent you, that'll beat the best feather-bed at the Globe Inn, 
 in the town of Clonmel. Stretch yourself on it, aroon^ an' 
 we'll keep watch over you as tindherly as av your own 
 mother was hangin' over yer cradle." 
 
 " IIo ! ho ! is it there yez are, you sootherin' vagabonds,'* 
 
THE TIPPEKARY VENUS. 261 
 
 said Terry to himself. " It's off o' my guard you want to 
 ketch me, eh ?" He was determined, however, to diploma- 
 tize, so he replied, with equal politeness, " It's thankful that 
 I am to yer honors for the invite, but I wouldn't be makin* 
 such a hole in my manners as to let a wink come on me 
 in such iligant company." 
 
 " Oh, well, just as you like, Terry Magra," observed the 
 fairy, with just enough of lemon in his tone to convince 
 Terry that his surmise was correct. "At all events, if 
 you're not sleepy now, you soon will be," the little fellow 
 continued, "so, when you are, you will lie down without 
 fear. In the meantime, we must go and inform our king 
 how famously we've amused you, and what a fine fellow 
 you are." So saying, with a sharp little squeal of a laugh, 
 that Terry thought carried with it a sufficiency of sarcasm, 
 the little piper and his companions rapidly descended from 
 their perch, and vanished from his sight. 
 
 No sooner had they departed when Terry's ears w«re 
 saluted by a singularly delightful buzzing noise, that, in 
 spite of his endeavor to resist it, caused a growing drowsi- 
 ness to steal over him. The declining daylight deepened 
 into a still more roseate hue. Once or twice his eyelids 
 drooped, but he recovered himself with a vigorous effort. 
 
 " By the ghost of Moll Kelly," he cried, " I'm a lost 
 mutton, as sure as eggs is chickens, if the sleep masthers 
 me ; the pipes is my only chance." So saying, he shook 
 off the slumberous sensation, and, seizing the instrument, 
 blazed out into a stormy attack upon " Garry owen," and, 
 sure enough, something like a distant groan, as of disap- 
 
262 THE TIPPERART VENUS. 
 
 pointment, reached liim at the very first snore of the 
 chanter. 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" he exclaimed, " it isn't an omadhaun all out 
 yez has to dale wid this time, you little rascals, as cunnin' 
 as ye think yerselves. Bedad, it won't do me any harm to 
 make use of my eyes hereabouts; who knows but I may 
 light atop of a fairy threasure, and drive the imptiness out 
 of my pocket for ever and ever." 
 
 With this determination, the bold piper proceeded to 
 investigate the character of the ground in his. immediate 
 neighborhood. For a short time he saw nothing remarkable 
 except the circumstance of the Avhole surroundings being 
 alive with fairies, to whose presence he was becoming more 
 and more habituated ; occasionally he would pause in his 
 search to view with admiration the energetic way in which 
 a group of workers attended to their specific duties. Ob- 
 serving at one time a more than usual commotion, he was 
 led to give the affair particular scrutiny, when he discov- 
 ered that it was the scene of a most animated contest be- 
 tween two distinct bodies of supernaturals. 
 
 An infant lily-of-the-valley was just raising its head 
 above the yielding earth, softened and broken to assist its 
 upward progress, by scores of busy atomies. Numbers 
 showered its tender leaf w^ith refreshing dew — procured, as 
 Terry observed, by plunging into the hollow cup of some 
 sturdy neighboring flower, then flying back to their charge, 
 and shaking the nutritious drops from their wings — others, 
 with mechanical ingenuity, held glasses by which they 
 could concentrate the passing sunbeams upon the spot, 
 
THE TIPPERARY YENUS. 263 
 
 when necessary ; while others drove there with their united 
 pinions the stray breezes, whose invigorating breath was 
 needed. 
 
 While Terry was rapt in the delightful contemplation 
 of this curious scene, all at once he saw that there was 
 something of uncommon interest going on amongst the 
 crowd. He observed, in the first instance, that although 
 the labor was not for a moment suspended, yet a solid pha- 
 lanx of armed fairies had formed about the immediate 
 workers. The reason was soon obvious, for, careering 
 round and round, or darting to and fro in zigzag courses 
 almost as swiftly as the lightning itself, was an enormous 
 dragon-fly, carrying on its glistening back a diminutive 
 form of a brilliant green color, that flashed in the glancing 
 light like living emerald. Wherever there was a tender 
 young plant there its fierce attack was directed, and in all 
 cases repelled by the brave little guardians. 
 
 This terrible monster — as it appeared even in Terry's 
 eyes, when compared with the tiny creatures that sur- 
 rounded him — seemed to have singled out the fragile lily- 
 of-the-valley for its especial ferocity, for again and again it 
 darted furiously against the unyielding defenders, only, 
 however, to be repulsed at each charge, writhing and twist- 
 ing its snaky body, punctured by the thorn-bayonets of the 
 fairy-guard. 
 
 The indomitable courage and resolution of the defence 
 at length prevailed, and after a last ineffectual effort to 
 break through the chevaux-de-frise that protected the be- 
 leaguered flower, the dreadful enemy wheeled angrily two 
 
264 THE TIPTERARY VENUS. 
 
 or three times around the spot, and at length darted 
 upwards rapidly, and disappeared, to the manifest delight of 
 the fairies. Soon, however, a yet more formidable danger 
 threatened, for in the distance there approached a gigantic 
 snail, dragging its noxious slime over every thing in its de- 
 structive path. Terry now observed evidences of the most 
 intense solicitude and perturbation. The guard around the 
 flower was trebled, scouts seemed to be called in from all 
 quarters, hastening to a common rendezvous. Meantime 
 the snail moved on in a direct line with the object of their 
 care and anxiety. 
 
 " Now my fine fellows," said Terry, completely absorbed 
 in the interesting scene, " how the mischief are yez goir^ 
 to manage that customer ?" 
 
 Nearer and nearer crawled the snail, and at every on- 
 ward movement the little crowd grew more agitated, scam- 
 pering here and there, and overrunning each other in a per- 
 fect agony of apprehension and excitement, like a disturbed 
 colony of ants. Multitudes of them cleared the small 
 stumps of decayed grass, and rolled off the pebbles from a 
 side path, in the hope of diverting Mr. Snail's course ; but 
 their engineering skill was fruitless — still on he came, 
 crushing every delicate germ in his progress. He was now 
 only about six inches away from the lily, and the trepida- 
 tion of the fairies became so excessive, that it smote upon 
 Terry's heart. He forgot for a moment or two that he 
 himself was the arbiter of their fate. 
 
 "Mother o' Moses," said he ; " it's afeared I am that yez 
 goin' to get the worst of the fight, this time ; heigh ! at 
 
THE TIPPERART VENUS. 265 
 
 him agin, yer sowls," he shouted, clapping his hands by 
 way*of encouragement, as a crowd would try to push the 
 snail from the direct path. 
 
 "Where's yer sinse, you little blaggards? why don't 
 yez all get together, and you'd soon tumble the murdherin' 
 Turk over." 
 
 Despair seemed to be spreading through the fairy ranks, 
 when it suddenly occurred to Terry that it was in his own 
 power to put an end to their fears at once, by removing 
 the cause ; another, and more personal idea flashing across 
 his mind at the same time. 
 
 " Why, then, bad 'cess to this thick skull o' mine," said 
 he, as he picked up the snail and hurled it to a distance. 
 "It well becomes me to be stickin' here, watchin' the 
 antics of these little ragamuflSns, instead of mindin' my 
 own business of threasure-huntin' ;" so, without waiting, to 
 see what efiect his timely interference had upon the super- 
 nals, he commenced vigorously to prosecute his search. 
 
 For some time he diligently explored the crevices and 
 deep hollows on the mountain's side, without finding the 
 slightest indication to stimulate his exertions ; one particu- 
 lar opening, however, he was loathe to penetrate ; the 
 insects were so numerous therein, and flew so spitefully 
 against his face, that, although it evidently extended to 
 some distance into the heart of the mountain, again and 
 again he was driven from his purpose of ascertaining that 
 fact by the pertinacity of the annoying creatures ; now, a 
 prodigious horned beetle would bang sharply against 
 his cheek ; anon, he would be entirely surrounded by a 
 12 
 
266 THE TIPPERART VENUS. 
 
 cloud of wasps, through which he had to fight his way 
 lustily. 
 
 Thrice had he entered the cavity, and having been igno- 
 miniously driven back each time, had determined to give 
 up the effort to penetrate further. " Faix, an' it's mighty 
 quare, entirely," said he, " that this is the only spot in the 
 lace that's so throubled with the varmint : it's my belief 
 there's somethin' in that, too," he continued, a new light 
 seeming to break upon him ; " what should they be here 
 for, more nor at any other openin', unless it was to keep 
 strangers from inthrudin' ? May I never, if I don't think 
 that same hole in the rock is the turnpike-gate to some- 
 thin' surprizin' in the way of a fairy road ; here goes to 
 thry, anyway, in spite of the singin' and stingin'." 
 
 Once more, therefore, my bold Terry attempted to enter 
 the cavern, and was attacked as before, but with tenfold 
 fury ; legions of stinging flies, wasps, and hornets, raised a 
 horrible din about his ears ; but, setting his resolution up 
 to the fearless point, on he went, without regarding their 
 unpleasant music ; expecting, of course, to be stung des- 
 perately ; what was his astonishment and relief to discover 
 that the noise was the only thing by which he was at all 
 distressed ; not one of his myriad of assailants even as 
 much as touched him, and before he had proceeded many 
 steps further into the cavity, every sound had ceased. 
 
 He now found his onward progress most uncomfortably 
 impeded by a stubborn species of wild hedge-briar, whose 
 sharp, thorny branches interlaced through each other, 
 forming a barrier, whose dangerous appearance was suflS- 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 267 
 
 cient to deter the boldest from risking a laceration. Not 
 an opening large enough to admit his head, could Terry 
 see, and he was about again to give the attempt up as 
 unattainable, when, by the merest accident, on turning- 
 round, his foot slipped, and with that inward shudder with 
 which one prepares for an inevitable hurt, he fell against 
 the prickly wall ; wheu, to his utter amazement, it divided 
 on each side as though it were fashioned of smoke, and he 
 tumbled through, somewhat roughly, to be sure, but alto- 
 gether unharmed by the formidable-looking interposi- 
 tion. 
 
 " By the mortial of war," he cried, rubbing his dilapi- 
 dated elbow, and looking round to examine his position, 
 " I'm on the right side of that hedge, any way." 
 
 Now, Terry perceived that the barrier he had just so 
 successfully passed was slowly regaining its original 
 appearance, and, to his mortification, as it gradually closed 
 up the aperture of the cavern, the light, hitherto quite suf- 
 ficient for him distinctly to see every object, faded away 
 slowly, and finally left him in utter darkness. 
 
 " Bedad, an' a tindher-box an' a sulphur match would 
 be about the greatest threasure I could light on at this pres- 
 ent," said Terry, as he groped about cautiously, to find some 
 kind of an elevation whereupon he might sit and wait for 
 luck. 
 
 He had not been many minutes, however, in the black- 
 ness, when his quickened sense became aware of a light, 
 reddish spot, which faintly glowed at some distance. This 
 was the first sign of an encouraging nature he had experi- 
 
268 THE TIPPERART TENUS. 
 
 enced, and with a beaticg heart he proceeded to feel his 
 way towards the bright indication. 
 
 Getting gradually accustomed to the dimness that sur- 
 rounded him he suddenly discovered that he was opposed 
 by a solid wall of rock, in the very centre of which the 
 pale red glimmer still shone, like a star seen through a sum- 
 mer mist. 
 
 " The divil a use in my thravellin' any longer in that 
 direction," said Terry, turning sharply round to retrace his 
 steps, when to his amazement and consternation he encoun- 
 tered the same rocky barrier. Whichever way he looked 
 all was alike, stern and impassable. He was enclosed 
 within a stony wall, whose circumference was but little 
 more than an arm's length, but whose height was lost in 
 the unsearchable darkness. 
 
 " Musha, then, how the didl did I stumble into this man 
 thrap ?" cried Terry, in consternation. " There's no way 
 out that I can see, an' where the mischief the top of it is, 
 IS beyant my comprehendin'. Bedad, there's nothing for 
 it but to thry an' climb up." So saying, Terry placed his 
 "^ot upon what he supposed, in the uncertain light, was a 
 ,x)ld projection of the rock, when down he stepped through 
 u and before he could recover his perpendicular, his body 
 ^ is half buried in the apparent wall. 
 
 " Be jabers, if it ain't more of their thricks — the never 
 } -'ock's there, no more nor the briars was ; they may make 
 f -•'■Is of my eyes, but they can't of my fingers, an' its thim 
 V]] thrust to in future," said he ; and so, keeping the light 
 in view, lie boldly dashed through all the seeming obsta- 
 
THE TIPPERART VENUS. 269 
 
 cles, and soon found himself once more in an open space. 
 It was a kind of vaulted tunnel that he was now traversing, 
 his onward path still in profound darkness, with the sole 
 exception of the red light, which Terry imagined grew 
 larger and more distinct, each step he took. A rush of 
 warm air every now and then swept by him, and his tread 
 echoed in the far distance, giving an idea of immense 
 length. 
 
 Somewhat assured by the impunity with which he had 
 already explored the enchanted districts, he was beginning 
 to pick his way with freer breath, when his ears were smit- 
 ten by a sound which sank his heart still deeper. It was 
 the loud and furious barking of a pack of evidently most 
 ferocious dogs, which approached rapidly, right in his path. 
 On came the savage animals, louder and louder grew their 
 terrible bark, and Terry gave himself up for lost in good 
 earnest. It was no use to turn about and run, although 
 that was his first impulse ; so, flinging himself down on the 
 ground, he awaited the attack of his unseen foes. He 
 could now hear the clatter of their enormous paws, while 
 their growlings echoed through the cavern like thunder. 
 
 " Murdher an' nouns, there's a half a hundred of them, 
 I know there is ; an' it's mince-meat they'll make of me in 
 less than no time," cried Terry, mumbling all the prayers 
 he could remember, and in another instant, with a tremen- 
 dous roar, they were upon him, and, with stunning yells, 
 swept over him as he lay ; but not an atom did he feel, no 
 more than if a cloud had passed across. 
 
 " If they're not at it again, the blaggards," said he, get- 
 
270 THE TIPPERAKY VENTJS. 
 
 ting up, and shaking himself; " the divil a dog was there 
 in the place at all — nothin* but mouth — but, by dad, there's 
 enough of that to frighten the sowl out of a narvous 
 Christian ;" and once more the bold Piper started in pursuit 
 of the coveted light. He had not proceeded very far, be- 
 fore he heard the distant bellowing of a bull ; but, warned 
 by his past experience, he shut his ears against the sound, 
 and although it increased fearfully, as though some mad 
 herd were tearing down upon him, he courageously kept 
 on. To be sure, his breath stopped for a moment, and his 
 pulse ceased to beat, when the thing seemed to approach 
 his vicinity, but, as he anticipated, the terror fled by him 
 as he stood up erect, with the sensation, only, of a passing 
 breeze. 
 
 Terry received no further molestation, but plodded along 
 quietly until he came right up to the place from whence 
 the light proceeded which had hitherto guided him, and 
 here a most gorgeous sight presented itself to his enrap- 
 tured gaze. 
 
 Within a luminous opening of the cave he saw groups 
 of living atomies, all busied in the formation of the various 
 gems for which the rich ones of the world hunger. In 
 one compartment were the diamond-makers ; in another, 
 those who, when finished, coated them over with the rough 
 exterior which they hoped would prevent them from being 
 distinguished from common pebbles. Here was a tiny 
 multitude, fashioning emeralds of astonishing magnitude ; 
 there, a crowd of industrious elves, putting the last sparkle 
 into some mairnificent rubies. 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 271 
 
 "Witli staring eyes, and mouth all agape with wonder 
 and delight, Terry watched the curious process for a few 
 moments, scarcely breathing audibly for fear of breaking 
 the brilliant spell. What to do he did not know. Heaps 
 of the coveted jewels lay around within his very grasp, yet 
 how to possess himself, without danger, of a few handfuls, 
 he couldn't imagine. 
 
 At last, resolving to make one final effort to enrich him- 
 self, he suddenly plunged his hand into the glittering mass 
 of diamonds, presuming they were the most valuable, and, 
 clutching a quantity, thrust them into his pocket, intending 
 to repeat the operation until he had sufiicient ; but the in- 
 stant that he did so, the entire cavern was rent asunder as 
 with the force of an earthquake, the solid rock opened be- 
 neath him with a deafening explosion, and he was shot up- 
 wards as from the mouth of a cannon — up — up through 
 the rifted cave, and miles high into the air. Not a whit 
 injured did he feel from the concussion, saving a sense of 
 lightness, as though he was as empty as a blown bladder. 
 So high did he go in his aerial flight, that he plainly saw 
 to-morrow^s sun lighting up the lakes and fields of other 
 latitudes. As soon as he had reached an altitude commen- 
 surate with the power of the explosive agency, he turned 
 over and commenced his downward progress, and, to his 
 great relief, found that his fall was by no means as rapid as 
 he had anticipated — for his consciousness had not for a 
 moment left him ; on the contrary, the buoyant air sup- 
 ported him without diflSculty, and each random gust of 
 wind tossed him about like a feather. Well, day came, 
 
272 THE TIPPBBAET VENUS. 
 
 and shone, and vanished; so did the evening, and the 
 starry night, and early morning, before Terry had com- 
 pleted his easy descent ; when at length he touched the 
 earth, gently as a falling 'ieaf, ^nd found himself lying be- 
 side the very stone from whence he had departed on his 
 late exploration. The marks of the recent terrible con- 
 vulsion were visible, however, for the vast mountain was 
 gone, and in its place a deep, round chasm, filled to over- 
 flowing with a dark yellow liquid, that hissed and bubbled 
 into flame like a Tartarian lake. The rocks around him, 
 that before had shone so resplendently, were now black- 
 ened and calcined — the lovely vegetation blasted — the par- 
 adise a desert. 
 
 " Athin, may-be, I haven't been kickin' up the diviPs 
 delights hereabouts," said Terry, as he looked round at the 
 desolation. " But never a hair I care ; haven't I got a 
 pocket-full of big di'minds, an' won't they set me up any- 
 way ?" he continued, drawing forth the precious contents 
 of his pocket, and placing them on the rock by his side ; 
 when, to his infinite mortification, the entire collection 
 turned out to be nothing but worthless pebbles. 
 
 "Musha! thin, may bad luck attend yez for a set of 
 scherain' vagabones ; an' afther all my throuble it's done 
 again I am," he cried, in a rage, emptying his pocket, and 
 flinging away its contents in thorough disgust. " Hollo ! 
 what's this ?" he cried, with a start, as he drew forth the 
 last handful ; " may I never ate bread if I haven't tuk one 
 of the chaps prisoner, an' if it isn't a Leprechaun I'm not 
 alive ;" and sure enough there, lying in the palm of his 
 
THE TIPPERAKY VENUS. 273 
 
 hand, was as queer a looking specimen of fairyhood as 
 ever the eye looked upon. 
 
 The little bit of a creature had the appearance of an old 
 man, with wrinkled skin and withered features. It was 
 dressed, too, in the costume of a by-gone age. ' A mite of 
 a velvet coat covered its morsel of a back ; a pair of velvet 
 breeches, together with white silk stockings, and little red- 
 heeled shoes, adorned its diminutive legs, which looked as 
 if they might have belonged to a rather fat spider, and a 
 stiff white wig, duly pomatumed and powdered, surmounted 
 by a three-cornered hat, bedecked its head. 
 
 The leprechaun seemed to be in a state of insensibility, 
 as Terry examined minutely its old-fashioned appearance. 
 ' It's just as I've heard tell of 'em," he cried, in glee ; 
 " cocked hat, an' breeches, an' buckles, an' all. Hurroo ! 
 I'm a made man if he ever comes to." With that, Terry 
 breathed gently on the little fellow as he lay in his hand, 
 as one would to resuscitate a drowned fly. 
 
 " I wondher if he'd have any relish for wather — here 
 goes to thry," said Terry, plucking a buttercup flower, in 
 whose cavity a drop of dew had rested, and holding it to 
 the lips of the leprechaun, " Oh, murdher ! if I only had a 
 taste of whisky to qualify it ; if that wouldn't bring the 
 life into an Irish fairy, nothing would Ha ! he's openin' 
 his bit of an eye, by dad ; here, suck this, yer sowl to 
 glory," Terry continued, and was soon gratified by seeing 
 the leprechaun begin to imbibe the contents of the butter- 
 cup with intense avidity. 
 
 " I hope you're betther, sir," said Terry, politely. 
 12* 
 
274 THE TIPPERAKY VENUS. 
 
 "Not the betther for you, Mr. Terry Magra," replied the 
 fairy, " though I'm obleeged to you for, the drop o' drink." 
 
 " Indeed, an' yer welcome, sir," Terry went on, " an' 
 more betoken, it's mighty sorry I am to have gev you any 
 oneasiness." 
 
 " That's the last lie you towld, Mr. Terry, and you know 
 it," the leprechaun answered, tartly, " when your heart is 
 fairly leapin' in your body because you've had the luck to 
 lay a howld of me." 
 
 " Well, an' can't a fella be glad at his own luck, an' yet 
 sorry if anybody else is hurted by it," said Teriy, apolo- 
 getically. 
 
 " You can't humbug me, you covetious blaggard," the 
 fairy went on. " But I'll thry you, anyway — now listen to 
 me. The fairies that you have just been so wicked as to 
 inthrude your unwelcome presence upon, were all lepre- 
 chauns like ^lyself — immortal essences, whose duty it was 
 to make and guard the treasures, that you saw in spite 
 of all the terrors that we employed to frighten you away. 
 So long as they were unobserved by mortal eyes, our exist- 
 ence was a bright and glorious one ; but, once seen, we are 
 obliged to abandon our fairy life and shape, take this de- 
 grading form, and work at a degrading occupation, subject 
 to the ailments and mishaps of frail humanity, and forced 
 to live in constant fear of your insatiate species. Now, the 
 only chance I have to regain the blissful immortality I have 
 lost, is for you to be magnanimous enough to relinquish the 
 good fortune you anticipate from my capture. Set me un- 
 conditionally free, and I can revel once more in my for- 
 
THE TIPPEKARY VENUS. 275 
 
 feited fairy existence — persevere in your ungenerous ad- 
 vantage, and I am condemned to wander a wretched out- 
 cast through the world — now, what is your determination ?" 
 
 Terry's better feehngs prompted him at first to let the 
 little creature go, but love of lucre got the upper hand, 
 and after a slight pause of irresolution, he replied : 
 
 " Indeed, an' it's heart sick that I am to act so conthrary, 
 but I'll leave it to yerself if it ain't agin nature for a man 
 to fling away his luck. Shoemakin' is an iligant amuse- 
 ment, an' profitable ; you'll soon get mighty fond of it ; so, 
 I'm afeard I'll have to throuble you to do somethin' for 
 me." 
 
 " I thought how it would be ; you're all alike," said the 
 fairy, sadly; "selfish to the heart's core. Well, what do 
 you want ? I'm in your power, and must fulfill your 
 desire." 
 
 " Long life to you ; now ye talk sense," cried Terry, 
 elated. " Sure I won't be hard on you — a thrifle of money 
 is all I wish for in the world, for everything else will follow 
 that." 
 
 " More, perhaps, than you imagine — cares and anxieties," 
 said the leprechaun. 
 
 "I'll risk all them," replied Terry ; " come, now, I'll tell 
 you what you may do for me. Let me find a shillin' in 
 my pocket every time I put my fist into it, an' I'll be satis- 
 fied." 
 
 " Enough ! it's a bargain ; and now that you have made 
 your wish, all your power over me is gone," said the lepre- 
 chaun, springing out of his hand like a grasshopper, and 
 
276 THE TIPPERAEY YENUS. 
 
 lighting on the branch beside him ; " it's a purty sort of a 
 fool you are," it continued, with a chuckle, " when the 
 threasures of the universe were yours for the desire, to be 
 contented with a pitiful pocket-full of shillings ! ho ! ho !" 
 and the little thing laughed like a cornkrake at the dis- 
 comfited Terry. 
 
 " Musha ! then, may bad cess to me if I don't crush the 
 fun out of yoijr cattherpillar of a carcass if I ketch a howlt 
 of you," said Terry, savagely griping at the fairy ; but, 
 with another spring, it jumped into the brushwood, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 Terry's first impulse was to dive his hand into his pocket 
 to see if the leprechaun had kept his word, and to his 
 great delight, there he found, sure enough, a fine bright 
 new shilling. At this discovery his joy knew no bounds. 
 He jumped and hallooed aloud, amusing himself flinging 
 away shilling after shilling, merely on purpose to test the 
 continuance of the supply. He was satisfied. It was in- 
 exhaustible, and bright dreams of a splendid future flitted 
 before his excited imagination. 
 
 With a heart full of happiness, Terry now wended his 
 way homeward, busying himself, as he went al^ng, in con- 
 veying shilling after shilling from one pocket into the 
 other, until he filled it up to the button-hole. On arriving 
 at the \dllage, he met a few of his old companions, but so 
 altered that he could scarcely recognize them, while they 
 stared at him as though he were a spectre. 
 
 " Keep us from harm," said one, " if here ain't Terry 
 Magra come back." 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 277 
 
 " Bact," cried Terry, with a merry laugh, " why, man 
 alive, I've never been away." 
 
 " Never away, indeed, and the hair of you as white as 
 the dhriven snow, that wasr^as brown as a beetle's back, 
 whin you left," said the other. 
 
 It then struck Terry that his friends in their turn had 
 aged considerably. The youngest that he remembered had 
 become bent and wrinkled. " The saints be good to us," 
 he cried, " but this is mighty quare entirely. How long is 
 it sence I've seen yez, boys ?" he inquired eagerly. 
 
 " How long is it ? why, a matther of twenty years or 
 so," said one of the bystanders ; " don't you know it is ?" 
 
 "Faith, an' I didn't until this blessed minute," said Ter- 
 ry. " Have I grown ould onbeknownst to myself, I won- 
 dher?" • 
 
 " Bedad, an' it's an easy time you must have had sence 
 you've been away," said another ; " not all as one as some 
 of us." 
 
 " Well, won't you come an' taste a sup, for gra' we met ?" 
 said Terry, beginning to feel rather uneasy at the singular 
 turn things had taken ; but they ^hook their heads, and, 
 without any other observation, passed on, leaving him 
 standing alone. 
 
 " Stop !" he cried, " wait a bit ; it's lashin's of money 
 that I have — here — look ;" and he drew forth a handful 
 of the silver. It was no use, however. All their old cor- 
 diality and love of fun were gone ; off they went, without 
 even a glance behind them. 
 ' " Twenty years," said Terry to himself. " Oh, they're 
 
278 THE TIPPERAKT VENUS. 
 
 makin' fun of me. I don't feel a bit oulder nor I was yes- 
 therday. I'll soon be easy on that point, anyway." So he 
 proceeded towards the old drinking-place, that he had so 
 often spent the night in, but not an atom of it could he 
 find. In the place where he expected to see it, there was 
 a bran new house. He entered it, however, and going 
 straight up to a looking-glass which stood in the room, 
 was amazed on seeing reflected therein an apparition he 
 could not recognize, so withered and wrinkled did it appear, 
 and so altogether unlike what he anticipated, that he turned 
 sharply around in the hope of finding some aged individual 
 looking over his shoulder ; but he was entirely alone — it 
 was his own reflection, and no mistake at all about it. 
 
 " By the powers of war, but my journey into the moun- 
 tains hasn't improved my personal appearance," said he. 
 " It's easy to see that ; but, never mind, I've got the money, 
 an' that'll comfort me ;" and he jingled the shillings in his 
 pocket as if he could never weary of the sound. 
 
 In a short time the fame of Terry's wealth spread 
 abroad, and as it may readily be imagined, he didn't long 
 want companions. The gay and the dissolute flocked 
 round him, and as he had a welcome smile and a Hberal 
 hand for everybody, the hours flew by, carrying uproarious 
 jollity on their wings, and notwithstanding his infirmities 
 of body, Terry was as happy as the days were long. 
 
 Now, while he had only to provide for his own immedi- 
 ate wants, and settle the whisky scores of his riotous 
 friends, he had easy work of it. It was only to keep put- 
 ting his hand into hia pocket two or three dozen times a 
 
THE TIPPERAET VENUS. 279 
 
 day, and there was more than sufficient. But this kind of 
 existence soon began to grow monotonous, and Terry 
 sighed for the more enviable pleasures of a domestic life, 
 and inasmuch as it was now well understood that Terry 
 was an " eligible party," he had no great difficulty in mak- 
 ing a selection. Many of the " down hill " spinsters gave 
 evident indications that they would be nothing loth to 
 take him for better or for worse ; and — I'm sorry to have 
 to record the fact — not a few even of the more youthful 
 maidens set their curls at the quondam piper. Neither his 
 age, nor the doubtful source of his revenue, rendering him 
 an unmarketable commodity in the shambles of Hymen. 
 
 In process of time, Terry wooed and won a demure- 
 looking little collieen, and after having shut himself up for 
 two or three days, accumulating money enough for the 
 interesting and expensive ceremony, was duly bound to her 
 for life. Now, it was that his inexhaustible pocket began 
 to be overhauled continuously, and Terry cursed his im- 
 prudence in not asking for guineas instead of shillings. 
 Mrs. Terry Magra possessed a somewhat ambitious desire 
 to outvie her neighbors. Silk dresses were in demand 
 and shawls and bonnets by the cart-load. The constant 
 employment gave Terry the rheumatism in his muscles, 
 until at last it was with the greatest difficulty he could 
 force his hand into his pocket. 
 
 Before many months had elapsed, Terry was prostrated 
 upon a sick bed, his side — the pocket-side — completely 
 paralyzed, and as he was not one of those who lay by for 
 a rainy daj', his inability to apply to his fairy exchequer 
 
280 THE TIPPEEAKT VENUS. 
 
 caused him to suflfer the greatest privation — and where 
 were the boon companions of .his joyous hours, now ? 
 Vanished — not one of them to be seen — but haply flutter- 
 ing around some new favorite of fortune, to be in his turn 
 fooled, flattered, and when the dark day came — deserted. 
 
 When Terry grew better in health, which he did very 
 slowly, there was a considerable back-way to make up, and 
 the best part of his time was occupied in the mere mechan- 
 ical labor of bringing out his shillings. Mrs. Magra also 
 became more and more exacting, and the care-worn piper 
 began to acknowledge to himself thai nis good fortune was 
 not at all comparable with the anxiety and annoyance it 
 had produced. Again and again he deplored the chance 
 which had placed the temptation in his way, and most 
 especially blamed his own selfish greed, which prevented 
 him from behaviug with proper generosity toward the cap- 
 tured leprechaun. 
 
 " He towld me plain enough what would come of it," 
 cried he, one day, as, utterly exhausted, he threw himself 
 on the floor, after many hours' application to the indispen- 
 sable pocket ; " he towld me that it would bring care and 
 misery, an' yet I wasn't satisfied to profit by the warning. 
 Here am I, without a single hour of comfort, everybody 
 dhragg-in' at me for money, money ! an' the very sinews of 
 me fairly wore out wid divin' for it. This sort of life ain't 
 worth livin' for." 
 
 Before long, Terry's necessities increased to such a 
 degree, that out of the twenty-four hours of the day and 
 night, more than two-thirds were taken up with the now 
 
THE TIPPERARY VENUS. 281 
 
 terrible drudgery by which they were to be supplied. No 
 time had he left for relaxation — hardly for sleep. The 
 thought of to-morrow's toil weighed on liis heart, and kept 
 him from rest. He was thoroughly miserable. It was in 
 vain that he called upon death to put an end to him and 
 his wretchedness together ; there was no escape for him, 
 even, by that dark road ; the fear of a worse hereafter, made 
 imminent by the consciousness of an ill-spent life, kept him 
 from opening the eternal gate himself, to which he was 
 often sorely tempted. 
 
 To this great despondency succeeded a course of reckless 
 dissipation and drunkenness. Homeless at last, he wan- 
 dered from one drinking-shop to another, caring nothing 
 for the lamentable destitution in which his family was 
 steeped ; for, as is usually the case, the poorer he became 
 the more his family increased. His deserted wife and 
 starving little ones were forced to obtain a scanty subsist- 
 ence through the degrading means of beggary. He him- 
 self never applied to his fairy resource unless to furnish 
 suflScient of the scorching liquor as would completely 
 drown all sense of circumstance. The slightest approach 
 to sobriety only brought with it reflection, and reflection 
 was madness. So, the very worst amongst the worst, in 
 rags and filth, he staggered about the village, a mark of 
 scorn and contempt to every passer-by^, or else prone upon 
 some congenial heap of garbage, slept off" the fierceness of 
 his intoxication, to be again renewed the instant conscious- 
 ness returned. 
 
 With that extraordinary tenacity of life indicative of an 
 
282 THE TIPPEEAET VENTS. 
 
 originally fine constitution, whicli, added to a naturally 
 powerful frame of body, might have prolonged his years 
 even beyond the allotted space, Terry crept on in this worse 
 than brutal state of existence for many months, until at 
 last, one morning, after a drinking bout of more than usual 
 excess, he was found lying in a stable to which he had 
 crawled for shelter, insensible, and seemingly dead. Per- 
 cei%nng, however, some slight signs of animation yet 
 remaining, his discoverers carried him to the public hospi- 
 tal, for home he had none, and his own misdeeds had 
 estranged the affections, and closed the heart against him 
 of her whose inclination as well as duty would have 
 brought her quickly to his side, had he but regarded and 
 cherished the great God-gift to man — a woman's love, and 
 not cast it aside as a worthless thing. 
 
 Tended and cared for, however, although by stranger 
 hands, Terry hovered a long time betwixt life and death, 
 until at length skill and attention triumphed over the assail- 
 ant, and he was restored to comparative health. 
 
 It was then, during the long solitary hours of his conva- 
 lescence, when the mind was restored to thorough con- 
 sciousness, but the frame yet too weak for him to quit his 
 bed, that the recollection of his wasted existence stood 
 spectre-like before his mental vision. Home destroyed, 
 wife _ and children abandoned, friendships sundered, and 
 himself brought to the brink of a dreaded eternity, and all 
 through the means he had so eagerly coveted, and by 
 which he had expected to revel in all the world's joys. 
 
 He prayed, in the earnest sincerity of awakened repent- 
 
THE TIPPERAKT VENTS. 2B3 
 
 ance ; he prayed for Heaven's assistance to enable bim to 
 return to tbe straight path. 
 
 "Oh! if I once get out of this," he cried, while drops 
 of agony bedewed his face, " I'll make amends during the 
 brief time yet left me — I will, I will. Come what may, 
 never again will I be beholdin' to that fearful gift. I now 
 find to my great cost that wealth, not properly come by, is 
 a curse and not a blessing. I'll work, with the help of the 
 good God and his bright angels, an' may-be peace will 
 once more visit my tortured heart." 
 
 It was some time before he was able to leave his bed, 
 but when at last he was pronounced convalescent, he quit- 
 ted the. hospital, with the firm determination never again, 
 under any circumstance whatsoever, even to place his hand 
 wdtliin the pocket from whence he had hitherto drawn his 
 resources. As a further security against the probability of 
 temptation, he took a strong needle and thread, and sewed 
 up the opening tightly. 
 
 " There," he cried, with an accent of relief, " bad luck 
 to the toe of me can get in there now. Oh ! how I wish 
 to gracious it had always been so, and I wouldn't be the 
 miserable, homeless, houseless, wife and childless vagabone 
 that I am at this minnit." 
 
 As he was debating in his own mind what he should 
 turn to in order to obtain a living — for so great a disgust 
 had he taken to the pipes, to which he attributed all his 
 wretchedness, that he had determined to give up his pro- 
 ductive but precarious profession of piper, and abandoning 
 the dissolute crowd who rejoiced in his performances, be- 
 
284 THE TIPPERAET VENUS. 
 
 take himself to some more useful and reputable employ- 
 ment — it suddenly occurred to him to visit the scene of his 
 fairy adventure, in the hope that he might get rid of the 
 dangerous gift his cupidity had obtained for him. 
 
 No sooner had he conceived the idea than he instantly 
 set forward to put it in execution. The night was favora- 
 ble for his purpose, and he arrived at the identical place in 
 the mountain, without the slightest interruption or accident. 
 He found it just* as he had left it, a scene of the wildest 
 desolation. No sound fell on his ear save the mournful 
 shrieking of the wind as it tore itself against the harsh 
 branches of the dead pine trees. He climbed the rugged 
 side of the hili and looked into the black lake that filled 
 the dark chasm at its summit. It seemed to be as solid as 
 a sheet of lead. He flung a pebble into the gulf; it was 
 eagerly sucked up, and sunk without a ripple, as though 
 dropped into a mass of burning pitch. One heavy bubble 
 swelled to the surface, broke into a sullen flame that flashed 
 lazily for an instant, and then went out. A small, but in- 
 tensely black pufi" of smoke rose above the spot ; so dense 
 was the diminutive cloud that it was rejected by the 
 shadowy atmosphere, which refused to receive it within its 
 bosom. Reluctantly it seemed to hang upon the surface 
 of the lake, then slowly mounted, careering backwards and 
 forwards with each passing breeze. 
 
 The singular phenomenon attracted Terry's attention, 
 and he watched, with increasing interest, the gyrations of 
 the cloud, until at length it took a steady direction towards 
 the spot where he stood. It was not long before it floated 
 
THE TIPPEEARY VENUS. 285 
 
 up to him, and he stepped aside to let it pass by, but as he 
 moved, so did the ball of sm5ke. He stooped, and it fol- 
 lowed his movement ; he turned and ran — just as swiftly 
 it sped with him. He now saw there was something su- 
 pernatural in it, and his heart beat with apprehension. 
 
 " There's no use in kickin' agin fate," he said, " so, with 
 a blessin', I'll just stop where I am, an' see what will come 
 of it ; worse off I can't be, an' that's a comfort any way." 
 
 So saying, Terry stood still, and patiently waited the re- 
 sult. To his great surprise the cloud of smoke, after mak- 
 ing the circuit of his head two or three times, settled on 
 his right shoulder, and on casting his eye round, he per- 
 ceived that it had changed into a living form, but still as 
 black as a coal. 
 
 " Bedad I'm among them agin, sure enough," said Terry, 
 now much more easy in his mind ; " I wondher who this 
 little divil is that's roostin' so comfortably on my showl- 
 dher." 
 
 " Wondher no longer, Misther Terry Magra," grunted a 
 frog-like voice into his ear; "by what magic means, oh! 
 presumptuous mortal, did you discover the charmed stone 
 which compelled the spirit of yonder sulphurous lake to 
 quit his warm quarters, thus to shiver in the uncongenial 
 air ? Of all the myriad pebbles that are scattered around, 
 that was the only one which possessed the power to call 
 me forth." 
 
 " Faix, an' it was a lucky chance that made me stumble 
 on it, sir," said Terry. 
 
 " That's as it may turn out," replied the spirit. " Do 
 
286 THE TIPPEBARY VENUS. 
 
 you know who and what I am ? but why should you, igno- 
 rant creature as you are ? Listen, and be enlightened. I 
 am the chief guardian of yon bituminous prison, within 
 whose murky depths lie groaning all of fairy kind, who 
 have by their imprudence forfeited their brilliant station. 
 
 " You don't tell me that, sir ? By goxty, an' I wouldn't 
 like to change places with them," said Terry, with a great 
 effort at familiarity. 
 
 " There's no knowing when you may share their fate," 
 replied the spirit. " The soul of many an unhappy mor- 
 tal, who has abused a fairy-gift, lies there, as well." 
 
 Terry shivered to his very marrow as he heard those 
 words, for full well he knew, that amongst all such, none 
 deserved punishment more than he ; he was only wondering 
 how his immortal part could be extracted from its living 
 tenement, when, as though the spirit knew his vevj thoughts, 
 it uttered : 
 
 "I have but to breathe within your ear a word of power, 
 and with that word the current of your life would cease." 
 
 Terry instinctively stretched his neck to its fullest extent, 
 as he said to himself, " I'll keep my lug out of your reach 
 if I can, my boy.-' But the spirit either knew his thought 
 or guessed it from the movement. 
 
 "Foolish piper," it said, "I could reach it did I so 
 incline, were it as high as Cashel Tower." And to prove 
 that the assertion was not a mere boast, the little fellow 
 made a jump, and perched upon the bridge of Terry's 
 nose, and sat there astride ; ai^d as it was of the reti'ousse 
 order, a very comfortable seat it had ; light as a feather, it 
 
THE TIPPERART VENUS. 287 
 
 rested there, peering alternately into each of Terry's eyes, 
 who squinted at the intruder, brimful of awe and amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " I give in," said he. " It's less nor nothin' that I am in 
 your hands ; but if it's just as convainient for you, I'd be 
 much obliged to you if you'd lave that, for its fairly tearin' 
 the eyes out of me head that you are, while I'm thryin' to 
 look straight at you." 
 
 " It's all the same to me entirely," replied the spirit ; 
 " and now that you have come to a full sense of my power, 
 I'll take up my position at a more agreeable distance." 
 
 So saying, the spirit bounded off of Terry's nose, and 
 alighted on a branch of the same tree on which the legion 
 of little pipers had before assembled, while Terry wiped 
 his relieved eyes with the sleeve of his coat, and sat upon 
 the piece of rock that stood beside. 
 
 " And now, Masther Magra," said the spirit, " we'll pro- 
 ceed to business. Had you picked up any other stone but 
 the one you did, or had you refrained from obstructing the 
 lake in any way, your soul would have been mine for ever. 
 You see what a small chance you had. But inasmuch as 
 your a^ood luck pointed out the talismanic pebble, you have 
 yet the privilege of making another wish which I must 
 gratify whatsoever it may be ; think well, however, ere you 
 ask it ; let no scruples bound your desires. The wealth of 
 the world is in my distribution." 
 
 Terry's nerves thrilled again, as his mind conjured up 
 images of purchased delights. But for an instant only did 
 he hesitate what course he should pursue. 
 
288 THE TIPPERART VENUS. 
 
 " The temptation is wonderful," said he. " But no : Fve 
 endured enough of misery from what I've had already." 
 
 "What can I do for you?" said the spirit, sharply. 
 " Don't keep a poor devil all night in the cold." 
 
 " Well, then, sir, I'll tell you," replied the other. " I 
 suppose you know already — for you seem to be mighty 
 knowledgeable — that some years back I kotch a leprechaun 
 on this very spot ; and though he towld me that it would 
 be the desthroyin' of him out an' out, I meanly chose to 
 make myself rich, as I thought, by taking a fairy-gift from 
 him, rather than lettin' him go free an' unharmed. It was a 
 dirty an' selfish thransaction on my part, an' it's with salt 
 tears that I've repinted of that same. Now, if that lepre- 
 chaun is suflerin' on my account, and you can give the 
 creather any comfort, it's my wish that you'll manage it 
 for me — ay, even though I was to bear his punishment 
 myself." 
 
 - "You have spoken well and wisely," said the spirit; 
 " and your reward will be beyond your hope." 
 
 Simultaneously with those words, Terry was still more 
 astonished at beholding a gradual but complete change 
 taking place in the neighborhood : the blasted trees shot 
 forth fresh branches, the branches, in their turn, pushed 
 out new leaves, thick verdure overspread the rugged sides of 
 the mountain ; while gushing joyously from an adjacent hol- 
 low, a little rill danced merrily through the shining pebbles, 
 singing its song of gratitude, as though exulting in the 
 new-found liberty ; unnumbered birds began to fill the air 
 with their delicious melody, the rifted and calcined rocks 
 
THETIPPERARY YENU8. 289 
 
 concealed their charred fronts beneath festoons of flowering 
 parasites, the murky lake sank slowly into the abyss, while 
 in its place a tufted, daisy-spangled field appeared, to which 
 the meadow-lark descended lovingly, and fluttering a short 
 space amidst the dewy grass, sprang up again, with loud, 
 reverberating note. 
 
 The primeval change, when the beautiful new world 
 emerged from chaos, was not more glorious than was the 
 aspect now presented to the rapt beholder. He felt within 
 himself the exhilarating eff'ect of all this vast and unex- 
 pected wonder, the free, fresh blood cast oft" its slu^ish- 
 ness, and once more bounded through his veins, the flush 
 of vigor and excitement bedewed his brow, the flaccid 
 muscles hardened into renewed strength, elasticity and 
 suppleness pervaded every limb, stifi'ened and racked ere- 
 while with keen rheumatic pains ; it was not, however, 
 until attracted by the pure limpid stream that filtered into 
 a sandy hollow near him, he stooped down to carry the 
 refreshing draught up to his lips, that he was aware of the 
 greatest change of all ; for, instead of the sunken cheeks 
 and wrinkled brow, the bloodshot eyes and thin, grey hairs 
 that he had brought with him, the ruddy, health-embrowned 
 and joy-lit features of years long gone, laughed up at him 
 from the glassy surface. 
 
 And now a merry little chuckle tinkled in his ear, and 
 on looking around, he discovered that the black spirit had 
 vanished, and in its place sat the identical leprechaun, 
 about whose melancholy fate he was so concerned. 
 
 " By the piper that played before Moses, but it's glad I 
 13 
 
290 THE TIPPERARY YENUS. 
 
 am to see you once more, my haro ; have they let you 
 out?" inquired Terry, with considerable anxiety. 
 
 " I have never been impiisoned," replied the little fellow, 
 gaily. 
 
 "Why, then, tear an nountkers,''^ said Terrv. "You 
 haven't been gostherin' me all the time, an' the heart of me 
 fairly burstin' wid the thought of them weeshee gams of 
 yours strikin' out among the pitch that was beyant." 
 
 " It was that very feeling of humanity, which I knew yet 
 lingered in your heart, that saved you," replied the lepre- 
 chaun. 
 
 " As how, sir, might I ax ?" 
 
 " How long is it since you saw me before ?" 
 
 " Don't mention it," cried Terry, with an abashed look, 
 "a weary life-time a'most has passed since then." 
 
 "And what a life-time," observed the leprechaun, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "Indeed, an' you may say that," replied the other. 
 " There's no one knows betther nor I do how sinfully that 
 life was wasted, how useless it has been to me an' to every 
 one else, how foolishly I flung away the means that might 
 have comforted those who looked up to me, among heart- 
 less, conscienceless vagabones, who laughed at me while I 
 fed their brutish appetites, and fled from me as though I 
 were infectious when ill-health and poverty fell upon my 
 head." 
 
 " Then the fairy gift did not bring you happiness ?" 
 
 "Happiness!" replied Terry, with a groan, "it changed 
 me from a man into a beast, it brought distress atd misery 
 
THE TIPPERART VENUS. 291 
 
 upon those nearest and dearest to me, it made my whole 
 worldly existence one continued reproach, and God help me, 
 I'm afeared it has shut the gates of heaven against my 
 sowl hereafter." 
 
 " Then I suppose you have the grace to be sorry this time 
 that you didn't behave more generously in my case," said 
 the fairy. 
 
 " True darlin' ; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here now," 
 replied Terry. " It was to thry and find you out that I 
 took this journey, an' a sore one it is to a man wid the 
 weight of years that's on my back." 
 
 "Oh, I forgot that you were such an ould creather 
 intirely," said the little fellow, with a merry whistle, " but 
 what the mischief makes you bend your back into an 
 apperciand, and hide your ears on your showlders, as if 
 the cowld was bitin' them." 
 
 "Faix, an' it's just because I'm afeered to sthraighten 
 myself out, that murdherin thief rheumatism has screwed 
 the muscles of my back so. tight." 
 
 " You can't stand up then, eh Terry ?" 
 
 " Not for this many a long day, sir, more is the pity,'* 
 replied the other, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 " You don't tell me that," said the leprechaun, with a 
 queer expression of sympathy. "There could be no harm 
 thry in', any way." 
 
 " If I thought there would be any use in it, it's only too 
 glad that I'd be," said Terry. 
 
 " There's no knowin' what a man can do, until he makes 
 the efl'ort." 
 
292 THE TIPPERARY YEN US . 
 
 Encouraged by these words, Terry commenced very 
 gingerly to lift his head from its long sunken position ; to his 
 infinite delight he found the movement unaccompanied 
 by the slightest twinge, and so, with a heart brim full of 
 overflowing joy,, he drew himself up to his full height with- 
 out an ache or a pain; tall, muscular, and as straight as 
 a tailor's yard. 
 
 The hurroo ! that Terry sent forth from his invigorated 
 lungs, when he felt the entire consciousness of his return to 
 youth and its attendant freshness and strength, startled the 
 echoes of the mountain, like the scream of a grey eagle. 
 
 " And now, Misther Terry Magra," said the leprechaun, 
 " I may as well tell you the exact period of time that has 
 transpired since I first had the pleasure of a conversation 
 with you ; it is now exactly, by my watch," and he pulled 
 out a mite of a time-keeper from his fob — " there's nothing 
 like being particular in matters of chronology— jist fourteen 
 minutes and fifty-nine seconds, or to be more explicit, in 
 another minute it will be precisely a quarter of an hour. " 
 
 " Oh, murdher alive, only to think !" cried Terry, gasping 
 for breath. "An' the wife an' childher, and the drunken- 
 ness and misery I scattered around me." 
 
 " Served but to show you, as in a vision, the sure conse- 
 quences which would have resulted had you really been in 
 possession of the coveted gift you merely dreamed that you 
 had obtained ; the life of wretchedness which you passed 
 through, in so short a space of time, is but one of many 
 equally unfortunate, some leading even to a more terrible 
 close. There are a few, however, I am bound to say, on 
 
THE TIPPEKARY VENUS. 293 
 
 whom earthly joys appear to shed a constant ray ; but we, 
 to whom their inmost thoughts are open as the gates of 
 morning to the sun, know that those very thoughts are 
 black as everlasting night." 
 
 " What say you now, Terry ? Will you generously give 
 up your power over me, and by leading a life of industry 
 and temperance, insure for you and yours contentment, 
 happiness, and comfort, or will you, to the quelling of my 
 fairy existence and its boundless joys, risk the possession 
 of so dangerous though dazzling a gift as I am compelled 
 to bestow upon you, should you insist on my compliance 
 with such a wish ?" 
 
 It must be confessed that Terry's heart swelled again at 
 the renewed prospect of sudden wealth, and inasmuch as 
 he exhibited, by the puzzled expression of his countenance, 
 the hidden thoughts that swayed, alternately, his good and 
 evil impulses, the leprechaun continued — 
 
 '• Take time to consider — do nothing rashly ; but weigh 
 well the consequences of each line of conduct, before you 
 decide irrevocably and for ever." 
 
 " More power to you for givin' me that chance, any 
 way," said Terry. " It woul'dn't take me long to make my 
 mind up, if it wasn't for what I've gone through ; but, ' the 
 burnt child,' you know, ' keeps away from the fire.' Might 
 I ax, sir, how far you could go in the way of money ? for, 
 av I incline that way at all, bedad it won't be a peddlin 
 shillin' that I'll be satisfied with." 
 
 " Do you know Squire Moriarty V said the £airy. 
 
29^ THE TIPPERAKY VENUS. 
 
 ' Is it Black Pether? who doesn't know the dirty thief of 
 the world ? Why, ould Bluebeard was a suckin' babby 
 compared to him, in the regard of cruelty." 
 
 " How rich is he ?" 
 
 " Be gorra, an' they say there's no countin' it, it's so 
 thremendous. Isn't he the gripinest an' most stony-hearted 
 landlord in the barony, as many a poor farmer knows, 
 when rent day's to the fore ?" said Terry. 
 
 " And how did he get his money ?" inquired the 
 leprechaun. 
 
 " Indeed, an' I b'lieve there's no tellin' exactly. Some 
 says this way, an' others that. I've heard say that he was 
 a slave marchint early in life, or a pirate, or something 
 aiqually ginteel an' profitable," replied Terry. 
 
 " They lie, all of them," the little fellow went on. " He 
 got it as you did yours, by a fairy gift, and see what it has 
 made of him. In his early days, there was not a finer- 
 hearted fellow to be found anywhere ; everybody liked, 
 courted, and loved him." 
 
 " That's thrue enough," said Terry, " and now there ain't 
 a dog on his estates will wag a tail at him." 
 
 " Weir, you may be as rich as he is, if you like, Terry," 
 said the fairy. 
 
 " May I ?" cried Terry, his eyes flashing fire at the 
 idea. 
 
 " He turned his poor old mother out of doors, the other 
 day," observed the leprechaun, quietly. 
 
 Terry's bright thoughts vanished in an instant, and 
 
THE TIPPEKAKY VENUS. 295 
 
 indignation took their place; for filial reverence is the 
 first of Irish virtues. " The murdherin' Turk !" he exclaimed, 
 angrily, " if I had a howld of him now, I'd squeeze the 
 sowl out of his vagabone carcass, for disgracin' the coun- 
 thry that's cursed with such an unnatural reprobate." 
 
 " It was the money that made him do it," said the 
 fairy. 
 
 " You don't tell me that, sir !" 
 
 " Indeed but I do, Terry. "When the love of that takes 
 possession of a man's heart, there's no room there for any 
 other thought. The nearest and dearest ties of blood, of 
 friendship, and of kin, are loosed and cast away as worth- 
 less things. You have a mother, Terry ?" 
 
 " I have, I have ; may all*good angels guard and keep 
 Ler out of harm's way," cried Terry, earnestly, while the 
 large tears gushed forth from his eyes. " Don't say another 
 word," he went on, rapidly ; " if it was goold mines that 
 you could plant under every step I took, or that you could 
 rain dimonds into my hat, an' there was the smallest chance 
 of my heart's love sthrayin' from her, even the length of a 
 fly's shadow, it's to the divil I'd pitch the whole bilin', soon 
 an' suddent. So you can keep your grand gifts, an' yer 
 fairy liberty, an' take my blessin' into the bargain, for 
 showin' me the right road." 
 
 "You're right, Terry," said the leprechaun, joyously, 
 " an' I'd be proud to shake hands with you if my fist was big 
 enough. You have withstood temptation manfully, and 
 suflSciently proved the kindliness of your disposition. I 
 
296 THE TIPPERARY YENU8. 
 
 know that this night's experience will not be lost on you, 
 but that you will henceforth abandon the wild companion- 
 ship in the midst of which you have hitherto wasted time 
 and energy, forgetful of the great record yet to come, when 
 each misused moment will stand registered against you." 
 
 " And now, Terry," he continued, " I'll leave you to take 
 a little rest ; after all you have gone through you must 
 sorely need it." So saying, the leprechaun waved a slip 
 of osier across Terry's eyelids, when they instantly closed 
 with a snap, down he dropped all of a heap upon the 
 springy moss, and slept as solid as a toad in a rock. 
 
 When Terry awoke, the morning was far advanced, and 
 the sun was shining full in his face, so that the first impres- 
 sion that filled his mind was, fhat he was gazing upon a 
 world of fire. He soon mastered that thought, however, 
 and then, sitting down upon the famous stone, began to col- 
 lect his somewhat entangled faculties into an intelligible 
 focus. Slowly the events of the night passed before him ; 
 the locality of each phase in his adventures was plainly 
 distinguishable from where he sat. There, close to him, 
 was the identical branch on which had perched the legion 
 of little pipers ; a short distance from him was the mazy 
 hollow through which he had so singularly forced his way ; 
 half hoping to find some evidence of the apparently vivid 
 facts that he had witnessed, he put his hand into his 
 breeches pocket, but only fished out a piece of pig-tail 
 tobacco. 
 
 As he ran over every well-remembered circumstance, he 
 
THE TIPPERiLRY VENUS. 297 
 
 became still more puzzled. It was clear enough that he 
 had been asleep, as he had but just woke up; but then he 
 was equally certain that he was wide awake when the lep- 
 rechaun touched his eyelids with the osier. Indeed, he 
 looked round in the expectation of seeing it lying some- 
 where about : but there was no trace of such a thino-. 
 
 The conclusion he came to was a characteristic one. 
 " By the mortial," said he, as, taking up his pipes, he saun- 
 tered down the mountain-road, " there's somethin' quare in 
 it, sure enough ; but it's beyant my comprehendin'. The 
 divil a use is there in botherin' my brains about it ; all I 
 know is, that there's a mighty extensive hive o' bees sing- 
 in' songs inside of my hat this blessed mornin'. I must, 
 put some whisky in an' drownd out the noisy varmints." 
 
 The chronicler of this veracious history regrets exceed- 
 ingly that he cannot, with any regard to the strict truth, 
 bring it to a conclusion in the usual moral-pointing style, 
 except in its general tendency, which he humbly considers 
 to be wholesome and suggestive ; but the hero of the tale 
 — the good-for-nothing, wild roysterer, Terry, who ought, 
 of course, to have profited by the lesson he had received 
 and to have become a sober, steady, useful, somewhat bil- 
 ious, but in every way respectable, member of society, 
 dressed in solemn black, and petted religiously by extatical 
 elderly ladies, did not assist the conventional denouement 
 in the remotest degree. With grief I am compelled to 
 record the humiliating fact, that Terry waxed wilder than 
 ever, drank deeper, frolicked longer, and kicked up more pro- 
 
 13* 
 
298 THE TIPPERABT VENUS. 
 
 miscuous shindies tlian before, and invariably wound up the 
 account of his fairy adventures, which in process of time 
 he believed in most implicitly, by exclaiming : 
 
 " What a murdherin' fool I was not to take the money." 
 
 THE END. 
 
J C. DERBY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 JACK DOWNING'S NEW BOOK! 
 
 WAY DOWN EAST; 
 
 OR, PORTRAITURES OP YANKEE LIFE. 
 
 BY SEBA SMITH, ESQ. 
 
 Illustrated, 12ino. Price $1. 
 
 " We greet the Major, after a long interval, with profound pleasure and respect. Well 
 'W we remember how, years ago, we used to pore over his lucubrations on the eventa of 
 the time — how he enlightened us by his home-views of the Legislature's doings, of the 
 Gineral's intentions, and of the plans of ambitious Uncle Joshua. Here was the ' spot of 
 his origin,' and around us were the materials from which he drew his stores of instructive 
 wit. Therefore we, of all the reading public, do the most heartily greet his reappearance. 
 We find him a little more artistic than of old, more advanced in grammar and orthography 
 bust withal displaying the same intimate knowledge of Down Eastdom, and retaining the 
 same knack of genuine Yankee humor. In fact, taking all things together, no other 
 wi-iter begins to equal him in the delineation of the live Yankee, in the points where thai 
 individual differs from all the ' rest of mankind.' This is his great merit as an author, 
 and one which the progress of manners will still further heighten — for it is only in some 
 portions of our own State that the real Yankee can now be found. 
 
 " The present book has sixteen chapters devoted to home-stories. They are racy and 
 tumorous to a high degree." — Portland Daily AdverUser. 
 
 " It is now generally conceded that Seba Smith is the ablest, and at the same time the 
 most amusing delineator of Yankee life who has hitherto attempted that humorous style 
 of writing— not excepting even Judge Haliburton himself. This is no rash expression, for 
 there is not a passage in ' Sam Slick ' so graphic, funny and and comical, but we find 
 equalled if not surpassed in the sensible and philosophic, although ludicrous epistles, of 
 ' Major Jack Downing '—epistles of which we defy the most stupid to glance at a para- 
 graph without reading the whole." — Philadelphia News. 
 
 " This is a book of real Yankee life, giving the particulars of character and in; ..dents in 
 New England, from the Pilgrim fathers and their generations, Connecticut Blue Laws, and 
 the civic and religious rules, customs, Ac, from the Nutmeg State away down East, as far 
 as Mr. Jones ever thought of going. It is a very laughable aflfair, and every family in all 
 Yankeedom wih enjoy its perusal." — Hingham, (Mass.) Journal. 
 
 " Thera are few readers who do not desire to keep up an acquaintance with the original 
 Major Jack Downing, whose peculiar humor, while it is irresistible in its effects, is nevei 
 made subservient to immorality. But these stories are an improvement on those originally 
 given by the author, as they are illustrative of Yankee life and character in the good do 
 times of the Pilgrim Fathers." — Christian Ad/vocate and Journal. 
 
 " The stories are the most humorous in the whole range of Yankee literature, full o/ 
 genuine wit, rare appreciation of fun, and giving an insight into human motive which 
 ■hows the close observation and keen relish of life, of a good-humored philosopher." — 
 8a^u^day Evening Mail. 
 
 •' A charmingly interesting book, this, for all who hail from Down East, or who Ilk* to 
 read {^ood storieg of home life among the Yankees."— iSo^em Regitt&f 
 
 IS 
 
J. G. DERBY S PUBLICATION J. 
 
 THE MORNINQ STARS OF THE NEW 
 WORI.D. 
 
 BY H. F. PARKER. 
 
 1 elegant 12mo. volume, over 400 pages, six Illustrations. Price $1 25. 
 
 Contexts :— Columbus — Vespucius — De Soto — Raleigh — Hudson — Smith 
 — Standish — Arabella Stuart — Elliott and Penn. 
 
 "An unpretending work, yet a valuable one. The authoress mast have entered upas 
 her task with hearty enthusiasm, as, while adhering strictly to the simplest truth, she 
 has thrown around her portraits a new charm, and given to them a refreshing novelty 
 of aspect. A galkry of striking portraits worthy of preservation and a galaxy of stari 
 whose morning light must not be obscured ia the noon-tide brilliancy of a successful 
 present. Ir. just such a form as this should they lie on our book-tables, reminders of the 
 past, shorn of the technicalities of the history, and presented in strong relief. The came 
 of the authoress is one almost unknown ; but she deserves the thanks of the public for 
 her well written book in which she has given a convenient medium of communication with 
 days of long ago — days that never should be forgotten even by the busy, bustling world 
 -that cannot stop to go back even to the days of their own forefathers. The book proves 
 itself a very entertaining one for the young, who declare themselves unable to leave its 
 fascinating pages." — Worcester PaUadium. 
 
 " A more appropriate name could not have been given to a book which contains all 
 that is interesting in the lives of the master spu-its to whom the world may be said to owe, 
 firstly the discovery of this great continent ; and secondly, the establishment upon it, of 
 European colonies. In no other single work, o( whose existence we are aware, are there 
 to be found so many sketches of the discoverers and first settlers of the principal parts 
 of the new world, which are at once so concise and comprehensive, as those given in the 
 Morning Stars.' They are truly multwn in parr)o."~PhUadelphia News. 
 
 " The Muilioress has fashioned her materials in a very winning garb, and with a spirit 
 and feelinj; rarely kindled in preparing succint biographies, imparts her glowing appre- 
 ciation of their subject to the reader. We hope this volume, while in itself it will be 
 TaluabU lo the young, will lead them to more extended historical reading, and especially 
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 should be reminded of the cosflicts and sacrifices which purchased their present luxuri- 
 ous immunities. They cannot begin better than with this charming volume, which they 
 will not leave unfinished." — New Bedford Mercury. 
 
 "This book is alike novel, and fortunate in its title and its character. It contains very 
 jatistact.M-y sketches of ten of the great spirits the history of whose lives blends itself 
 incsl ii;:iiii;itely with the earliest history of our country. It was a beautiful thought ; and 
 It is carrit-d out in a manner that can hardly fail to secure to the work many delighted 
 readers "—Albany Argus. 
 
 " The hook has all the charm of romance, and the value of genuine history. It \M 
 Written with spirit and vigor, and at the same time with precision and taste. The grouptag 
 together of such men briugs the reader iuto the best of company." — Utica Herald, fi 
 
J. C. DERBY S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 EXTEAORDINAKY PUBLICATIOHl 
 
 MY COURTSHIP AND ITS CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 BY HENRY WIKOFF. 
 
 k true account of the Author's Adventures in Eagland, Switzeriand, and 
 Italy, with Miss J. C. Gamble, of Portland Place, London. 1 elegant 
 12mo. Price, in cloth, $1 25. 
 
 The extraordinary sensation produced in literary circles by Mr. Wikoff's charming 
 romance of real life, is exhausting edition after edition of his wonderful book. From 
 lengthy reviews, among several hundred received, we extract the following brief notices 
 of the press : 
 
 "We prefer commending the book as beyond question the most amusing of the season 
 und we commend it without hesitation, because the moral is an excellent one." — Albion. 
 
 " With unparalleled candor he has here unfolded the particulars of the intrigue, taking 
 the whole world into his confidence — ' bearing his heart on his sleeve for daws to pec' 
 at' — and, in the dearth of public amusements, presenting a piquant nine days' wondt 
 for the recreation of society."—^. F. Trilnme. 
 
 " The work is very amusing, and it is written in such a vein that one cannot refrain 
 from frequent bursts of laughter, even when the Chevalier is in positions which might 
 claim one's sympathy." — Boston Evening Gazette. 
 
 " A positive autobiography, by a man of acknowledged fashion, and an associate of 
 nobles and princes, telling truly how he courted and was coquetted by an heiress in high 
 life, is likely to be as popular a singularity in the way of literature as could well be though! 
 oV'—Boms Journal. 
 
 " The ladies are sure to devour it. It is better and more exciting than any modern 
 romance, as it is a detail of facts, and every page proves conclusively that the plain, 
 unvarnished tale of truth is often stranger than Action."— Baltimore Dispatch. 
 
 " The book, therefore, has all the attractions of a tilt of knight-errants— with this addi- 
 tion, that one of the combatants is a woman— a species of heart-endowed Amason.**— 
 tTewark Daily Mercury. 
 
 " If jrou read the first chapter of the volume, you are in for ' finis,' and c»n no mor« 
 stop without the consent of your will than the train of cars can stop without the consent 
 of the engine." — Worcester Palladiwm. 
 
 " Seriously, there is not so original, piquant and singular a book in American Ut^ratnre 
 Its author is a sort of cross between Fielding, Chesterfield, and Rochefoucault."— ^«<ofi 
 Chronicle. 
 
 "With the exception of Rosseau's Confessions, we do not remember ever to ha»« heard 
 of any such self-anatomization of love and the lover."— iV. F. Express. 
 
 "The book has cost us a couple of nighte' sleep; and we have no doubt it has '♦••t Its 
 fcuthor and principal subject a good many more."— ^. F. Evening Mirror. 
 
 " The work possesses all the charm and fascination of a continuous romance.**- Jf Y 
 4<)>wm.<j2 of Oownierce. 
 
c. derby's publications. 
 
 THK OREEN MOUNTAIN TRAVELLERS' 
 ENTERTAINMENT. 
 
 liY JOSIAR BARNES, SEN. 
 
 12mo. $1. 
 
 •'They will be read with earnest sympathy and heartfelt approval by all who enjo^ 
 |uiet pictures of the homely, yet often charming scenes of daily life. The style well 
 befits the thoughts expressed, and is equally simple and 'mpressive. We hare found in 
 these pages better than a ' traveller's entertainment '— one whicli will mingle with the 
 pleasant recollectiuns of a home fi.reside." — Providence*Daily Post. 
 
 " If any of our friends wish to get hold of a book written in a style of pure and beau- 
 tiful English, that reminds one of Irving continually ; a book rich with inventions of the 
 marvellous, and yet abounding m sweet humanities and delicate philosophies — a book 
 that will not tire and cannot offend, let them go to a bookstore and buy ' The Old Inn ; 
 or, the Travellers' Entertainment,' by Josiah Barnes, Sen. It will pay the leader well." 
 —Springjleld {Mass.) EepuUican. 
 
 " It should be praise enough to say that tne author reminds one occasionally o» 
 Irving." — Philadelphia Bulletin. 
 
 " Unless we err greatly, a volume so markedly original in its outline and features wiU 
 attract a large share of attention." — Boston Evening Gazette. 
 
 " This is a very pleasant book. The plan of it, if not new, is just as well carried out 
 
 Five 'r six 'r half-a-dozen ' travellers meet at an indifferent tavern in an indifferent 
 
 part of Vermont, upon a seriously unpleasant day, and to pass away the dull hours, they 
 
 fall to story-telling. The record of their performances in that behalf is made up into thn 
 
 volume ' above entitled.' So agreeable became the diversion that not only the evening 
 
 of the first day, but as the following morning was conveniently stormy, the second day 
 
 Is coDsunied in similar diversions. Those who read the book will agree with us inat a 
 
 stormy ""ay and a country inn, with such alleviation, presents no very great hardship to 
 
 the traveller, unless his business is particularly urgent. We commend the book to those 
 
 <ho like a pieasant story, pleasantly told." — Budget, Troy, 2f. Y. 
 
 " Under the above title we have several interesting stories as told by the various ch*- 
 
 MJters at tne fireside of a comfortable, old fashioned inn, to while away the long hour« 
 
 ♦ storrm, by which they were detained The Little Dry Man's, the supposed Lawyer's, 
 
 ki>d the Quaker's stories are all worth listening to. They are well told and entertain the 
 
 ftider." — Bangor Journal. 
 
 •' This is a serie* of stories, supposed to be related to while away the time, in an old 
 Inn, where a party of travellers are storm-stayed, consisting of the ' Little Dry Man's 
 Story,' the 'Supposed Lawyer's Story,' 'Incidents of a Day at the Inn,' the 'Quaker's 
 Story,' and ' Ellen's Grave.' The stories are well told. There is a charming simplicity 
 in the author's style — all the more delightful, because, now-a-days, simplicity uf lan- 
 guage is a rarity with authors. It is a book to take up at any moment, and occupy a 
 leisure hour — to lay aside, and take «p again and again. We commend its tone, ant} 
 Ihe object of the author. It is a pleasant lompanion on a country journey " — If. t 
 Oitpotch. 
 
J. c. derby's publications. 
 
 "IT IS A LOYE TALE OF THE MOST ENTRANCING XIND." 
 
 Boston Daily Traveller. 
 
 *WHO IS THE ATJTH0E1 WE GUESS A LADY."-J^. Y. Life Jliu^ated. 
 
 ISORA'S CHILD 
 
 1 large 12mo. volume. Price $1 25. 
 
 ••It Is one of those few books of its class that we have read quite through— for we found 
 A to hare the requisites of a good book, namely, the power of entertaining the reader to 
 the end of the volume. The story is not complex, but is naturally told; the characters 
 ftre drawn with sharp delineation and the dialogue is spirited. It is something to add, in 
 ihe present deluge of bad books with pleasant names, both the morals and ' the moral ' of 
 foe work are unexceptionable. It is understood to be the production of a lady whose 
 name is not unknown to the reading public ; and we congratulate her on the increase of 
 reputation which ' Isoba's Child ' will bring her when her present incognito shall be 
 vtmo-v&^y— Burlington (Vt.) Sentinel. 
 
 "This book starts oflf with its chapter first, and introduces the reader at once to the 
 heroes and incidents of the really charming story. He will speedily find himself interested 
 as well by the graceful style and the skill with which the different scenes are arranged, 
 as by the beauty of the two principal characters, and the lessons of loving faith, hope, and 
 patience, which will meet him at the tmning of almost every leaf. This is one of the best 
 productions of its kind that has been issued this season, and promises to meet with 
 warm approval and abundant success." — Detroit Daily Democrat. 
 
 " Another anonymous novel, and a successful one. There is more boldness and origi- 
 nality both in its conception and in its execution than in almost any work of fiction we 
 *jave lately rea4. Its characters are few, well delineated, and consistently managed, 
 .here is no crowding and consequent confusion among the dramatis personce. There 
 .re two heroines, however, Flora and Cora, both bewitching creatures, and, what u 
 jetter, noble, true-hearted women, especially the former, Isora's child — the dark-eyed and 
 ,>assionate, but sensitive, tender, and loving daughter of Italy. The work will make it? 
 -nark. Who is the author? We guess a lady, and that this is her first bQO^."— Weekly 
 L{fe Illustrated. 
 
 "Its incidents are novel and effectively managed; and its style possesses both <?arnest 
 vigor and depth of pathos, relieved by occasional flashes of a pleasmg and genial humor. 
 Among the crowd of trashy publications now issued from the press, a work as true to 
 aature, and as elevated and just in its conceptions of the pu/poses of life, as this is, is all 
 Uie Kore welcome because it is so rare. We have no doubt it will be as popular as it i« 
 miereatmg."— Albany Evening Jownal. 
 
 " We have seldom perused a work of fiction that gave us more r»al pleasure than 
 :his. From first to last page, it enchains the attention, and carries your sympathies 
 along with the fortunes of the heroine. The descriptive powers of the unknown authoress 
 are of the loftiest order, and cannot fail of placing her in the first ranks of authorship.'i 
 — Cincinnati Daily Sun. 
 
 " A Btory which perpetually keeps curiosity on the alert, and as perpetually baffles n 
 ttU it reaches its d6noAment. is certainly a good one."— -Bi#aio Commercial Adt^rU*^ 
 
J. C. derby's PDBLICAnoXS. 
 
 ** Bell's sketches are instinct with life, they sparkle with brilliants, are gei • 
 med with wit, and address themselves to almost every thotd. oi the hamt-* 
 heart." — LouMvUle {Ky.) Bulleiin. 
 
 BEI.L SMITH ABROAD. 
 
 A Handsome 12mo. volume. Price $1 00. "With Illustrations by iTjaly, 
 "Walcutt, and Overarche 
 
 " The readers of the Louisville Journal need uo introduction from us to Bell Fmith. 
 Her own brilliant pen, and her own sparkling, witching and delightful style have so often 
 graced the columns of this paper, and have made so many friends and admirers for her, 
 that we need say but little toward creating a demand for this charming volume. But 
 some tribute is nevertheless due to Bell Smith for the real pleasure she has imparted in 
 CTery chapter of her book, and that tribute we cheerfully pay. Her admirable powert 
 peem so much at home in every variety and phase of life, that she touches no subject 
 "*thnut making it sparkle with the lights of her genius." — Louisville Journal. 
 
 She is ever piquant in her remarks, and keen from observation ; and the result ii 
 -Jat her ♦ Abroad' is one of the most interesting collections of incident and comment, fun 
 And pathos, seriousness and gossip, which has ever fallen under our notice."— ^«toi» 
 Evening Traveller. 
 
 " It is dashing and vigorous without coarseness — animated with a genial humor- 
 showing acute and delicate perceptions — and sustained by a bracing infusion of common 
 sense."— ^V. Y. Tribune 
 
 "There are many delicate strokes, and not a little of that vivacity of description 
 which entertains. The author shows her best side when matters of home-feeling and 
 affection engage her pen." — If. T. Evangelist. 
 
 " History, art and personal narrative are alike imprinted in your memory by the asso* 
 ciations of anecdote, merry and grave, and you feel that you are listening to the magical 
 Toice of ' Bell Smith' at Tiome Such volumes enrich and honor American literature."— 
 PhAladelphia Merchant. 
 
 " This is a capital book ; full of life, spirit, vivacity and information— thoroughly lady- 
 like, and telling precisely what everybody wants to hear, so far as the author knows." — 
 Salem Gazette. 
 
 " Spirited and artistic ! Bell Smith sparkles, and dashes on, amusing and interestinf 
 A capital book for a leisure hour or railroad travel, or for those seasons when you wani 
 to be pleased without e Sort. "—Cleveland Leader. 
 
 •' We like Bell Smith and Bell Smith's book. A lively, free, dashing style, she talks 
 ©n, and nothing is wantihg but the merry laugh we know she is owner of to make us 
 think we are listening to a very Interesting woman " — Chicago Journal. 
 
 "Lively, gossiping, chatting, witty, sparfeling Bell Smith, we must confess your book 
 feas quite enchanted us."— -^^. Y. Day Book. 
 
 " In freshness, piquancy, and delightful episodes, illustrative 6f foreign life end mam^ 
 oers, they have rarely been equaUed."— i^"'?07jaZ Era. 
 
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