{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41317/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41317","id":"gutenberg_41317","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41317","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Fiction","Humorous stories","Short stories"],"text":"[Illustration: TERRY MAGRA AND THE LEPRECHAUNS.]\n\n[Illustration: IRISH ECHOES\n\nBY John Brougham\n\n  _Paddy._ How do ye do, Misther Aicho?\n\n  _Echo._ Mighty well thank you, Paddy.]\n\n\n\nTHE BUNSBY PAPERS.\n\n(SECOND SERIES.)\n\n\nIRISH ECHOES.\n\n\nBY JOHN BROUGHAM,\nAUTHOR OF \"A BASKET OF CHIPS.\"\n\nWith Designs by McLenan.\n\n\nNEW YORK:\nDERBY & JACKSON, 119 NASSAU STREET,\nCINCINNATI:--H. W. DERBY & CO.\n1856.\n\n\nEntered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by\nDERBY & JACKSON,\n\nIn the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the\nUnited States for the Southern District of New York.\n\n  W. H. TINSON, Stereotyper.\n  GEO. RUSSELL, Printer.\n  G. W. ALEXANDER, Binder.\n\n\n\n\n    TO SAMUEL LOVER,\n\n    The Irish Crichton,\n\n    THESE FAINT ECHOES OF A THEME WHICH HE HAS CAUGHT\n    IN ITS ORIGINAL PURITY AND STRENGTH ARE\n\n    Affectionately Inscribed.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note: Minor spelling and typographical errors have\nbeen corrected without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and\ninconsistencies have been retained as printed.\n\nThe Table of Contents was not present in the original text and has\nbeen produced by the Transcriber for the convenience of the reader.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  PREFACE\n\n  DAN DUFF'S WISH, AND WHAT CAME OF IT.\n\n  THE BLARNEY STONE.\n\n  THE GOSPEL CHARM.\n\n  THE TEST OF BLOOD.\n\n  THE MORNING DREAM.\n\n  THE FORTUNE-TELLER.\n\n  THE FAIRY CIRCLE.\n\n  O'BRYAN'S LUCK. A TALE OF NEW YORK.\n\n  THE TIPPERARY VENUS.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nPerhaps the most interesting, if not the most instructive, records of\nany nation, are its traditions, and legendary tales, and in no part of\nthe world can there be found so varied and whimsical a store, as in\nIreland. Every portion of the country; every city, town, and village;\nnay, almost every family of the \"real ould stock\" has its representative\nshare in the general fund.\n\nIt is a very curious study to trace the analogy between the early\nmythic stories of all countries, their similarity being strikingly\nobvious. The great landmarks of actual history are by them vividly\ndefined, and their integrity sustained. As an instance--the universal\nnature of the mighty deluge which swept the youthful world, finds its\nrecord not alone in the annals of that wondrous people, in whose line\nhas descended all we know of learning and religion; but also in the\noral traditions and semi-historic accounts of many other nations which\nhave since merged into the stream of chronology.\n\nI mention this particular instance for the purpose of fixing the\noriginality of an early anecdote, very often reproduced and claimed by\nsundry joke chroniclers, as well as to give the Irish tradition upon\nthe same subject. Here are the words of the veracious historian Leland:\n\n\"When Noah was building the ark to preserve himself and his family, one\nBith, a man of note and substance--an antideluvian millionaire, no\ndoubt--with his daughter Sesar, applied to the Patriarch for admission,\nthinking, of course, that all he had to do was to step up to the\ncaptain's office, and settle. But Noah denied their request--probably\nfrom want of accommodation. On receiving this repulse, Bith collected\nhis family together, and, as the result of their deliberations, they\nresolved to build a similar vessel for their own private use--a very\nsensible determination it must be conceded. When the ship was finished,\nBith together with his wife, Beatha, his two daughters, Sesar and\nBarran, with their respective husbands, Ladhra and Fionton, and\n_fifty_ of the most beautiful women--inordinate rascals--that\ncould be induced to venture along with them, took passage therein; but\nunfortunately, not knowing the exact period when the rain would begin\nto descend--a diluvian 'Merriam' would have been of great value--they\nput to sea forty days too soon, and these raw sailors, for want of\nskill in navigation, were tossed and driven from sea to sea for the\nspace of seven years and a quarter--how they victualled their\nindependent ark the historian deems a matter of no import--at last,\nhowever, they landed upon the western coast of Ireland at a place\ncalled Dunnamberk, in the barony of Corchadie Ibhne, near about\nsundown. When they found themselves safely ashore, the three men agreed\nto divide the fifty women between them. Bith, besides his wife, had\nseventeen for his share, Fionton had his wife and seventeen more, and\nLadhra was satisfied with the sixteen that remained--good easy man.\"\n\nIn justice to our historian it must be admitted that he expresses\nstrong doubts as to the truth of the legend. \"It is thought,\" says he,\n\"to be an unaccountable relation, for, from whence intelligence could\nbe had of what passed in this island before the flood, is out of my\npower to conceive. We have, indeed, some ancient manuscripts that give\na legendary account of four persons who, they say, lived before and\nafter the deluge, and afterwards divided and possessed themselves of\nthe four parts of the world; but our antiquaries that are best\nacquainted with the history of Ireland, reject such fables with just\nindignation. As for such of them who say that Fionton was drowned in\nthe flood, and afterwards came to life and lived long enough to publish\nthe antediluvian history of the island--probably with some enterprising\npatriarchal \"Bunce Brothers\"--what can they mean, except to corrupt and\nperplex the original annals of the country?\"--What, indeed, Mr. Leland?\n\nBut this, you'll say, has nothing to do with _Irish Echoes_. Well, to\nbe candid, I don't think it has. The fact is, my thoughts took an\nerratic flight in that direction, and this obedient servant between my\nthumb and fingers had to accompany them, _nolens volens_.\n\nWith regard to the pages which follow, I have endeavored to imbue them\nmore with a Hibernian spirit, than with any attempt at orthographic\npeculiarity, inasmuch as I consider it but a factitious species of wit\nwhich hinges upon an amount of bad spelling. I have, therefore,\nabstained in a great measure from perverting the language, only doing\nso where it is absolutely necessary to give individual character.\n\nSome of the sketches are now for the first time presented; others have\nbefore appeared, but such as they are, here they are; all I can say in\ntheir favor is, that they were drawn from no source but my own\ninvention; could I have done better, be assured I would; and yet,\nalthough they are not as perfect as I might wish them to be, still, I\nam not without hope, that some amusement, and also--or my arrows have\nindeed been shot awry--some incentives to a deeper reflection than\naccompanies the mere story-telling, may be found scattered here and\nthere amongst them.\n\n\n\n\nDAN DUFF'S WISH,\n\nAND WHAT CAME OF IT.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n    The burthen wearies him who bears it;\n    And the shoe pinches him who wears it.\n\n\nA very snug, comfort-suggesting apartment is the parlor of Squire\nBulworthy, the rich grazier, upon which you and I, friend reader, are\nabout so unceremoniously to intrude ourselves.\n\nIf you will but look around you, you will see that all the appliances\nof home delectation, procurable in so insignificant a town as\nBallinasquash, are here gathered together; that looking-glass is the\npride of the domestic circle and the envy of the neighborhood; those\neasy-chairs look as though tired humanity might find instant relief\nfrom their ample plumpness; the side-board, with its brilliant array\nof flashing decanters and hospitable-looking glasses, not mean,\ntailor-souled, thimble-measure aggravators, but huge whisky-punch\ngoblets and wines of capacious magnitude; then the carpet,\nkidderminster to a certainty, dazzling in the variety of its crimson\nand blue, and yellow, displaying apochryphal flowers and inexplicable\nflourishes, such as put to the blush the most profound efforts of\nunartistic nature.\n\nYou must agree with me, taken altogether, that there is an air of\nsupreme content and well-to-do-ableness about the entire surroundings,\nrendered absolutely certain by the smirking countenance of the\nSquire himself, as it smiles complacently upon you from that\nprodigiously-ornamented frame--that jolly red nose is unmistakably\nindicative of good living--those twinkling eyes display the very fire\nof self-satisfaction; the town counsellor evidences itself in\nthe-going-to-address-the-meeting attitude, and the man of means flashes\nfrom every link of that ponderous watch-chain and coquets amongst those\nmassive seals.\n\nBulworthy is evidently well off.\n\n\"Hallo, what noise is that proceeding from yonder room?\"\n\n\"Get out, you scoundrel.\"\n\nIt is a fat, gurgling, wheezy kind of voice, Bulworthy's, and speaking\nsets him coughing an uncomfortable, apoplectic sort of cough, like the\nsough of wind escaping from a cracked bellows.\n\n\"Get out, you vagabone; ugh! ouf!\"\n\nA singular-looking man-servant makes a sudden exit from the room, very\nevidently hurt, physically, just as an equally singular female domestic\nenters at the door, having a substantial matutinal repast upon a\nlarge-sized tray.\n\n\"Keep us from harum,\" said she, in a delicious Tipperary brogue, soft\nas honey; \"and what's that?\"\n\n\"Troth, an it's me, Moll, I b'leeve,\" replied the ejected, lustily\nrubbing the part affected.\n\n\"What's happened, Barney?\"\n\n\"Oh! it's ould Bulworthy, bad cess to him,\" said Barney, in an\nundertone, wincing and twisting from pain; \"he's what he calls\nastonishin' me.\"\n\n\"What for?\" inquired Mary, forgetting that she was running considerable\nrisk, from the circumstance of delaying the Squire's breakfast.\n\n\"The devil a one ov me knows; whiniver he's crass, he thinks that\nhittin' me a lick will bring him straight; bedad, if such showers of\ngood luck as he's had all his life drownds a good timper as his is\ndrownded, I hope I may niver be worth a _scurrig_ as long as I\nbreathe.\"\n\n\"Indeed, an' I have the same sort of comfort wid the mistress,\" said\nMary. \"Haven't I had the heart's blood of an illigant scowldin' jest\nnow, for sugarin' her ladyship's tay wid brown?\"\n\n\"Why, murther alive, Mollshee, you don't tell me that it's the\n_lump_ she uses?\"\n\n\"Not a word of a lie in it, nigh hand an ounce of tay in the taypot,\ntoo,\" replied Mary, with a what-do-you-think-of-that expression.\n\n\"Faix, I mind the time,\" said Barney, \"when she thought the smell of\nthat same wonst a week was a nosegay.\n\n\"Thrue for you, indade, an' not long ago, aither.\"\n\nHere a sudden thought occurred to the gossipping Hebe.\n\n\"Murther alive!\" said she, with a start that made the cups rattle; \"if\nI ain't forgettin' ould Bluebeard's breakfast; there'll be wigs on the\ngreen, if the could's come at the eggs, for he's mighty perticular\nentirely.\"\n\nSo saying, she knocked a timid knock at the door of the dreaded\nSquire's room; a fierce \"Come in,\" followed by the inevitable cough,\nhurried her into the apartment, from whence she emerged again very\nshortly, and, with stealthy step and a look more eloquent than words,\nindicated the state of Bulworthy's temperament.\n\nJust then, there was a quiet little ring at the hall bell. \"Run, you\ndivil, run,\" says Barney. \"It kills him intirely to hear that bell\ngoin'; who is it? if you let 'em ring twice, he'll massacree me; oh!\nit's you, is it?\" he continued, as a neat, clean, tidy woman entered\nthe room, holding in her hand a capacious pair of top boots.\n\nIt was Mrs. Peggy Duff, the comfortable little wife of Dan Duff, the\ncobbler. \"Save all here,\" said she, as she came in.\n\n\"Amen to that same, includin' yer own purty self, Mrs. Duff,\" replied\nBarney, with a touch of comic gallantry.\n\n\"Sure, an it's the hoighth of polite you are, Mr. Palthogue,\" replied\nPeggy.\n\n\"I wish you wouldn't hurt your purty little mouth by thryin' to squeeze\nsuch a big name out of it,\" said Barney, giving her a knowing squint.\n\"Sure, Barney used to be enough to fill it wonst.\"\n\n\"Ah! but the times is althered now, Mr. Barney,\" she rejoined; \"ould\nPether Bulworthy--the saints be good to us, I mean the Squire's mounted\nsky-high, like a kite, an ov coorse you've gone up with him like the\ntail.\"\n\n\"But it ain't my nater to forget ould friends for all that, Peg\n_machree_.\"\n\n\"Sure, an I'm glad to hear that, anyway, for it's mighty few heads that\ndoesn't get dizzy whin they're hoisted up upon a hill of fortune,\nespecially on a suddent like.\"\n\nTheir further conversation was unceremoniously cut short by a roar from\nBulworthy's room; now, the Squire's style of using the English language\nwas highly original and somewhat peculiar; with him, the greater the\nnumber of syllables, and the more imposing the sound of the sentences,\nthe better were they qualified to make a proper impression upon the\n_ignobile vulgus_, amongst whom it was his ambition to pass for a \"Sir\nOracle;\" but let him speak for himself. You must imagine each word to\nbe accompanied by that ear-wounding, wheezing cough.\n\n\"What horribly atrocious and propinquitous oration is that goin' on out\nthere, eh!\"\n\nBarney trembled to the heels of his brogues. \"Talk to him, Peg,\" said\nhe, in an agitated whisper, \"while I make meself scarce; don't be\nafeared,\" he added, as he stole quietly off. \"A woman's voice softens\nhim down like a sun-ray on a snowball.\"\n\n\"Hallo there,\" shouted the Squire. \"Am I obligated to keep\ncontinuitously requestin' an elucidation of that rumbunctiousness\noutside; who's there?\"\n\n\"If ye plaze sir, it's only me,\" replied Peggy, \"wid ye honor's\nhonorable 'tops' that wanted heel-piecin'.\"\n\n\"Oh! Ah!\" wheezed Bulworthy. \"Wait, my good woman; I'll finish dressin'\nwith all convaynient circumlocution, and come to you.\"\n\n\"Good woman, indeed,\" thought Peggy, with a toss of her head and a\nchirp. \"Sure an' there's oil on his tongue sense he's turned Squire,\"\nand then, with something akin to envy, she began to scan the various\narticles of home-ornament scattered about the, to her, magnificent\nparlor, soliloquizing at the same time. \"Look at the chairs, stuffed\nseats, as I'm a sinner, wid hair, too, I'll be bound. Mahogany tables,\nif you plaze, all covered over wid useless curiosities an' books that\nnobody sees the inside ov; did anybody ever see the likes; what's\nthis?\" as her eye caught sight of a handsome cologne-bottle. \"Madame\nmust have her scints an her sweet wathers, to wash away the smell of\nthe shop, may-be; I remimber the time when they kep' a little bit of a\nhuxtherin' place, and all the parfume they could musther proceeded from\nthe soap and candles, and, may-be, a red herrin' or two to give the\nrest a flavior.\"\n\nAt this moment the Squire lumbered into the room in all the majesty of\na brilliant calico dressing-gown; seating himself grandly in a large\narm-chair, and patronizingly waving his hand towards Peggy, in a bland\nand condescending tone of voice, he moderated his impatience down to\nthe true keep-your-distance point.\n\n\"Well, ma'm,\" said he, \"so you've brought the tops at last, after me\nwaitin' for them a tremenjus course of time; tell that waxy\nconglomeration of cobblin' connubiality, Mr. Duff, your husband, that,\nin consequence of his haynious neglect, I have been obligated to\nannihilate my usual run wid the Ballinasquash hounds. What's the\nremuneration?\"\n\n\"If you mane the pay, sir,\" replied Peg, with a reverence, \"it's on'y a\nshillin'.\"\n\n\"I have no small pecuniation in the way of silver,\" said Bulworthy,\nplunging his great fist into his enormous pocket, and rattling several\ngold pieces about in a most tantalizing manner, a general practice with\npurse-proud ignorance, adding, with characteristic meanness, \"can you\nchange me a sovreign?\"\n\nPoor Peggy's face flushed up to the roots of her hair; he knew she\ncouldn't, and she knew he knew so.\n\n\"Indeed, sir,\" said she, \"It wouldn't be convaynent just now;\" and it\nwas with difficulty she restrained herself from hinting that it was\nonly recently that he himself had the power to put the insolent\nquestion.\n\n\"Well, then, ma'm,\" said he, pompously; \"all I can say is, that you\nmust pedestrianize in this vicinity on some anterior opportunity; for\nthe present, you can perambulate--to make myself understandable to your\nlimited capacities--walk!\"\n\n\"Yes sir, thank you, sir,\" replied Peggy, humbly courtesying to the\ndomestic sultan, and only wondering how he _could_ keep any teeth in\nhis head, using such hard words.\n\n\"Good mornin' to you, Squire,\" she said, as she retired, \"Here's\nwishin' you safe through the dictionary.\"\n\n\"What does the oleaginous faymale mane; oh! these abominaceous\nphlebians laugh at me, in spite of all I can do to impress them with\nthe importance of my station; with all the pride of my brick building,\nI can't altogether root out the recollection of the little grocery;\nand, indeed, if it comes to that,\" he continued, with a real sigh, \"I\nused to be a great deal happier when I was scrapin' up money, by\nweighin' out hay-porths of sustainance to the surroundin' population\nthan I am now, and the advantitious title of Squire tacked on to my\ncognomination.\"\n\nHis nerves gave a sudden thrill as a shrewish voice from an adjacent\nroom, squealed out, \"Are you there, Pether?\"\n\n\"Yes, my love,\" he replied, quickly, while, in an undertone, he\nmurmured to himself, \"ah! there's a melancholy laceration to my\ngentility, my _cary spowsy_, I can't instill aristocratical idayas\ninto her deleterious temperature, anyway.\"\n\nNow, Mrs. Peter Bulworthy deserves a distinctive paragraph, and she\nshall have it.\n\nAlthough morally she was Peter's much better half, yet bodily she could\naspire to no such appellation. In regard of personal weight, they bore\nabout the same relative affinity as a fine, fat, substantial round of\nbeef would to the carving-fork beside it. The physical difference,\nhowever, she amply made up for, by keeping her prongs ever actively\nemployed pricking the unfortunate Peter at every assailable point.\nPeter was pinguid, plump, and plethoric--she was thin to attenuation.\nPeter's voice, though husky, was rich and oily--hers was like the\nattrition of ungreased cart-wheels. Peter affected dignity and social\nstatus--she gloried in her unmitigated vulgarity; he, poor man, had\nlong ago given up every idea of resisting her domestic tyranny.\n\"Anything for a quiet life,\" was his motto, and, with something akin to\nproper retribution, the indignities and annoyances, which he, in the\nplenitude of his pocket-power, inflicted upon his poorer neighbors, was\nrepaid tenfold on his devoted head, when he came within the circle of\nMrs. Bulworthy's operations.\n\n\"I wonder how her temper is this morning,\" thought Peter, as he cast a\nfurtive glance towards her eyes as she sailed into the room, dressed\nin--I wish I could describe that walking-dress; all I can say, is, that\nit looked as if she had laid a wager that she could display in her\nattire every color in existence, and, won it.\n\n\"Well, Pether dear, and how is my ould man to-day?\" said she. The\nSquire released an imprisoned sigh, in gratitude for this manifestation\nof so unusual a mildness of temper; emboldened thereby to remonstrance,\nhe also ventured to remark:\n\n\"I wish, my love, you wouldn't address me by the antiquitous\nappellation of 'ould man.' It was all very well when we kept a bit of a\nshop\"----\n\n\"Oh, now, Pether, you're comin' over me wid your larning,\" she replied,\nwith a dash of vinegar. \"You know that I never cared a _thranieen_ for\nthe likes, nor never wants to make myself out anything but what I am.\nNot all as one, as some folks I know, that's never happy except they're\nspittin' out mouthfuls of words big an' hard enough to crack filberts\nwid. You see I can talliate if I like, Mr. Pether.\"\n\n\"Re-taliate, obscurest of feminines.\"\n\n\"Well, it's all the same, bless my soul, if one only understands what's\nmeant, what does it si'nafy what's said?\"\n\n\"'Si'nafy,' madame,\" replied Bulworthy, settling himself into a\nmagisterial position, \"do you think that us octo-grammarians take no\npride in the purity of our entomology, skintax, and progeny. Go an'\nbusy yourself about the futilities of domestic exuberance and leave\npolite literature to the intellectual sect.\"\n\n\"Meanin' you, I suppose, you concated _omathaun_,\" said the lady, with\na shrug of her pointed shoulders, adding, in a more decided tone, whose\neffect was instantaneously visible on the countenance, and in the\ncourage of her spouse, \"Come, we've had enough of this; put on your\nboots, an' take me out for a walk.\"\n\nJust snugly ensconced in his favorite arm-chair, his slippered feet on\nthe cozy fender, and the county paper on his knee as yet unfolded,\nPeter would have given a great deal to be left in his undisturbed\nquiet, but one glance at those determined eyes convinced him of the\nfutility of resistance. With a profound groan, he laid down the coveted\nnewspaper, took up his boots, and, without attempting a remonstrance,\nwalked into his bed-room, saying:\n\n\"Certainly, dear. I shall prepare my perambulating habiliments\ndirectly.\"\n\n\"Pooh, I wish these long words would stick in your throat and choke you\nsome day,\" screamed his amiable helpmate; but, when he was out of\nearshot, her face relaxed into a more gentle expression. \"Poor Pether,\"\nsaid she, \"he wants to stick himself up for a gentleman; now that we've\ngot away from the grocer's shop, he can't bear to hear the sound of the\nplace mentioned, which, as in duty bound I do, twenty times a day; if I\ndidn't keep him in wholesome subjection, he'd get the upper hand of me,\nas he does with all the rest. Now Pether,\" she cried, elevating her\nshrillness into a whistle, \"am I goin' to be kept danglin' here all the\nblessed mornin'?\"\n\n\"I'm coming, I'm coming, impatient individuality,\" said Peter, from his\nroom, where, to do him credit, he was hurrying through the unwelcome\nprocess with considerable alacrity; \"arrah, how do you suppose a\ngentleman can beatify his external appearance in such a momentous space\nof time? but, here I am, at your service, ma'am,\" he continued, as, in\nall the dignity of snowy shirt-frill, bright blue body-coat, and big\nbrass buttons, white cord breeches, and shiny top-boots, his great\nbunch of watch-seals bobbing about like the pendulum of a clock, a\nblack thorn stick under his arm, and a wonderfully-furry white hat\ncovering his moon-looking face, he fancied himself the very\nimpersonation of moneyed importance.\n\n\"And maybe you'll tell me, ma'am,\" said he, as he pulled on a pair of\nbig buckskin gloves, \"what you want to be gallivantin' about the\nstreets for at this transitory moment?\"\n\n\"I choose it,\" replied the obedient wife. \"It's for the benefit of my\nhealth, so howld your gab.\"\n\n\"Ah! what unnatural vulgarity.\"\n\n\"If you don't let me be, I'll talk about the shop in the street, loud,\nso that everybody can hear me.\"\n\n\"I wish to my gracious I had never left it,\" said he, with a sigh so\nheavy that it must have carried truth with it.\n\n\"Give me your arm, do, and make haste,\" cried Mrs. Pether, giving a\nprecautionary shake to her numerous, but insufficient flounces. \"I'm\ndyin' to dazzle ould Mrs. Magillicuddy with this bran new shawl.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Pether, with a glance of resigned conviction, \"that's\nwhat I thought the benefit to your health would amount to.\"\n\nSo the Squire and his lady--no, I mean Mrs. Peter Bulworthy and her\nhusband--sallied forth, to astonish a few of their neighbors, and amuse\na great many more; both Barney, the anomalous man-servant, and Mary,\nthe \"maid,\" pulling up their respective corners of the window-blind to\nsee them, and watch the effect they produced.\n\n\"There they go,\" grunted Barney, with a contemptuous toss of his\nalready scornfully-elevated nose, \"the laughin'-stocks of the whole\ntown; dressin' me up this way,\"--and he gave his nether extremities a\nglance of derision--\"like an overgrown parrot--me, that niver had\nanything on me back, but an ould canvas apron, an' a dirty face, now I\ncan't stir out o' the house, that I'm not fairly ashamed o' meself;\nthere isn't a gossoon in the barony that doesn't know me as well as av\nI was the town pump, an' I can't show meself in the place, that they\ndon't hunt me about as av I was a wild nagur. Look at them stockin's,\nMary, _acush_, there's flimsy, skimpin things, for a cowld Christian to\nwear on his _gams_; I'll be ketchin' me death wid them, I know I will.\nMary, I'll be on me oath av I don't think them legs'll carry me off\nyit.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n    A true home-angel, in this world of strife,\n    Is, man's best friend, a faithful, loving wife.\n\n\nNow turn we, courteous reader, to the contemplation of a totally\ndifferent scene.\n\nNot far from the imposing, bright, red brick edifice of Squire\nBulworthy--indeed, you can see it on the other side of the street, with\nits flaring green door and great brazen knocker, its crimson parlor\ncurtains and every-color-in-the-world window-shades--stands the\nmiserable looking tenement inhabited by our cobbling friend, Dan Duff.\nThe walls are fashioned out of that natural, but by no means elegant,\nor expensive compound, known generally as \"mud.\" The roof is thatched\nwith straw, but so old and weather-worn that the rain soaks through it\nas though it were sponge; while the accidental vegetable productions\nwhich attach themselves to such decaying matter, vainly struggled to\ngive it a semblance of life and verdure. A dilapidated half door, and\na poor apology for a window, many of the small panes patched with\narticles of used up domestic material, were the only means of ingress,\nventilation, and light. Notwithstanding the hopeless-looking poverty of\nthe whole, there were one or two indications which, to an observing\nmind, would tend to lessen, in a remote degree, its general\nwretchedness. In the first place, a few small, cracked flower-pots\ndecked the little window-sill, from whence crept upward\n\"morning-glories,\" and bright \"scarlet-runners,\" the delight of\nindustrious poverty. Then there was that invariable sharer of the poor\nman's crust and companionship, a useless, and not by any means\nornamental, cur, shrewd, snappish, and curiously faithful, in friendly\ncontiguity to a well-conditioned cat. You may take your oath that\nthere's harmony beneath the roof where a cat and dog are amicably\ndomiciliated.\n\nWith the above exception, the cabin's sole occupant, at the present\nmoment, is a woman; but such a woman--it's the cobbler's wife,\nbefore-mentioned; here, however, she is in her peculiar sphere. \"Home\nis home, be it ever so homely,\" is a trite and true aphorism, and poor\nPeggy, it is evident, does her best to make this unpromising one as\nfull of comfort as she can. Everything is scrupulously clean and in its\nplace. The little wooden dresser is as white as soap and sand can make\nit. So is the floor, and so are the scanty household goods.\n\nThere is, though, a shade of discomfort on Peggy's pretty face just\nnow, as she laboriously plies her knitting needles, and the small\nthundercloud breaks out into little flashes of impatience, as she\nsoliloquizes:\n\n\"Did anybody ever see the likes of that Dan of mine? He couldn't take\nthe \"tops\" over to ould Bulworthy himself--not he!--of course not--he\nwasn't well enough to go out _then_, but the minute my back was turned,\naway he cuts to the '_shebeen_' house to get his 'mornin''--ugh! I do\nbelieve if he was before me now, I'd--but no--my poor Dan, it ain't\nmuch comfort he's got in the world; so I won't say a blessed word to\nworry him.\"\n\nAs if to recompense the considerate thought, Dan's jolly voice was\nheard, singing one of his consoling ditties.\n\n\"Here he comes, bless him,\" cried Peg, joyfully, \"as lively as a lark.\"\n\nThere was wonderful commotion amongst the animals as Dan entered.\n\"Pincher,\" the apocryphal, shook his apology for a tail as vigorously\nas that diminished appendage was capable of accomplishing; while\n\"Pussy\" urged her claims upon his attention by rubbing herself against\nhis legs. Peg said nothing.\n\nNow, Dan perfectly well knew his delinquency. Indeed, the song he had\njust executed, in a good, bold voice, had more of \"brag\" in it than\nreal enthusiasm. He saw how the land lay instantly.\n\n\"Peg, _alanna machree_, here I am,\" said he. \"Whisht! I know what\nyou're goin' to say. Keep yer mouth shut, you hateful blaggard, or\nI'll stop it up wid kisses, as close as cobbler's wax. There, Peg,\"\nhe continued, after having suited the action to the word, with a\nsmack like a carter's whip, \"I couldn't help it--I couldn't, upon\nmy word. You were a long time away--and the breakfast was mighty\nsmall--and--and--a sort of oneasiness kem over me inside, I was\nlonesome, and thinkin' of things as wasn't wholesome, so I thought\nI'd just stick another chalk up at Phil Mooney's, so don't say another\nword.\"\n\n\"Not a word Dan,\" replied Peg. \"Sure, don't I mind poor Mary Maguire's\ncase, how she never let Mike rest when he had 'the drop' in him, until\nat long last he stayed out, for the fear of comin' home; the whisky is\ntoo strong for a woman to fight agin, Dan, so, if you like it better\nthan me\"----\n\nThat was a skillful side-blow, and it made its mark.\n\n\"Peg, you know better, you thief of the world, you do; you know, in\nyour pure little heart, that's too good for me, or the likes of me;\nthat the summer flowers doesn't love the sunshine of heaven better than\nI love you; oh! no, it isn't that, not that, Peg _aroon_.\"\n\n\"What is it, then?\"\n\n\"Well, Peg,\" he continued, \"its the _thinks_ that comes over a poor\nfella when he hasn't a _scurrig_ to bless himself wid; the _thinks_\nthat lays a howld of him when there's nobody by but himself and the\ndevil that sends them, thems the times that worries a _poor_ man, Peg.\"\n\n\"Ah! Dan,\" replied the other, seriously, \"but those times worry a\n_wicked_ man worse.\"\n\n\"Well, may-be they do,\" said the cobbler, doggedly, \"if a body knew the\ntruth, but it's bad enough either way. Did the Squire pay for the\n'tops?'\"\n\n\"Not yet, Dan, he hadn't the change!\"\n\n\"Hadn't he, really,\" replied the other, bitterly. \"Poor fella, what a\npity; there's a mighty great likeness betune us in that, anyway. The\nupstart pup, why the divil didn't he get change. There's the differ,\nPeg, darlin', betune the rale gintleman and the 'musharoon;' a\ngintleman as feels and knows he's one, and consequentially acts\naccordin', will always think of the _great_ inconvanience the want of\nthe little bit o' money is to the poor man, and not the small ditto to\nhimself, in the respect of gettin' the change; bad luck attend you,\nould Bulworthy, the want of that shillin' has made me break my word in\na quarther where I'm mighty loath for to do that same.\"\n\n\"Where is that, Dan?\"\n\n\"I'll tell you, Peg; on the strength of that shillin' I towld my inside\nthat I'd give it a threat, may I never sin, acush, if I didn't promise\nit a 'sassidge;' now, you know if you tell your hungryness to come at a\ncertain time, it's generally apt to be purty smart at keepin' the\nappintmint, and, bedad, mine is waitin' for that sassidge; moreover, it\nain't threatin' a man's intayrior relations anyway raysonable to go\nback of yer word. Murdher, there's a twinge--if it isn't hittin' me a\npunch in the stomach just to put me in mind, I'm a grasshopper. It's no\nuse,\" he continued, addressing his unsatisfied digestibles, \"you may's\nwell give over grumblin' and touchin' me up that way; it's no fault of\nmine, it's ould Bulworthy's, bad cess to him; he hadn't any change, the\ndirty _spalpeen_, you won't take an excuse won't you? then I'll have to\nfire a pipe at you. Peg, jewil, fill us a _dhudeen_, won't you; this\nthievin' hunger won't stir a toe unless I hunt it out wid tibaccy.\"\n\nPeggy soon filled the inevitable pipe, and Dan brought his artillery to\nbear upon the foe, after a severe round of tremendous puffs, during\nwhich the combatants were enveloped in the hot smoke of battle; the\nenemy showed evident signs of beating a temporary retreat. Dan threw\nhimself back in his chair, and prepared, leisurely, to enjoy the fruits\nof his victory.\n\n\"I wondher,\" said he, after a few moments of great satisfaction, \"I\nwondher how ould Bulworthy would like to lunch upon smoke? Be jabers,\nif I had my will, I'd make him eat three males a day of it, until his\nhard-hearted bowels got tenderer towards the poor.\"\n\n\"Talk of the what's-his-name,\" said Peggy. \"Here he comes, both him and\nhis fine madame, as proud as ten paycocks; look at the airs of them; I\nwonder they don't have the street widened when they condescend to walk\nout.\"\n\n\"Peggy, darlin',\" said Dan, \"divil take me if I havn't a great mind to\nlet out at him for my shillin'.\"\n\n\"Sure you wouldn't; what, in the open street? he'd hang you, Dan,\nwithout judge or jury.\"\n\n\"It ain't quite so easy to hang a man as it used to be in the fine ould\ntimes, Peg _alanna_,\" said Dan. \"It's my shillin', he has no right to\nkeep it jinglin' in his pocket, and he shan't, neither, if I can help\nit,\" he continued, going towards the door. \"Hit or miss, here goes:\nHollo, Squire!\" adding, _sotto voce_, \"you murdherin' Turk in top\nboots; long life to you--you concated ould vagabone.\"\n\nThese expressions, of which the most polite alone reached his ear, as\nit may be imagined, grated harshly upon the aristocratic nerves of the\nprodigious Bulworthy; \"What's that fellow making such a magniloquent\nhulla-balloo about,\" said he, grandly.\n\n\"Athin, may-be you'd do my drawin'-room the honor of a sit down,\nyourself, and her ladyship,\" said Dan, to the dismay of poor Peggy, who\nexclaimed: \"Don't, Dan, don't; I'm ashamed of you, indeed, I am;\"\nadding, apologetically, \"oh, he never would a done it, only for the\ndrink; we're ruined entirely.\"\n\n\"Bad 'cess to me if they're not coming, sure enough,\" said Dan,\nsomewhat tremulously, but determined to put a good bold face on it, he\ncontinued, as they entered, \"come, Peg, dust the chair for the lady.\"\n\nPeg's face was crimson as she complied, she scarcely knew how;\nBulworthy's countenance indicated the state of temper with which he\naccepted the proffered hospitality, while the Squiress gazed coolly and\npatronizingly around.\n\n\"I'm in a tremendious rage,\" said he, as he shook his fist at Dan. \"How\ndare you have the premeditated insurance to arrogate us into your\npig-sty, you ragamuffin.\"\n\n\"Don't worrit, my dear,\" interposed Mrs. Bulworthy, in an authoritative\ntone. \"It's our dooty, now, as ladies and gentlemen, to inquire into\nthe condition of the poor, and give them wholesome advice. Here, my\ndear,\" she continued, taking sundry tracts from her capacious pocket,\n\"read these comfortable pages, and see what a state of awful\nresponsibility you are in.\"\n\n\"Bedad, that's all the poor people is likely to get from such visitors\nas you,\" said Dan.\n\n\"And now, sir,\" said Bulworthy, with an imposing frown, \"what\ninterrogational imperence do you want to address to me, that you have\nthe owdaciousness to drag me here?\"\n\nDan simply took down a broken piece of slate, and holding it up before\nthe Squire's eyes, \"a thriflin' account, sir,\" said he; \"for\nheel-piecin' your honor's honorable tops, and maybe they don't show off\nan iligant lump of a leg, this fine spring mornin',\" vainly hoping that\nthe unmitigated flattery would mitigate the wrath of the potent Squire.\n\n\"And was it for this, you--you illiterate colossus of brass, that you\ndetained me in my preambulations.\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir,\" timidly interposed Peggy, \"I hope that you'll forgive\nhim. It isn't his fault entirely, your honor. It's all on account of a\ngintleman that he axed for to take a bit of dinner wid him.\"\n\n\"What!\" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, with her sanctimonious eyes elevated\nto the true Pharisaic standard; \"I never heard of such wretched\ndepravity. Dinner! do such wretched creatures deal in so miserable an\nextravagance? I tremble for your lost condition. Read this;\" and she\nfumbled in her pocket for another comforting document, which Peggy\ncourtesied humbly as she received; \"read this, and learn to conquer\nyour unworthy appetites for earthly things.\" The Squiress was a fine\nexample of those theoretic Lady Bountifuls, whose province it is to\nfeed poverty with such like unsatisfactory viands.\n\n\"I'll make you wait for your shillin', you scoundrel,\" said the irate\nSquire.\n\n\"And serve him right, too,\" echoed his worthy spouse.\n\n\"Then we'll have to wait for our dinner,\" suggested Dan.\n\n\"And what's that to us, you reprobate?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothin',\" said Dan. \"Full stomachs thinks there's no empty ones in\nthe world; but may bad fortune stuff them top-boots chock full of\ncorns, for your hard-heartedness, and may you never pull them on\nwithout gettin' a fresh stock.\"\n\n\"Dear me, dear me,\" said the squeaking tract-distributer, \"read this,\nand see what comes of such irreligious observations.\"\n\n\"Read it yourself, ma'am,\" replied Dan, tossing back the proffered\nantidote, \"maybe you may want it as bad as any of us.\"\n\n\"You have been iniquitously indulging in intoxicating beverages, sir,\"\nsaid Bulworthy.\n\n\"A drunkard!\" exclaimed his helpmate. \"I have a blessed tract or two\npeculiarly adapted to that abominable crime.\"\n\n\"Oh! no, no, not a drunkard,\" cried Peggy, snatching the tract from the\nhand of her visitor; \"not a drunkard. The cares of poverty force him to\ntry and forget them, and himself now and then, but that's all.\"\n\n\"All! that all! Oh, for the sinfulness that surrounds us,\" replied the\nother.\n\n\"Have you been drinking, sir?\" demanded the Squire, in a\njustice-of-peace tone.\n\n\"What right have you to ax?\" said Dan, boldly. \"You owe me a shillin';\nthat's all I want.\"\n\n\"He has a right, depraved creature that you are,\" interposed the meek\nand Christian-like disseminator; \"rich people always have a right to\nask such questions of their poorer neighbors; but you don't deserve the\ncare we take of your unhappy souls.\"\n\n\"Well, then, since it comes to that,\" said Dan, \"I _do_ taste a\nthrifle whin I can convayniently lay a hould of it; and, more betoken,\nit's a mighty bad rule that doesn't work both ways. I saw a lot of\nbarrels and bottles goin' into the fine house over the way. I wonder if\nthey wor intended for chimbly ornaments?\"\n\n\"Come, my dear,\" said Bulworthy, now supremely indignant, \"let us leave\nthese degeneratious individuals to their incoherent reflections.\"\n\n\"I want my shillin',\" shouted Dan.\n\n\"You shan't have it.\"\n\n\"But I'm hungry, and so is Peggy, and Pincher, and Pussy.\"\n\n\"Read this, you poor, infatuated sinner,\" said Mrs. B., handing him\nanother elegant extract, \"and it will teach you to be contented under\nall circumstances.\"\n\n\"Will it turn into a piece of bacon?\" inquired Dan; \"for if it won't\nyez may curl yur hair wid it. It's all very well for you barn-fed\ngentry to be crammin' the poor wid bits of paper--gim me me shillin'.\"\n\nThe Squire said not a word, but buttoned his pockets up tightly, while,\nwith an expression of the most intense pity for such unparalleled\nignorance, his better half followed him out of the cabin.\n\n\"May bitther bad luck attend yez both,\" said Dan, as they quitted the\nplace. \"The dirty dhrop's in yez, and it _will_ show itself in spite of\nall yer money; hollo! ain't that the babby?\" he continued, as the tiny\nvoice of a child was heard proceeding from a little bit of a room,\ntheir only other apartment.\n\n\"Yes, bless his bright eyes,\" replied Peggy, oblivious now to all the\nworld beside. \"He's awake; look at his darlin' little face, wid the\nlaugh comin' all over it like a mealy potato.\" So saying, she rushed\ninto the room, and commenced hugging and kissing their sole treasure in\na most alarming manner.\n\n\"Kiss him for me, Peg,\" cried Dan. \"Smother the villain of the world;\nah, ha!\" he went on, \"there's a blessin' ould top-boots hasn't got any\nway; a fine lump of a fella, wid the health fairly burstin' out of his\nmurdherin' cheeks; as fat as butther, and as lively as a tickled\nkitten. The Squire's is a poor, wizen-faced _leprechaun_ of a creather,\nthat looks as if he was born forty years ould, and grew backwards ever\nsence. Ha, ha! the thoughts of that bright-eyed schamer puts the song\ninto my heart, like the risin' sun to the lark.\"\n\nBut soon his thoughts took a more desponding turn. \"Poor little\ngossoon,\" said he, \"when I think that there's nothin' before him but\nhis father's luck in the world, to work, and pine, and toil, until his\nback is bent before the ould age touches it; it drives away the joy as\nquick as it came; murdher alive, ain't it too bad to think that\nill-lookin' _Kippogue_ over the way, might ate goold if he could only\ndisgist it, and when he grows up, my fine, noble, blessed boy will have\nto bow, and cringe, and touch his hat to a chap wid no more sowl than a\nworn-out shoe; that's what puts evil thoughts in my head; the boy that\nI love, aye! almost as hard as if I was the mother of it instead of\nbein' only its father; when I think of him and what may be before him,\noh! how I wish that I stood in ould Bulworthy's shoes, or his 'tops,'\nif it was only for his sake. Murdher! how sleepy I am all of a suddent;\nis it the drink, or the imptyness? a little of both, may-be; it ain't\noften I have a chance of forgettin' the dirty world for a thrifle o'\ntime, so here goes to have a snooze.\"\n\nSo saying, Dan settled himself to take a mid-day nap, for the lack of\nbetter employment; but he had scarcely dropped his head on his breast\nfor that purpose when he became aware of a singular ringing sensation\nin his ears, which increased until he fancied he heard a sound, loud\nand sonorous as the tolling of the church-clock; at last there came one\nbang, so startling that he jumped up suddenly from his chair: \"The\nSaints between us and all harum: who's that?\" he cried, in a terrible\nfright; but he could see nothing; the sounds were also gone; a dead\nsilence was around him, and he must have slept for some time, it\nappeared, for the shadows of evening were darkening the small window.\nMoodily he leant his head upon his hands and gazed into the small\nfire-place; a few sods of turf were burning on the hearth; as he looked\nfixedly upon the waning embers, he perceived that from either end of\none of the sods, a thin, white smoke lazily curled up the chimney,\ngradually increasing in volume and density; while he was vainly\nwondering how so small a piece of turf could send out so great an\namount of vapor, to his still greater surprise, he saw the spiral\ncolumns advance towards him, and gather upon each side--slowly they\ngathered--and mounted in eddying clouds, until they reached to a level\nwith his head; there they ceased, as though imprisoned in an invisible\nmedium, and commenced wreathing and interwreathing, up and down, in\nbeautiful vapory combinations; silently he contemplated the\nextraordinary phenomenon, in a state of extreme bewilderment, but yet\nwithout the slightest sensation of the dread which should accompany so\nsingular a spectacle, and it was with more admiration than awe he\nbecame aware that the smoky pillars beside him were gradually moulding\nthemselves into the most exquisite human forms; at length they stood\nbefore him defined and perfect--two female appearances of transcendent\nloveliness; one fair as a sun-beam, the other dark, but each supreme in\nits individual type of beauty. Gentleness and heavenly love beamed in\nthe mild, blue eyes of the one, glittering boldness flashed from the\ncoal-black orbs of the other: a shower of delicate golden hair, soft\nand yielding as silken fibres, shed a bright radiance like a halo\naround the saintly lineaments of the fairer spirit, while massy\nclusters of raven hue, through which a warm, purple tint was\ninterwoven, glancing, in the light, like threads of fire, enriched the\nample brow, and swept down the full form of the darker one. \"I wonder\nif it's alive they are,\" thought Dan, as he gazed alternately at each.\n\"I'll be upon me oath I dunno which is the purtiest of the two; the\nyalla-headed one looks as if she could coax the very heart out through\nme ribs; but, oh! murdher alive! the lightnin' that darts from them\nblack eyes is enough to strike a fella foolish at onst; bad luck to me\nif I don't spake to them;\" so saying, our friend made one of his best\nbows, tugging the conventional lock left for that purpose. \"Your\nsarvant, ladies,\" said he, \"and what might it be that brings yez out so\nairly this cowld mornin'.\"\n\nThe fairer apparition, in a voice like spoken melody, answered: \"I am\nthe spirit of your better thoughts.\"\n\n\"You don't tell me that, Miss, then it's glad that I am to see you to\nthe fore, and mighty sorry that I haven't got a sate dacent enough to\noffer to the likes of such an iligant creather,\" said Dan, \"and who's\nyour frind, may I ax?\" he went on, turning to the darker beauty.\n\n\"I am the spirit of your evil thoughts,\" replied the other, in a rich,\nfull tone, bending her lustrous eyes upon the questioner in a way that\nmade his heart bound.\n\n\"Oh! you are, are you,\" he gasped out; \"faix, and I don't know, if it's\nwelcome you ought to be, or not; but, for the sake of good manners, I'd\nax you to sit too, av I had the convaynience.\"\n\n\"You called upon us both, just now,\" said the good spirit.\n\n\"And we are here,\" continued the other; \"so choose between us, which\nyou will entertain.\"\n\n\"Couldn't I be on the safe side, and entertain the both of yez?\"\nsuggested Dan, with a propitiatory wink to each.\n\n\"That is impossible,\" replied the good spirit. \"We only meet when\nthere's contention in a mortal mind whether he shall the right or wrong\npursue. Did you not wish but now that you could change conditions with\nthe rich man opposite?\"\n\n\"Well, then, I may's well let the whole truth out, seein' that you're\nlikely to know all about it; I _did_ wish somethin' of the\nsort.\"\n\n\"And a very reasonable wish it was,\" said the dark spirit, on his left.\n\n\"A very foolish wish,\" firmly observed the fair one.\n\n\"I don't agree with you,\" replied the other.\n\n\"You never do,\" said the good spirit.\n\n\"Nor ever will!\"\n\n\"I don't lose much by that\"----\n\n\"Ladies, darlin',\" interposed Dan, \"I'd rayther you wouldn't disthress\nyerselves on my account.\"\n\n\"Don't be alarmed, my good friend,\" said the fair spirit. \"We never can\nagree; but, how do you resolve? Is it still your wish to stand in the\nSquire's shoes?\"\n\n\"Top-boots?\" suggested Dan.\n\n\"Of course it is,\" replied the evil spirit for him. \"Who would not have\nsuch wish, to pass his days in luxury and ease, not labor--pinched, in\ncare and penury?\"\n\n\"Thrue for you,\" observed Dan, approvingly.\n\n\"But who would give up even a small share of joy, contentment, and\ndomestic love, to seek, perchance, for more, perchance, for less?\"\nreplied the other.\n\n\"There's rayson in that,\" said Dan.\n\n\"Aye, but the boy,\" said his left-hand companion; \"see what a glorious\nlife the heir to such a wealthy man would lead.\"\n\n\"That sets me heart bubblin' like a bilin' pot,\" cried Dan, joyously.\n\n\"You are resolved, then, to be ruled by me?\" demanded the suggester of\nevil thoughts.\n\n\"Indeed, and I am, that I am, just for the sake of the babby,\" said\nDan.\n\n\"Follow, and I will point out a way,\" said the dark spirit, gliding\ntowards the door. Dan made a movement to follow, when his footsteps\nwere arrested by a chorus of invisible voices, small, but distinct, and\nmusical as a choir of singing birds, that appeared to sound within his\nvery brain, so that he heard every word as clearly as though he had\nuttered it himself.\n\n    Every mortal has his grief:\n    Each one thinks that his is chief.\n    Better keep your present lot,\n    Than to tempt--you don't know what.\n\nIrresolution made him falter on the threshold through which the spirit\nof evil thoughts had just passed; it was but for an instant, however,\nfor the same tiny voices sang within his heart the blessings and the\njoys of wealth, and, above all, the image of his darling child, made\nhappy in its possession.\n\n\"Here goes,\" said he. \"The divil a pin's point does it matther what\ncomes of me, so that luck lays a howld of the little gossoon.\" So\nsaying, he followed the dark spirit, while the other bowed its lovely\nhead upon its breast, and shedding tears of anguish for the tempted\none, whose weakness she had not the power to strengthen, slowly and\npensively came after, resolved not to abandon her charge while there\nwas yet a hope to save.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n    Our selfish pleasures multiply amain,\n    But then their countless progeny is pain.\n\n\nWe left the great Squire Bulworthy, preparing to astonish the\nneighborhood, which he assuredly succeeded in doing, but not in a style\nat all creditable or satisfactory to himself.\n\nIt would appear, indeed, as though the hearty, but uncharitable wish of\nthe irritated cobbler, was curiously prophetic, for, before the\npurse-proud couple had achieved the half of their accustomed promenade,\nMr. Bulworthy's extremities were suddenly and unceremoniously fastened\nupon by an unusually severe gripe of that enemy to active exercise--the\ngout. So sharp was the pain, that the Squire roared out right lustily,\nand executed such a variety of absurd contortions that he became an\nobject of intense amusement, rather than sympathy, to the vagabond\nportion of the neighborhood.\n\nThere being no such extemporaneous means of transit as hacks, or\n\"hansoms,\" attainable, there was nothing for it but to suffer; so,\nleaning heavily upon a couple of stray Samaritans, whose commiseration\nwas warmly stimulated by the promised shilling, he managed, by slow and\nagonizing efforts, to shuffle home, attended by his silent and\nunsympathizing spouse.\n\nAfter having undergone the excruciating process of unbooting--an\noperation whose exquisite sensations are known only to the\ninitiated--he screamed for his universal panacea, whisky-punch. The\nmaterials were brought in an incredibly short space of time, for\nBulworthy was murderous in his gouty spells. Half a dozen stiff\ntumblers were disposed of with Hibernian celerity, and the hurried\nhousehold began to congratulate itself upon a prospect of quiet. Vain\nhope! \"dingle, dingle, ding!\" went the big bell at the Squire's elbow.\nUp started, simultaneously, Barney and Mary from the dish of comfort\nthey were laying themselves out to indulge in down stairs--in their\neagerness, tumbling into each other's arms. Barney rushed up the\nstairway, while Mary listened--as Marys always do, when there's\nanything interesting going on--receiving, however, in this instance,\nample reward for such a breach of good manners, being nearly prostrated\nby a book flung at Barney's head, to hasten his exit, by the suffering\nSquire. What the missile had only half done, Barney finished; for,\ntaking the kitchen-stairs at a slide, he came plump against the\npartially-stunned listener, and down they both rolled comfortably to\nthe bottom. However, as there were no bones broken, the only damage\nbeing what Mary called, \"a dent in her head,\" they soon picked\nthemselves up again.\n\n\"Well,\" says Mary, \"how is he now?\"\n\n\"Oh, murdher alive, don't ax me,\" replied Barney, rubbing his bruises,\n\"it's my belief that there never was sich a cantankerous ould chicken\nsence the world was hatched. It's a composin' draft that he's\nschreechin' for now, as av a gallion of punch, strong enough to slide\non, wasn't composin'.\"\n\nIn due time, he had his \"composin' draft,\" which, as it contained a\npretty considerable dose of laudanum, sufficed, together with his other\npotations, to lull the pain somewhat, and give him comparative quiet;\nthis was a famous opportunity for Mrs. Bulworthy, who immediately\nproceeded to \"improve\" it.\n\n\"Now, Pether, dear,\" said she, with an attempt to modulate her\nsaw-cutting voice into something approaching to tenderness, which was a\nfailure. \"Oh! think upon the situation of your soul, and look over one\nof these comforting works.\"\n\nPeter groaned inwardly, but said nothing.\n\n\"Grace,\" she went on, \"is never denied, even to the most hardenedest\nsinner.\"\n\nPeter threw his head back and closed his eyes, in the forlorn hope that\nshe would respect his simulated slumber; but she was not a woman to\nrespect anything, when her \"vocation\" was strong on her.\n\n\"It's criminal in you, Peter,\" she shouted, \"to neglect your spiritual\nstate; suppose you were to die, and it's my belief you will, for you're\nlooking dreadful, what a misery it would be to me; I'd never forgive\nmyself; oh! Pether, Pether, do read this true and beautiful description\nof the place of torment you're a blindly plunging your sowl into.\"\n\nThis was too much for the already tortured sinner. \"Get out!\" he\nroared. \"Don't bother; there's a time for all things, you indiscreet\nand unnatural apostle of discomfortableness, what do you worry me for\nnow, when you see me enjoyin' such a multiplication of bodily\nsufferings?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said she, coolly; \"it's the only time that I can hope to\nmake an impression upon your hardened heart; it's my duty, not only as\nyour wife, but as a member of the society for the evangelizing the home\nheathen; of which heathen, my dear, I have the word of my pious\nassociates, you are an outrageous example; therefore, it is my mission\nto do all I can to bring about your regeneration.\"\n\n\"Murdher, murdher! if I could only use my feet,\" groaned Bulworthy,\nwith the suppressed anger boiling in his face.\n\n\"Ah? but you can't,\" replied the home comfort, as she quietly removed\neverything portable from within the reach of the sufferer's arm, and\nsettling herself in rigid implacability, prepared to do battle with the\nevil one.\n\n\"Since you won't use your bodily senses for your soul's advantage,\"\nsaid she, solemnly, \"I will, myself, peruse these pages of admonition.\"\n\nNow, there cannot be a doubt but that the work Mrs. Bulworthy prepared\nto read, was an excellent one, written by an excellent person, and\ndistributed for a most excellent purpose; but, to say the least, it was\nvery injudicious in the absorbingly-pious lady to exhibit so much\nconcern for the immortal part of poor Bulworthy, altogether overlooking\nthe mortal anguish he was at the present moment enduring.\n\nAt all events, _he_ thought so, for, what with the pain and the rage,\nhe commenced a series of bellowings, in the expectation that his other\ntormentor would be recalled to the necessity of directing her mind from\nthe future, to the suffering before her; but, no, not a bit of it; the\nlouder he roared, the shriller she read, being a contest, as she\nimagined, between the fierce obstinacy of the demon within him, and the\nefficacy of her ministration; on she went, inflexibly, in the prolonged\ncadence of the conventicle, never ceasing or averting her strong eye\nfrom the tract, until she had finished its perusal. Not a word of it\ndid he, _would_ he hear, for, with yelling occasionally, and stopping\nhis ears at intervals, the blessed communication might have been\nwritten in its original Sanscrit, for all the good it did him.\n\nHowever, she had done her duty, and was satisfied. \"Temper, temper,\nPether,\" she ejaculated, as he heaved a groan of impatience from one of\nthe twinges. \"Suffer patiently; it is good for the flesh to be\nmortified; think of the worse that is to come.\"\n\n\"Oh! you're a comforter if ever there was one,\" sighed the Squire. \"How\nthe mischief can I be patient with a coal of fire on every toe of me?\nIt's mighty aisy for thim that doesn't feel it to keep gabblin' about\npatience. I'll roar if I like; it does me good to swear at the\nmurdherin' thing, and I will, too.\"\n\nWhereupon, he let fly a volley of epithets, not the very choicest in\nthe vernacular, which had at least one good effect, for it sent the\ndomestic missionary flying out of the room, tracts and all, utterly\nhorrified at the outburst of impiety; he firing a parting shot or two\nafter her, loaded with purely personal charges of not over\ncomplimentary character.\n\nIt was just at this moment that his opposite neighbor, the poor\ncobbler, having arrived at the most comforting part of his reflections,\nwas indulging in one of his jolliest songs, the merry sound of which\npenetrated to the apartment of the suffering rich man, filling his\nheart with envy.\n\n\"Listen to that,\" he grunted, swaying backward and forward from the\nintensity of the pain. \"What's the use av all my money; there's that\nblaggard cobbler, without a rap to bless himself with, and the song's\nnever out of his vagabone throat; oh, murdher! if I wouldn't give every\nshillin' that I'm worth in the world to change conditions with the\nchirpin' schemer.\"\n\nIn a short time, however, the composing drafts, spirituous and\notherwise, began to do their work; a drowsy sensation crept over him,\nand he dropped into an unquiet slumber.\n\nWhen he awoke again, which was instantly, as he thought, what was his\nsurprise to behold an extraordinary-looking sprite riding upon his\nworst foot. The thing was dressed like a jockey, cap, jacket, breeches,\nand boots, the latter being furnished with a pair of needles instead of\nspurs; but with such a comical face that Bulworthy would have laughed\nheartily at its funny expression, except that the sight of those\nominous goads effectually checked all thoughts of risibility.\n\n\"Who the devil are you? Get off o' my toe, you impudent little\nscoundrel,\" said the Squire, \"or I'll fling a pill-box at you.\"\n\n\"Bless you, that would be no use,\" piped the diminutive jock, settling\nhimself in his saddle.\n\n\"Move, I say, or bang goes this bottle of doctor's stuff right in yer\neye.\"\n\n\"Fire away,\" says the imp, with a little bit of a laugh, like the\nsqueak of a mouse, \"I don't fear any of your doctor's bedevilment.\"\n\n\"What brings you here, anyway?\" demanded Bulworthy. He was now out of\npain, and consequently waxing arrogant.\n\n\"You,\" squeaked the little rider.\n\n\"It's a lie. I never invited you.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, you did, and moreover, I must say, treated me like a prince;\nboarded and lodged me gloriously.\"\n\n\"Pooh! you're a fool. Where did I lodge you?\"\n\n\"Here, in your foot,\" said the little devil, with a grin, accompanying\nthe observation with the slightest touch of the needle; enough,\nhowever, to extort a yell from the Squire. \"What do you think of that,\nmy hero?\" the jockey continued. \"It will be better for you to keep a\ncivil tongue in that foolish head of yours.\"\n\n\"Oh, I will! I will!\" groaned Bulworthy. \"If you'll only obleege me by\ndismountin', I'll promise anything.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, that's mighty likely,\" said the imp, \"after being asked here\nto amuse myself. A pretty sort of a host you are.\"\n\n\"If you'll believe me, there's some mistake, sir, indeed there is,\"\nsaid Bulworthy, apologetically, \"I don't remember ever havin' had the\nhonor of your acquaintance.\"\n\n\"You don't, don't you; then, here goes, to put you in mind, you\nforgetful old savage;\" with that, he commenced a series of equestrian\nmanoeuvres with the Squire's intractable toe, now sawing with the\ndiminutive chifney bit, now tickling the sides with a slender, but very\ncutting kind of a whip, finishing up his exercises by plunging both\nspurs into the flesh, making the tortured limb jump like a Galway\nhunter over a stone wall.\n\n\"Stop! stop!\" roared the sufferer, while the perspiration rained from\nhis forehead like a shower-bath.\n\n\"You know me now, do you, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" gasped the Squire. \"I'll never forget you again--never,\nnever!\"\n\n\"Will you be civil?\"--a slight touch of the needle.\n\n\"Oh, murdher! yes.\"\n\n\"And temperate?\"--another small puncture.\n\n\"I will, I will.\"\n\n\"Very well, then. I'll not only dismount, as I'm a little tired, but\nI'll give you a word or two of good advice.\" So saying, the little\njockey got out of his seat, put his saddle on his shoulders, and having\nwith great difficulty clambered up the flannel precipice of Bulworthy's\nleg, managed, with the assistance of his waistcoat buttons, to mount\nupon the table, where, sitting down upon a pill-box, he crossed his\nlegs, and leisurely switching his top-boots, regarded the Squire with a\nlook of intense cunning.\n\n\"Well, only to think,\" said Bulworthy to himself, \"that such a weeny\nthing as that could give a man such a heap of oneasiness; a fella that\nI could smash with my fist as I would a fly: may I never get up from\nthis if I don't do it, and then may-be I'll get rid of the murdherin'\ntorment altogether.\"\n\nWith that, he suddenly brought his great hand down on the table with a\nbang that, as he supposed, exterminated jockey, pill-box, and all.\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" he roared, \"there's an end to you, my fine fella.\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it,\" squealed the little ruffian; \"what do you say to\nthis?\" he continued, as he flourished one of the top-boots over his\nhead, and buried the spur through the Squire's finger, fastening it\nfirmly to the table. \"See what you got for your wicked intentions, and\nthat ain't the worst of it neither, for I'm going to serve that elegant\nbig thumb of yours the same way. But I'll take my time about it, for\nthere's no fear of your hands ever stirring from that spot until I\nlike.\" So saying, the tantalizing fiend made several fierce attempts to\ntransfix the doomed member, each time just grazing the skin with the\nsharp needle. At last he drove it right up to the heel, and there the\ntwo boots stuck, while the little blackguard danced the \"Foxhunter's\njig,\" in his stocking-feet, cutting pigeon-wings among the pill-boxes,\nlike a professor.\n\nBulworthy now roared louder than ever, vainly endeavoring to free his\ntortured hand from its strange imprisonment, and the more he roared,\nthe more his tormentor grinned, and cut capers about the table.\n\n\"Oh, pull out them thunderin' spurs,\" cried he, in agony. \"This is\nworse than all; mercy, mercy! Misther jockey, I beg your pardon for\nwhat I did; it was the drink; there's whisky in me.\"\n\n\"I know that well enough,\" chirped the grinning imp. \"If there wasn't,\nI couldn't have the power over you that you see.\"\n\n\"Oh, won't you look over it this oncet? I'll be on me Bible oath I\nwon't offend you again.\"\n\n\"Are you in earnest this time?\"\n\n\"Bad luck attend me if I'm not.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I'll trust you, though you don't deserve it,\" replied the\nlittle schemer, and, after two or three tugs, he succeeded in pulling\nout one of the spurs. \"Do you feel easier?\" inquired he, with a grin.\n\n\"It's like getting half-way out of purgatory,\" said the Squire, with a\nsigh of relief. \"There's a fine fella, lug out the other, won't you?\"\n\n\"I must make some conditions first.\"\n\n\"Let them be short, for gracious sake!\"\n\n\"First and foremost, are you going to be quiet and reasonable?\"\n\n\"I am, I am!\"\n\n\"Secondly, are you going to pay me for the trouble I've had?\"\n\n\"Whatever you ask, only be quick about it.\"\n\n\"It won't tax you much, you have only to make over to me all the\nbottles and jars you have in the house.\"\n\n\"Take them, and welcome.\"\n\n\"If you'll promise me not to meddle with them, I'll leave them in your\nkeeping, only they're mine, remember.\"\n\n\"Every drop,\" cried the Squire, eagerly. \"I won't touch another\nmouthful.\"\n\n\"That's all right; you keep your word and I'll keep mine; there, you\nmay have the use of your fist once more,\" he continued, as he plucked\nout the other spur, giving the released hand a parting kick that\nthrilled through every joint.\n\n\"And now,\" said he, as he pulled on his tiny boots, \"I have a word or\ntwo more to say to you; you made a foolish wish just now; that you'd\nlike to change places with that miserable cobbler over the way; are you\nstill of the same way of thinking?\"\n\n\"Should I have your companionship there,\" inquired Bulworthy.\n\n\"Certainly not; he couldn't afford to keep me,\" replied the gout-fiend,\ncontemptuously.\n\n\"Then, without meanin' the slightest offence to you, my little friend,\"\nsaid the other, \"it wouldn't grieve me much to get rid of your\nacquaintance at any sacrifice, even to the disgust of walking into that\nrascally cobbler's shoes. I'm only afraid that, clever as you are, you\ncan't manage that for me.\"\n\n\"Don't be quite so sure,\" replied the little jockey, with a knowing\nwink, amusing himself by every now and then tickling up Bulworthy's\nfingers with his sharp whip, every stroke of which seemed to cut him to\nthe marrow. \"Who can tell but that the poor, ignorant devil would like\nto change places with _you_; if so, I can do the job for ye both in a\njiffey: more, betoken, here he comes, so that we can settle the affair\nat once.\"\n\nAt that instant, the door of Bulworthy's apartment flew open, as from\nthe effect of a sudden and strong gust of wind, while he, although\nseeing nothing, distinctly heard a slight rustling, and felt that\npeculiar sensation one receives at the entrance of persons into a room\nwhile not looking in their direction.\n\n\"I see no one,\" said the Squire; \"'twas but a blast of wind.\"\n\n\"_I_ do,\" curtly replied the little jockey, and then proceeded to hold\nan interesting confidential chat with the invisibilities; in a few\nmoments, Bulworthy distinguished the jolly voice of Dan, the cobbler, a\nlittle jollier than usual; indicating the high state of his spiritual\ntemperament also, by swaying to and fro against the balusters, making\nthem creak loudly in his uncertain progress; at last, with a tipsy \"God\nsave all here,\" he lumbered into the room, tried to clutch at a chair,\nbut, optically miscalculating his distance, overshot the mark, and\ntumbled head-long upon the floor.\n\n\"You dirty, drunken rapscallion,\" cried Bulworthy, getting into a\ntowering rage, from which, however, he was quickly recalled by a wicked\nlook from the imp, and a threatening movement towards the dreaded\ntop-boots and spurs.\n\n\"Listen, and say nothing until you are spoken to,\" said the little\nchap, as grand as you please.\n\n\"Not a word,\" replied the cowed Squire.\n\n\"Now, Daniel, my friend, I want to have a talk with you.\" The Squire\nstarted with astonishment; he could have sworn that he heard his own\nvoice; but the big sounds proceeded from the lips of the little chap on\nthe table beside him.\n\n\"Wid all the veins of my heart, Squire, jewel,\" replied Dan's voice,\nthough Dan's mouth never opened at all, and Bulworthy was looking him\nstraight in the face.\n\n\"You are not satisfied with your condition in life,\" continued the\nvoice.\n\n\"You never spoke a truer word nor that,\" replied Dan's invisible proxy.\n\n\"Neither am I.\"\n\n\"More fool you.\"\n\n\"Would you change places with me?\"\n\n\"Indeed, an' I would if I had the chance; how would you like to be in\nmine?\"\n\n\"It's just what I long for.\"\n\nThus far, the conversation was carried on in the voices of the Squire\nand the cobbler; but now they were both amazed at hearing bellowed out,\nin sounds like the roar of a cataract when you stop your ears\noccasionally:\n\n\"Blind and dissatisfied mortals, have your desire; let each take the\nshape and fill the station of the other, never to obtain your original\nform and condition until both are as united in the wish to return\nthereto as you are now to quit them.\"\n\nA terrific thunderclap burst overhead, stunning them both for a few\nminutes, and, when its last reverberation died away in the distance,\nthe little jockey had disappeared, all supernatural sounds had ceased.\nThe sentient part of the discontented Squire found itself inhabiting\nthe mortal form of the cobbler, prone on the floor, hopelessly and\nhelplessly drunk, while the unhappy Dan appeared in the portly form,\nand suffered the gouty pangs of the rich Mr. Bulworthy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n    \"Oft do we envy those whose lot, if known,\n    Would prove to be less kindly than our own.\"\n\n\nThe change accomplished by the embodied wishes of the two discontented\nmortals was, to all appearance, perfect. They bore, indeed, the outward\nsemblance each of the other, but yet retained their own individual\nthoughts, feelings, and inclinations; and manifold, as may be imagined,\nwere the embarrassments and annoyances consequent upon this strange\nduality, to the great mystification of their respective households.\n\nThe morning after the singular compact was made, the more than usually\noutrageous conduct of the supposed Bulworthy placed the establishment\nin the greatest possible uproar, for the nerves and sinews of the\nimprisoned Dan, wholly unacquainted, ere this, with any ailment other\nthan the emptiness of hunger, or the occasional headache whisky\npurchased, now twisted and stretched with the sharper agonies laid up\nby his predecessor, lashed him into an absolute hurricane of fury.\nUnable to move his nether extremities, he gnashed his teeth, venting\nhis rage by smashing everything that he could reach.\n\nThis terrible turmoil reached the ears of the domestics, filling them\nwith apprehension.\n\n\"Be good to us,\" said Mary. \"What is it now?\"\n\n\"Ora, don't ax me,\" replied Barney, who had just come down from the\ncaged lion. \"It's fairly bewildhered I am, out an' out; I wouldn't\nwondher av it was burn the house about our ears he would, in one of his\ntanthrums.\"\n\n\"What's worryin' him now?\"\n\n\"Faix, the misthress is at the head ov it, an' the gout's at the feet,\nan', between the two, I wouldn't be surprised av his thrunk was imptied\nafore long.\"\n\nUp stairs the tempest raged with undiminished fury.\n\n\"I tell you I won't, I won't,\" roared the impatient patient. \"I never\ncould taste a dhrop of physic in my life.\"\n\n\"Oh, my! what a fib,\" said his consoler, the sweet-voiced Mrs.\nBulworthy. \"Why, you've swallowed enough to kill a regiment of decent\npeople. Indeed, I don't know what's come over you to day, at all;\nyou're not a bit like yourself.\"\n\n\"The devil I'm not,\" said the other, somewhat alarmed; but a glance at\nhis swathed extremities, accompanied by a spasm of pain, gave him\nuncomfortable assurance that he was still in the Squire's skin. \"Bedad,\nma'm,\" he went on, \"if you and the gout ain't enough to drive a man out\nof himself, I don't know what would; get out, I tell you, and leave me\nalone; one at a time's enough.\"\n\n\"Will you promise to read this tract, then?\"\n\n\"It's a mighty fine time to talk about readin'. How much money am I\nworth?\"\n\n\"You surely don't forget that, Pether?\"\n\n\"Well, indeed, what with the pain and other little matters, it has\nslipped my memory.\"\n\n\"Just eight thousand six hundred pounds.\"\n\n\"As much as that? murdher alive! you don't say so; then let us pack up\nand be off,\" cried he, with an injudicious bound of pleasure that\nbrought the corkscrew into his joints with redoubled acuteness.\n\n\"Go, where?\" inquired Mrs. Bulworthy, as coolly as though she were\nenjoying the agony which revelled through his racked frame.\n\n\"Anywhere,\" screamed he. \"Anywhere out of this vagabone neighborhood.\nAh! tear an aiges av I thought I was going to be massacreed in this\nway, I'd a stayed as I was; it's to the very marrow of my bones that\nI'm sorry for it now.\"\n\n\"Sorry for what, Pether?\" said Mrs. Bulworthy; \"what in the name of\ngracious are you raving about?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" replied he, \"only it's ravin' with the hunger I am; I feel\nas if I hadn't had anything to eat for six weeks or more.\"\n\n\"Sure, won't you have something in a few minutes,\" said she. \"There's\nthe turtle soup and curried lobster you ordered for lunch getting ready\nas fast as it can.\"\n\n\"You don't tell me that; may-be I won't astonish it then,\" said he,\nsmacking his lips at the delicious anticipation of devouring dishes\nthat, to him, were hitherto apocryphal things.\n\n\"Is there anything else you want before I go?\"\n\n\"Nothing in the world, except, may-be, you might just run over the way\nand see how Mrs. Duff and the babby is.\"\n\n\"Heigh-day!\" screamed Mrs. Bulworthy, bestowing upon him one of her\nmost indignant glances. \"I'd like to know what business you have to be\nthinking of Mrs. Duff and her babby!\"\n\n\"Would you, really, ma'm? then, if your curiosity is anyway tickled,\nI'll have you to understand that it's a mighty high regard I entertain\nfor them two people,\" replied he.\n\n\"You do, do you? why, then, it's a face you have to say that same to\nme, you dirty, miserable, money-scrapin' ignoramus; me, that took such\ncare of your body and sowl for so many years.\"\n\n\"Read one of your papers, ma'm; practice what you preach,\" suggested\nthe fictitious Bulworthy.\n\n\"How would you look if I was to say that I had a regard for the cobbler\nhimself, since you're so mightily interested in his wife?\" said she,\nwith an injured-woman air and look.\n\n\"Say, ma'm! Bedad, I'd say that the cobbler isn't such a fool as to\nreturn the compliment,\" replied the other, in a provoking tone, that\nmade the eyes of Mrs. Bulworthy flash green like those of a cat in the\ndark.\n\n\"I'm not so sure of that,\" she retorted, with a meaning toss of her\nfallacious curls, that implied unspeakable things.\n\n\"But I _am_, you see, strange as it may appear, ma'm,\" he went on, with\na jolly laugh, strangled suddenly by a gouty pang that made him roar\nagain.\n\n\"Serve you right, you ungrateful reprobate; I saw you this morning\nflinging your good-for-nothing eyes at the jade; but I'll serve you out\nfor it, see if I don't; you shall have a blessed time, if ever a man\nhad in the world, you vile, deceitful, double-faced old porcupine;\nafter the years we've been together, too, slavin' and working to scrape\nup the bit of money to be the comfort of our old age,\" she continued,\ndiverging into the sentimental, and dropping a few hard tears, that\nfell from her cold eyes like pellets of hail. \"You want to break my\nheart, you do, you murderer, that you may follow your wicked coorses\nwithout hendrance. Mrs. Duff and her babby; indeed, _her_ babby! how do\nI know who's babby it is?\" and she looked green-eyed monsters at the\nsupposititious Squire, who heightened her fiery temper up to\nexplosion-point, by replying, with a chuckle.\n\n\"Faix, the babby's mine, I b'leeve.\"\n\nNow be it understood that, for the instant, his disputable identity was\nforgotten, and it was all _Dan_ that spoke:\n\n\"Yours,\" shrieked the now infuriated female, making a threatening\ndemonstration towards him.\n\n\"Yes--no--I mean--oh, murdher, I forgot I was ould Bulworthy for a\nminnit. It's a rise I was takin' out of you, that's all,\" he went on,\n\"just for the fun of the thing.\"\n\nThe further discussion of this delicate subject was put a stop to by\nthe entrance of Barney and Mary with the Squire's lunch; a very\ngratifying and timely interruption to the stormy _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_, in the\nopinion of one of the party, at all events.\n\nThe delicious condiments being duly served, from which arose an\nappetizing odor, stimulating Dan's appetite into ravenous hunger,\n\"Won't you sit down, ma'm,\" said he, \"and take a mouthful?\"\n\n\"Indeed, and it's polite you are, all of a sudden. You never asked the\nlike before, but was always glad enough to get me out of sight that you\nmight gormandize to your heart's content,\" replied she, acrimoniously.\n\"But it's a sure sign that you are guilty of something wrong somewhere,\nwith somebody, or you wouldn't be so extra accommodating.\"\n\n\"Sit down, and howld yer prate,\" cried the other, anxious to attack the\ntempting viands.\n\n\"I won't, you ould sinner. I know you don't want me, it's only your\nconscience that's giving you no rest. I'll leave you to stuff and cram,\nand I only wish it was pison, that I do.\" With this pleasant\nobservation, hissed viperously through her closed teeth, she flounced\nout of the room, giving the door a parting bang that sent an electric\nshock of pain through poor Dan's nervous system.\n\n\"Oh! milliah murdher,\" groaned he, \"an' this is the agreeable speciment\nof a walkin' vinegar-cruet, that I left my scanty but comfortable home,\nand the angel that made a heaven of it, for. Well, the fools ain't all\ngone yet--but, never mind, isn't there the money and the eatin'; so,\nhere goes to have a feed that 'ud take the concate out of a hungry\nelephant.\"\n\nSo saying, he lifted off the cover, and plunged the ladle into the\nsteaming tureen, when, to his enormous surprise, instead of the savory\nmess he anticipated, he fished up and deposited upon his plate, the\nidentical little jockey before described, spurs and all.\n\n\"How are you, Mr. Duff?\" said he, touching his cap in true stable\nstyle, as he seated himself upon the raised edge of the soup-plate.\n\n\"You have the advantage of me, sir,\" replied Dan, reverentially, for he\nwas a firm believer in \"the good people,\" that is to say, the fairies,\nand dreaded the immensity of their power.\n\n\"We haven't met before, to be sure,\" said the little fellow, \"but you\nsee I know who you are, in spite of that fleshy stuffing you have got\ninto.\"\n\n\"Bedad, there's no mistake about that, sir,\" replied Dan. \"Would it be\ntoo great a liberty to ax what it is I'm indebted to for the honor of\nyour company at this particular time?\"\n\n\"Certainly not, Dan. The fact is, between you and me, I'm always\npresent where there's such good cheer to be found as I see before me.\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir, an' would it inconvenience you much to sit somewhere\nelse, for I'm mortial hungry at this present minit, an' I'm afeard I'd\nbe splashin' your boots with the gravy.\"\n\n\"Anything to oblige,\" said the other, jumping over the edge of the\nplate, like a four-year old.\n\n\"Thank you, sir. I'll do as much for you, provided it's in my power,\"\nobserved the hungry cobbler, drawing nearer a huge dish of curried\nlobster, the spice-laden steam from which would create a new appetite\nin repletion's self. Heaping up his plate, while his mouth filled with\nwater at the glorious sight, he was just about to shovel a vast\nquantity into his capacious mouth, when a sharp\n\n\"Stop, Dan!\" from the little jockey, arrested his hand mid-way.\n\n\"Do you know the result of your eating that mouthful?\"\n\n\"Never a bit of me, sir,\" said Dan, making another movement towards his\nhead.\n\n\"Ha! wait till I tell you,\" cried the other.\n\nDan stopped again. \"This is wonderful tantalizin' to an impty\nChristian,\" said he.\n\n\"Listen, Dan. I have a sort of regard for you, and so I'll give you\nthis warning: If you swallow that stuff that's overloading your\nknife\"--Dan wasn't genteel in his eating--\"I'll have to ride a hurdle\nrace upon your big toe, and I'll be bail that I'll make it beat all the\nrest of your anatomy in the way of jumping.\"\n\n\"You don't mean that?\" cried Dan, dropping knife and all into the plate\nbefore him.\n\n\"Every word of it,\" said the little fellow.\n\n\"Oh, get out! you're not in airnest?\"\n\n\"May-be you'd like to try?\"\n\n\"Be the mortial o' war, I don't b'leeve you, anyway the hungriness is\ndrivin' all consequences out of me reckonin', so, here goes, jump or no\njump.\" So, with a desperate recklessness, Dan rushed greedily at the\neatables, and never in his life did he eat the tithe part of what he\ndemolished upon this occasion. Everything on the table disappeared\nbefore his all-devouring appetite, like smoke, and as the materials\nwere handy, he topped all up with a \"screechin' hot\" tumbler of\nwhisky-punch, stiff enough to poke courage into any man's heart.\n\nIn the meantime, wholly absorbed in his prodigious banquet, he had\nquite lost sight of his friend, the jockey; but now, as with a sigh of\nintense satisfaction, he reclined back in the cushioned chair, he\nbecame sensible of a sort of fidgetiness about his foot, and on looking\ndown, what should he see but the little chap, very busy indeed, with\nhis whip in his mouth, saddling up his big toe, as gingerly as you\nplease. He was just giving the girth a last pull, which he accompanied\nwith the usual jerking expression, making Dan wince a little, from a\nsense of tightness in the nag.\n\nThe business-like manner of the chap, however, soon banished the\nuncomfortable feeling, and so excited Dan's risibilities, that the\ntears rolled down his cheeks with uncontrollable laughter. It is\nastonishing how very near the surface the leverage of a good dinner and\na warm \"tod,\" lifts up one's jolly feelings.\n\nDan was now in a condition to sign a treaty of perpetual amity with all\nmankind.\n\nDelusive tranquillity!\n\n\"Mount,\" cried the little rider, jumping into his saddle. \"Hurrah! off\nwe go! heigh!\"\n\nThe first slash of the whip and dig of the spur changed the nature of\nDan's emotions most effectually. He roared, he raged, he twisted about\nlike an eel on a spear. Still fiercely and unmercifully the little\njockey plied the lash and the goad. Still he shouted, \"Hurrah! jump,\nyou devil, jump!\"\n\nNow, Dan swore like a rapparee; now, he called upon every saint in the\ncalendar; but there was no cessation to his torture. In the extremity\nof his fury, he flung the whisky-bottle at the little rider's head; but\nas it struck his own foot, it only augmented the terrible agony.\n\nFrom praying and swearing he fell to weeping, but the stony-hearted\nlittle tyrant was not assailable by tears or entreaties. Promises of\namendment were equally useless; until, at last, happening to recollect\nwhat a horror all supernaturals have of the pure element, he seized a\ntumbler of water, and nearly drowned his tormentor with its contents.\nThis had the desired effect. The little vagabond dismounted with a\nshrill cry of annoyance, and rushed over towards the fire-place, to dry\nhis soaked garments.\n\n\"Ha, ha! you thief of the world, I know what'll settle your hash\nnow--wather!\" said Dan, instantly relieved from pain; \"and, wid a\nblessin', you shall have enough of that same, if ever you venture to\ncome hurdle-racin' on any toes o' mine.\n\n\"Stick to that Dan, my hero,\" said the little fellow, as he shook the\ndrops off his drenched jacket; \"stick to that, and you may depend upon\nit that I'll never trouble you any more.\"\n\nAnd so, having got rid of his enemy, Dan snuggled himself back into the\ncomfortable easy-chair, and very soon forgot himself and all the real\nworld, in the perplexities and comic horrors of a dyspeptic dream.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n    Within the home where jealousy is found,\n    A Upas grows that poisons all around.\n\n\nIt would be as unprofitable as impossible to follow the ever-varying\nimages of a dream, which, apparently consumed the best part of a\ncentury; every half hour of which had its separate distress, although\nthe actual period of time passed did not reach ten minutes, to such\nsingular and enormous expansion was the imagination swollen. The few\nplacid moments distorted into numberless years of terror, like the drop\nof seemingly pure water, resolved, by microscopic power, into an ocean\nof repulsive monsters.\n\nDan had just been very properly condemned to death for the five and\ntwentieth time, and had waited in gasping dread for the infliction of\nsome inconceivable--except under such circumstances--mode of bodily\ntorture, when he heard a tremendous noise, like the explosion of an\nimmense piece of ordnance, close by his side. With a nervous start,\nthat benumbed his frame like a powerful shock, he awoke, bathed in\nperspiration and half dead with fright. The sound was repeated. It was\na simple, single, hesitating little knock at the chamber-door.\n\n\"Who's there?\" he stammered, scarcely yet aroused to the consciousness\nof his identity.\n\n\"It's me, sir,\" replied a gentle voice, that thrilled through him with\ndifferent sensations, for delight and joy stole over him like a\nsun-ray. It was his wife's.\n\n\"Come in, Peg,\" said he, \"for an angel that you are. If it wasn't for\nthis blessed interruption I'd have died in my bed with the wear an'\ntear of murdherin' bad dreams.\" He would fain have rushed into Peggy's\narms as she entered, but the first attempt at making use of his\ncontinuations painfully reminded him that they belonged to somebody\nelse. It also admonished him that it was necessary for him to support\nhis new character with dignity.\n\n\"Well, ma'm,\" said he, \"what do you mean by disturbin' me in this\nunprincipled way?\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir,\" replied Peggy, timidly, \"an' I'm a'most ashamed to tell\nyou; it's that man o' mine over the way, sir; sure, I don't know what's\ncome to him, at all, at all, within the last few hours.\"\n\n\"Ho! ho!\" thought Dan, he's had a quare time of it as well as myself.\n\"What's the matter with him, Mrs. Duffy?\"\n\n\"That's what I want to know, sir, av anybody'd only tell me; I never\nknew him to kick up such tanthrums ever since we come together; musha!\nsure, an' the devil's in him if ever he enthered a mortal body, this\nblessed day--an' _dhrink!_ murdher alive, sir, av he wouldn't dhrink\nthe _say_ dhry av he only had the swally, I'm not here.\"\n\n\"That's bad, very bad, indeed,\" said the other, oracularly. \"People\nshould never indulge in such terrible propensities,\" he went on, with a\nbold attempt at Bulworthy's phraseology.\n\n\"Sure, sir, doesn't it depend upon what dhrives them to it?\" replied\nPeggy. \"Throuble's mighty dhrouthy, sir, intirely; it dhrys up a poor\nman's throat as if there was a fire in his mouth, and, indeed, me poor\nDan's poorer nor the poorest this holy day.\"\n\n\"That's no rayson, ma'm,\" said the other, with mock sternness, although\nhis frame was in a glow of joy at hearing how Peggy managed to find\nexcuses for his favorite failing. \"That's no rayson, ma'm; the more\nfool him for addin' flame to the fire.\"\n\n\"Thrue for you, sir, but then doesn't it dhrownd the blaze for the\ntime?\"\n\n\"I'll answer ye that, Mrs. Duff, if you please, allygorically; did ye\never see a few dhrops of sperrets flung into a blazin' fire? a\nmurdherin' lot of dhrowndin' there is about it; bedad, the fire only\nburns with greater strength.\"\n\n\"Then, of coorse, your honor, it stands to good sense that it's foolish\nto take _only_ a few dhrops,\" she replied, with a sly look at the\nSquire, that made the laugh bubble all over his ruddy face.\n\n\"One would a'most suppose that you loved this Dan of yours,\" said he.\n\n\"Love him, sir! do the spring flowers love the sun? does the young\nmother love her new-born babby?\"\n\n\"Oh! murdher, murdher! listen to this,\" cried Dan; \"an' me shut up\ninside of this prison of a carcass; it was a mortial sin to leave her,\nan' I'm sufferin' for it as I ought, an' it sarves me right.\" The\nthought made him savage, so turning to poor Peggy with a look of anger,\nhe continued, fiercely:\n\n\"What brought you here, ma'm? may-be you'll condescind to inform me at\noncet.\"\n\n\"Oh! sir, don't be angry wid him, but its outrageous intirely that he\nis; sure, he wants somethin' that I'm afeared to ax.\"\n\n\"What is it? don't keep me waitin' all day.\"\n\n\"I hope yer honor will take into considheration the way he's in just\nnow, for he sthole out onbeknown to me, an' how he got the sup, I can't\ntell; but it's on him dhreadful, or he'd never think of the likes.\"\n\n\"The likes of what? what's throublin' him now? speak out, woman, or\nyou'll drive the little bit of patience that I have clean out of me.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, the long an' the short of it is, an' I dunno what put such\nfoolishness in his head, he towld me to ax yer honor, if yer honor had\na thrifle of that soup left; he'd take it as a mighty great favor if\nyer honor would let him have the least taste in life of it,\" said\nPeggy, with an extreme misgiving as to how so presumptuous a request\nwould be received.\n\n\"Is that all?\" said Dan, calmly, to her intense relief. \"Take it, an'\nwelcome, Mrs. Duff, an' if it does him as much good as it did me you\nwon't be throubled wid such a message again, I'll be bound; there's the\nvagabone stuff in that big bowl over on the sideboard fornenst you; an'\ntell him, by the same token, from me, that av he feels at all\nuncomfortable in his present quarthers, it wouldn't kill me right out\nto swap again.\"\n\n\"Swap what, sir?\" inquired Peggy, rather mystified.\n\n\"Oh! he'll know what I mean.\"\n\n\"And so do I,\" screamed the irate Mrs. Bulworthy rushing into the room,\nat the door of which, she had been listening during the entire\nconversation, the spirit of which had inflamed her jealous temperament\nup to fever heat.\n\n\"I know what you want to swap, you ill-conditioned profligate,\" she\nwent on, in true Zantippe style. \"You want to swap wives, don't you?\"\n\n\"Faix, an' you never said a thruer word,\" coolly replied Dan.\n\nThis was too much for the excited dame; with a yell of fury she rushed\nat Peggy, and would assuredly have indented the marks of all her\nfinger-nails in her comely countenance, but that the other, finding the\ndoor conveniently open, snatched up the tureen of soup and fled down\nstairs like a phantom.\n\nHer prey thus escaping, the shock of her terrible rage was concentrated\nupon the head of the devoted Dan; to what grievous extremity it would\ncarry her he had not an idea, but he felt that something awful was\nabout to take place.\n\n\"Considher my misfortunes,\" he cried, \"and be merciful, Mrs.\nBulworthy.\"\n\nImplacable as the embodied Parc\u00e6, she advanced towards him.\n\n\"You're not goin' to murdher me, woman,\" he roared.\n\nSilently, she approached still nearer, desperation was in her aspect.\n\n\"Help, murdher, help!\" cried Dan, inevitable fate seeming to be on the\npoint of overwhelming him in some way or another.\n\n\"What the divil is the ould monsther goin' to do?\" thought he, as a\nfrightful suspicion raised his flesh into little hillocks, and made his\nhair sting his head like needle-points, when he saw her deliberately\ntake a singular-looking phial and pour out a few drops of a fiery red\nliquor, filling the rest of the glass with water, through which the\nformer hissed and eddied for a few moments, and then subsided into a\nhorrible blackness.\n\n\"Drink this,\" she ejaculated, solemnly, \"and pay the penalty of your\ninfamous conduct.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" he inquired, in a voice of alarm.\n\n\"Poison! you profligate,\" replied the other, regarding him with a\nBorgian expression.\n\n\"Holy Vargin! an' me screwed into the floor wid this _threfalian_\ngout,\" gasped Dan, his face bedewed with the effect of his mental\nagony. \"Stop! you murdherin' ould witch! Stop! you have no right to\nsarve me this way. I don't belong to you at all,\" cried Dan, as a last\nresource.\n\n\"What do you mean by that, you miserable sinner?\"\n\n\"I mean that you're no wife o' mine, the Lord be praised for it.\"\n\n\"Would you deny your honest wife, you cannibal?\"\n\n\"I would--I do,\" cried he, desperately.\n\n\"You're not my husband?\"\n\n\"I'll be upon my Bible oath I'm not.\"\n\n\"What--not Bulworthy?\"\n\n\"The divil a toe, ma'm, savin' yer presence. I'm Dan Duff, the cobbler,\nfrom over the way.\"\n\n\"Oh, the man's mad--mad as a coot,\" said Mrs. Bulworthy, with appalling\ncalmness, \"and it would only be a mercy to put him out of his misery,\nsoon an' suddent.\"\n\n\"_Tear an aigers_, av I only had the use of these blaggard legs of\nmine, wouldn't I make an example of ye, you ould witch of Endher,\"\nmuttered Dan. \"I won't be slaughtered without an offer to save myself,\nany way.\" With that, he started to his feet, and to his great surprise\nand delight discovered that his powers of locomotion were unimpeded.\nWith a wild hurroo! he jumped, as only a Munster man can jump, and\ndancing over to the now thoroughly alarmed Squiress, who could see\nnothing in such extravagance but a confirmation of his utter insanity,\nhe lifted her in his arms as though she were a rag doll.\n\n\"Now, ma'm,\" said he, \"I'll see if I can't cure your propensity for\npison. Into that closet you'll go, and out of it you sha'n't budge\nuntil you come to your senses, or I come to myself; and I'm afeard that\none's as far off as the other--worse luck for both of us;\" and so,\nwithout the slightest attempt at resistance on her part, not knowing to\nwhat extremity this outburst of madness would lead him, he snugly\ndeposited her ladyship in a corner cupboard, which he locked, and put\nthe key in his pocket, accompanying the whole movement with a paroxysm\nof laughter, so long and loud that she congratulated herself upon the\nslight shelter thus afforded her, and only feared that the next phase\nin his malady would be of more sanguinary a nature.\n\nThis great feat accomplished, Dan threw himself back in the easy-chair,\nand began seriously to ruminate upon his present condition and his\nfuture prospects.\n\n\"This, then, is what I left my blessed Peg and the blesseder babby for;\nto live a life of gout and conthrariness, never to have any confidence\nin my muscles, but always thremblin' for feard that sharp-spurred\njockey would take a fancy for a canther, or, what's worse even than\nthat, to be in dhread of the penethratin' tongue of ould mother Gab,\nyondher, whinever I'm laid by the leg; oh! if iver there was a poor\nsinner that repinted, it's myself that's last on the list, an'\ngreatest; could I only see the darlin' of a sperret that gev me the\ngood advice I so foolishly kicked at, it's beg her pardon on my bended\nknees--that I would, if it was hot cendhers that was undher them.\"\n\nAt that instant, he was aware of the gentlest of all gentle touches on\nhis shoulder, and on turning his head in the direction, sure enough,\nthere she was.\n\nDan was prostrate before her, in a moment. \"Ora good luck and long life\nto you, miss, for comin' to me in my disthress; I don't deserve it, I\nknow I don't.\"\n\n\"Get up, Mr. Duff,\" said the spirit. \"I am but the reflection of your\nbetter thoughts; therefore, you must proffer your repentance, through\nme, to the throne of One who rules us both.\"\n\n\"I will, I will,\" cried the other; \"truly and wholly,\" covering his\nface with his hands, through which the tears now streamed copiously.\n\n\"What is your wish?\" inquired the good spirit.\n\n\"You know, you _must_ know, for it's fairly breakin' my heart I am\nhere; I want to get back to myself, and Peggy, an' the boy.\"\n\n\"Ah! you have begun to think of _them_ at last.\"\n\n\"I own I have been selfish, sinfully, wretchedly selfish, but I'm\ncured,\" replied Dan, in a tone of contrition.\n\n\"But you remember the conditions of the compact,\" said the other,\n\"neither of you can regain your original form and station unless both\nconsent.\"\n\n\"Oh! _wirrasthrue_, then I'll never be my own man again,\" sobbed Dan.\n\"Ould Bulworthy, bad 'cess to him, has the best of the bargain, an'\nhe'll stick to it like wax; small blame to him for it, seein' that I\nsould my comfort entirely for a pair of murdherin' top-boots; he ain't\nsuch an omathaun as to come back here to his gout an' his scowldin'\nmadame, when its a thrifle of hunger is all he'll have to put up wid,\nover the way, an' there's happiness enough in one glance of Peggy's\nbright eye, to swally that up if it was ten times as throublesome; and\nthere's the boy, too, that's like a growin' angel about the house,\nfillin' up every spot of it wid heavenly joy; oh! _wirra, wirra!_ sure,\nI didn't know the luck I was in until I lost it out an' out.\"\n\n\"The perversity of mankind is strange,\" said the spirit. \"Are you\ncertain that Bulworthy is content in his present condition?\"\n\n\"How the divil can he be otherwise?\" replied the other, savagely.\n\n\"_You_ were not, you remember.\"\n\n\"Because I didn't know there was a _worse_: like an ignorant fool, I\nthought that a scanty meal now and then was the greatest calamity in\nthe world; be me sowl, I've had the knowledge rubbed into my bones,\nthat too much is sometimes apt to sting a fellow afterwards more than\ntoo little.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the sensation of hunger may be to him as disagreeable as the\nsense of satiety is to you,\" suggested the spirit.\n\n\"Oh! if there was only a chance of that,\" cried Dan, brightening up at\nthe idea. \"An' be the same token, now that I think of it, he did send\nover for some of that vagabone soup; long life to you, you've put the\nhope into me heart once more; but how the mischief am I to find out the\nstate of the ould blaggard's feelin's?\"\n\n\"There's nothing like going to work in a straightforward way,\" said the\nspirit; \"just put on your hat and go over and ask him.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' I will, an' thank you kindly, too, for puttin' it into me\nhead,\" replied Dan.\n\n\"I wish you good morning, then,\" said the other, and even while Dan was\nlooking at her straight in her face, she gradually resumed her vapory\nappearance, growing thinner and thinner, until she finally went out\nlike a puff of tobacco.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n    \"Within the circle of your own estate,\n    Confine yourself, nor yearn for brighter fate.\"\n\n\nAnd now let us return to the cobbler's cabin, and see how matters are\nprogressing there. Peggy has just brought over the tureen of soup so\nfervently longed for by the changed Squire; with a cry of joy, for he\nis very hard set, indeed, he seized the welcome gift, and placing it\nbetween his knees as he sat on the low workstall, prepared to dive into\nits savory contents, but a groan of horror and disappointment broke\nfrom his lips when, on taking off the cover, he found the tureen was\nempty.\n\n\"The pippin-squeezing ruffian,\" cried he, \"he's sent it over without as\nmuch as a smell, and I so mortial hungry that I could bite a tenpenny\nnail in two; if he was here, bad 'cess to me if I wouldn't smash this\nupon his head.\"\n\n\"That's mighty strange, entirely,\" said Peggy, \"for I'll be on me oath\nthere was plenty in it when I took it off the Squire's sideboard.\"\n\n\"If there was, you must have gobbled it up yourself, or spilt it on the\nstreet, you unconsiderate faymale,\" said Bulworthy.\n\n\"Is it me, indeed, Dan, jewel? it's well you know that if it was goold,\nan' you could ate it, I wouldn't put a tooth into it, when I knew you\nwanted it so dhreadful,\" replied Peggy, reproachfully.\n\n\"Well, may-be you wouldn't,\" doggedly observed Bulworthy; \"but do, for\nHeaven's sake, get me somethin' to put an end to the wobblin' that's\ngoin' on in the inside of me; may I never leave this place alive if I\nthink I've had a male's vitells for a month.\"\n\n\"How outrageous you are, Dan,\" sorrowfully replied the other. \"Where am\nI to get it?\"\n\n\"Go out an' buy it, ov coorse.\"\n\n\"Arrah what with? I'd like to know; sure, an' won't we have to wait\nuntil that purse-proud ould rap over the way pays us the shillin' that\nhe owes us.\"\n\nA reproachful pang shot through the heart of Bulworthy at that\nobservation. \"The ould skinflint,\" said he, \"if I ever get near him\nagain, may-be I won't touch him up for not doin' that same.\"\n\n\"Indeed, an' it would sarve him right,\" Peggy went on. \"Swimmin' in\nplenty as he is, it's little that he thinks of the pinchin' hunger we\nfeel.\"\n\n\"Don't don't,\" cried Bulworthy, pressing his hands against his\ngastronomic regions. \"I feel it now, fairly sthranglin' me; it's just\nas if some wild savage beast was runnin' up and down here, sarchin' for\nsomethin' to devour, and not bein' able to find it, is takin' mouthfuls\nout of my intayrior by the way of a relish; oh! murdher, I never knew\nwhat hunger was before.\"\n\n\"Didn't you, raylly?\" Peggy replied, with a queer expression. \"Faith,\nthen, it wasn't for the want of chances enough.\"\n\n\"I mean--don't bother--it's famished I am, and crazy a'most; is there a\ndhrop of dhrink in the house?\"\n\n\"Not as much as would make a tear for a fly's eye,\" said Peg.\n\n\"No! then what the Puck are we to do?\"\n\n\"Bear it, I suppose, as well as we can; we've often done it afore, an'\nwhat's worse, will have to do it agin, unless the hearts of the rich\nchanges towards us.\"\n\n\"Oh! if ever I get back to myself again,\" muttered the hungry Squire.\n\"Peg, darlin', go over to the old schamer, an' tell him that av he\ndoesn't send me the shillin' I'll expose him, I know more about him\nthan he thinks for; if he's black conthrary, you might just whisper in\nhis lug that I'm up to his thricks when he was in the grocery line; ax\nhim for me, who shoved the pennies into the butther, wathered the\nwhisky, and sanded the shugar, who\"----\n\n\"Why, for gracious sake, Dan, where did you pick up all that\nknowledgeableness?\" interrupted Peggy.\n\n\"Hem! no matther--never you mind--may-be I only dhreamt it,\" replied\nBulworthy, with some hesitation. \"I don't know exactly what I was\ntalkin' about; it's the imptyness that's speakin', so I wouldn't\nmention it; only go and get somethin' somewhere, av it was only a\nbrick.\"\n\n\"I'll be at him again, Dan, sence you wish it; but it's little blood\nI'm thinking, we'll be able to squeeze out of his turnip of a heart,\"\nsaid Peggy, putting on her shawl and bonnet, to make the thankless\nattempt. As she was going out of the door, however, she saw the Squire\nhobbling across the street.\n\n\"Talk of the--what's his name--May I never, but here the ould reprobate\ncomes, hoppin' gingerly over the stones, like a hen walkin' on a hot\ngriddle. May the saints soften him all over, an' make his heart as\ntendher as his toes this blessed day. I'll lave you wid him, Dan,\ndarlin', for I'm not over partial to his company. So I'll take the\nbabby out for a blast o' fresh air while yez are convarsin'.\"\n\nPeggy's preparations for her promenade were quickly made, which\nresulted in her leaving the place before the gouty visitor had\naccomplished his short but painful transit from house to house.\n\n\"A pretty thing _I've_ done for myself,\" groaned Bulworthy, suffering\nalike from thirst, hunger, and cold, as he vainly strove, by slapping\nhis hands against his chest, to make the blood circulate warmly through\nhis finger-ends. \"Ov coorse that cobblin' scoundrel will never consent\nto come back to his starvation and poverty--he'd be a greater fool even\nthan I was if he did. Ah! if I ever do get back to a good dinner again,\nthere shan't be a poor devil within a mile of me that'll ever want one\nwhile I live. Here comes the cripple; the only chance I have is to\npretend that I'm in a sort of second-hand paradise here.\" So saying, he\ncommenced to sing, in a voice of exaggerated jollity, a verse of\n\n    \"The jug o' punch,\"\n\naccompanying the tune by vigorous whacks of his hammer upon the piece\nof sole-leather he was beating into the requisite toughness.\n\nThe united sounds of merriment and industry smote upon Dan's heart like\na knell.\n\n\"Listen at the happy ragamuffin, working away like a whole hive o'\nbees, and chirpin' like a pet canary-bird,\" said he to himself. \"Oh,\nit's aisy seen he won't want to renew his acquaintance wid this\nmurdherin' gout an' the useless money--but, hit or miss, it won't do to\nlet him see me down in the mouth.\"\n\nSo, putting on a careless swagger, and forcing a tone of joyousness\ninto his voice:\n\n\"Hallo, cobbler,\" he cried, \"there you are, bellusin' away like a\nbagpiper. What an iligant thing it is to see such poor wretches\nwhistlin' themselves into an imitation of comfort.\"\n\n\"How do you know but I'm crammed full of real comfort, bad luck to yer\nmockin' tongue?\" said Bulworthy, disgusted at the other's satisfied\ndemeanor.\n\n\"It's pleased I am to see your foggy moon of a face, anyway,\" he went\non. \"Where's me shillin'?\"\n\n\"Why, you poor, miserable attenuation of humanity, how dare you address\nyourself to me in that orthodox manner?\" observed Dan, with an\nambitious attempt at Bulworthy's magniloquence.\n\n\"Miserable, eh?\" replied the other, with a chirp. \"Is it me miserable,\nwid such a home as this?\"\n\n\"It's all over,\" thought Dan, \"the ould brute's as happy as a bird. Bad\nluck to the minute that my own pelt made a cage for him.\"\n\n\"Go home,\" Bulworthy continued, with a grin. \"Home to yer wretched\nhospital of a gazebo.\"\n\n\"Wretched!\" retorted Dan, \"you wouldn't call it wretched if you saw the\ndinner I had to-day; enough, yer sowl to glory, to satisfy half a dozen\nfamilies.\"\n\n\"That were starvin' around you,\" cried Bulworthy, with a severe\ninternal spasm, induced by the mention of the dinner.\n\n\"Aha! you're beginnin' to think of that now, are you?\" said Dan,\ntauntingly. \"How do you like dinin' on spoonfuls of air, and rich men's\npromises to pay? Bedad, I'm thinkin I have the best of you there.\"\n\n\"Hould yer prate, you ould Turk, an' give me me shillin',\" roared\nBulworthy, getting impatient.\n\n\"The divil a shillin' you get out o' me, that I can tell you. I've got\nthe upper hand of ye this time, an' I'll keep it. It's hungry enough\nthat you've seen me before now, an' tit for tat's fair play all the\nworld over.\"\n\n\"He's content and comfortable, there's no mistake about that,\" thought\nBulworthy, \"and I'm booked for starvation all the rest of my miserable\ndays.\"\n\n\"Gout's my lot; I can see that with half an eye,\" said Dan to himself.\n\"The ould blaggard will never consent to get into these legs again.\"\n\n\"Squire!\" cried the cobbler, suddenly, \"do you know that the hunger\nsometimes puts desperate thoughts into a man's head? You owe me a\nshillin'. I want something to ate. Are you goin' to give it to me?\"\n\n\"Supposin' I didn't?\" said Dan, coolly.\n\n\"Bad luck attind me if I don't shake it out o' you, you iron-hearted\nould Craysus,\" replied the other, doggedly.\n\n\"I'd like to see you thryin' that,\" said Dan, flourishing a huge\nblackthorn stick dangerously. \"You're wake wid the want, an' I'm\nsthrong wid vittles an' wine. It's aisy to foretell whose head would be\ncracked first.\"\n\n\"Oh, murdher, Squire, jewel, it's right that you are, for I _am_\njust as wake as wather itself, an' the jaws of me is fairly rustin' in\ntheir sockets for the want of dacent exercise,\" cried the now subdued\nBulworthy. \"For the tindher mercy of goodness, then, av you've got the\nlaste taste ov compassion in yer throat, give us a thrifle, av it was\nonly the price ov a salt herrin' or a rasher o' bakin'.\"\n\n\"Oh, ho! it's there you are,\" thought Dan, as, rendered more hopeful by\nthis injudicious outburst, he assumed a still more severe aspect.\n\n\"It's good for you to feel that way,\" said he, \"an' it's mighty little\nelse you can ever expect while you're throublin' the earth, you\nimpidint cobbler. Look at me, you ungrateful thief o' the world--what's\nall your hungry nibblin's compared wid the sharp tooth that's\nperpetually gnawin' at my exthremities? To be sure, the jingle of the\ngoold here in my pockets, keeps the pain undher considherably.\"\n\n\"I know it, I know it,\" groaned Bulworthy. \"Oh, av there was only a\nmarket for fools, wouldn't I fetch a high price?\"\n\n\"Purvided that it wasn't overstocked,\" said Dan, with a mental\naddition, which he wisely kept to himself, as, suppressing the violent\npain he was suffering, he burst into a merry laugh at the doleful\nappearance of his companion in distress. \"Cheer up, man alive,\" cried\nhe, through his enforced joyousness; \"take example by your neighbors,\nand content yourself wid your condition. I'm sure it's a mighty\nagreeable one. See how comfortable I am, an' there's no knowin' what a\nnumberless conglomeration of annoyances men in my responsible station\nhave to put up wid.\"\n\n\"Why, then it's aisy for you to chat,\" replied Bulworthy, bitterly,\n\"wid your belly full of prog, rattlin' yer money in yer pockets, and\ngreggin' a poor empty Christian wid the chink; but av you had only\ndined wid me to-day, you wouldn't be so bumptious, I'll be bound.\"\n\n\"Me dine wid you, is it? bedad, an' that's a good joke,\" said Dan, with\nanother explosion of laughter. \"Ho, ho! my fine fella, av jokes was\nonly nourishin', what a fine feed of fun you might have, to be sure.\"\n\n\"Oh, then, by the king of Agypt's baker, that was hanged for makin' his\nmajesty's loaf short weight--the divil's cure to him--it's starved I'd\nbe that way too, for the fun's pinched right out o' me,\" replied the\nSquire, in a melancholy tone.\n\n\"Why, you don't mane to be tellin' me that you're unhappy in yer\npresent lot?\" Dan asked, in the hope of coming to the point at once.\n\n\"Where would be the use in sayin' I'm not?\" replied the other,\ncautiously.\n\n\"Only just for the pleasure of gettin' at the thruth.\"\n\n\"Bedad, he'd be a wise man that could crack that egg. If it comes to\nthat, how do you like them legs o' yours? It isn't much dancin' you do\nnow, I'm thinkin'.\"\n\n\"Well, not a great dale, seein' that it's a foolish sort of exercise\nfor a man of my consequence,\" said Dan, shaking the guineas about in\nhis pockets with increased vigor.\n\n\"An' how do you find the Misthress's timper now, might I ax?\" inquired\nBulworthy, with a meaning look.\n\n\"Aisy as an ould glove, I'm obliged to you,\" Dan replied, with wondrous\nplacidity of countenance.\n\n\"Peg, my Peg's a real blessin' in a house; an' as for that jewel of a\nbabby\"----\n\n\"Howld yer decateful tongue, you circumventin' ould tory,\" cried Dan,\nshaking his fist in the other's face, rendered almost beside himself by\nthe allusion to his lost treasures; \"do you mind this, you chatin'\ndisciple, av you dare to brag ov havin' any property in them two people\nI'll give your dirty sowl notice to quit the tinimint that it's\ninsultin' every second o' time you dhraw a breath.\"\n\n\"How can you help yerself, I'd like to know?\" demanded Bulworthy, in an\ninsolent tone. \"Doesn't Peg belong to me now, an' the child?\"\n\n\"Be the mortial o' war, av ye don't stop your tongue from waggin' in\nthat way, bad luck to me av I don't take ye be the scruff o' the neck,\nan shake ye out o' me skin, you robber,\" shouted Dan, still more\nfuriously--unfortunately losing sight of his discretion in the\nblindness of his rage, for Bulworthy, thinking he saw a gleaming of\nhope, determined to pursue his advantage; so he continued:\n\n\"The devil a toe will you ever come near them again, my fine fella.\nPossession's nine points of the law; an' as it's your own countenance\nthat I'm carryin', you can't swear me out o' my position. More betoken,\nthere's no use in yer gettin' obsthropulous, for I've only to dhrop the\nlapstone gingerly upon yer toes, to make you yell out like a stuck\npig.\"\n\nAt hearing these conclusive words, Dan's policy and his philosophy fled\ntogether, and he poured forth the feelings of his heart without\nconcealment or restraint.\n\n\"You murdherin' ould vagabone,\" he cried; \"you've got the upper hand of\nme, an' full well you know it; the divil take yer dirty money, that's\nweighin' down my pockets; but weighin' my heart down more nor that, av\nit wasn't that I don't know exactly what harum I'd be doin' to meself;\nmay I never sin av I wouldn't pelt the life out o' you wid fistfulls of\nit; but it sarves me right, it sarves me right,\" he went on, swaying\nhis body to and fro, as he sat on the little stool. \"Oh! wirra, wirra!\nwhat a born natheral I was to swap away my darlin' Peg, that's made out\nof the best parts of half a dozen angels, for that wizen-faced daughter\nof ould Nick beyont; an' the blessed babby, too, that's so fresh from\nthe skies that the smell o' Heaven sticks about him yet; to get nothin'\nfor him but a pair of legs that can't lift me over a _thranieen_; oh!\nit's mad that it's dhrivin' me, intirely.\"\n\n\"Don't take it so much to heart; gruntin', and growlin', an twistin'\nyerself into a thrue lover's knot, won't do any good now, you know,\"\nsaid Bulworthy, with a quiet smile.\n\n\"I know it won't, and that's what makes me desperate,\" replied Dan,\nstarting up, with clenched teeth, and a dangerous glance in his eye.\n\n\"One word for all,\" he continued, \"are you going to give me back\nmeself?\"\n\n\"I'd be a purty fool to do that, accordin' to your own story,\" said the\nother, calmly, now tolerably sure of his ground.\n\n\"Then Heaven forgive me, but here goes,\" cried Dan, resolutely. \"Peg,\njewel, it's for your sake an' the child; I can't live widout yez,\nanyhow, an' so I may's well thravel the dark road at oncet.\"\n\n\"What do you mane, you wild-lookin' savage?\" shouted Bulworthy, as he\nsaw the other advance threateningly towards him.\n\n\"I mane to thry and squeeze the breath out ov you, or get meself\nthrottled in the attempt,\" said Dan, sternly; \"I know that I'm no match\nfor you now, bad 'cess to your podgey carcass that I'm obleeged to\ncarry, whether I will or no; come on, you thief o' the world, come on;\nit doesn't matther a sthraw which of us is sint into kingdom come, only\nit's mighty hard for me to have the since knocked out o' me by me own\nmuscles.\"\n\nSo saying, he put forth all the strength he could muster, and clenched\nBulworthy manfully; short, but decisive was the struggle, for the\nsuperior vigor of the latter, enabled him to shake off Dan like a\nfeather, and when he rushed again to the attack, Bulworthy seized the\nponderous lapstone, and raising it at arm's length, let its whole force\ndescend upon Dan's unprotected head, crushing him down prone and\nsenseless as though he had been stricken by a thunderbolt.\n\nIt was some time before Dan returned to full consciousness; but when he\ndid, what was his intense delight to find Peggy bending over him,\ntenderly bathing a trifling wound in his head.\n\n\"Hurrah, Peg! it is back I am to myself in airnest,\" he cried. \"Give us\na bit of the lookin'-glass, darlin'; oh! the butcherin' ruffian, what a\ncrack he gev me on me skull.\"\n\n\"Whisht, don't talk, Dan, acush,\" said Peggy, in a low, musical voice;\n\"shure, its ravin' you've been, terrible; oh! that whisky, that\nwhisky!\"\n\nA sudden thought flashed across Dan's mind, which he judiciously kept\nto himself; and, inasmuch, as the reader may, without much exercise of\ningenuity imagine what that thought was, the narrator will be silent,\nalso.\n\nIt will be no abuse of confidence, however, to say that the lesson Dan\nreceived, did him good, for he never was known to repine at his lot,\nbut, redoubling his exertions, was enabled, after a few years had\nelapsed, to sport his top-boots on Sundays, and Peggy to exhibit her\nsilk \"gound,\" as well as the purse-proud Squire and his gay madame,\nover the way.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLARNEY STONE.\n\n    Oh, did you ne'er hear of the Blarney,\n    'Tis found near the banks of Killarney,\n    Believe it from me, no girl's heart is free,\n    Once she hears the sweet sound of the Blarney.\n\n    LOVER.\n\n\n\"I tell you, Mike, agra! it's no manner o' use, for do it I can't, an'\nthat's the long an' the short of it.\"\n\n\"Listen at him, why it isn't bashful that you are, eh, Ned, avic?\"\n\n\"Faix, an' I'm afeard it is.\"\n\n\"_Gog's bleakey!_ why, they'll put you in the musayum along wid\nthe marmaids an' the rattlin' sneaks; a bashful Irishman! why, a\nfour-leaved shamrogue 'ud be a mutton-chop to that, man alive.\"\n\n\"So they say; but I've cotch the complaint anyway.\"\n\n\"Well, _tear an aigers_, I never heerd the likes; it makes me mighty\nunhappy, for if modesty gets a footin' among us it'll be the ruin of us\naltogether. I shouldn't wonder but some of them retirin' cockneys has\ninoculated us with the affection, as they thravelled through the\ncountry. Well, an' tell us, how d'you feel whin you're blushin' Ned?\"\n\n\"Arrah! now don't be laughin' at me, Mike; sure we can't help our\nwakeness--it's only before her that the heart of me melts away\nintirely.\"\n\n\"Never mind, avic; shure it's a good man's case anyway; an' so purty\nNelly has put the _comether_ over your sinsibilities?\"\n\n\"You may say that, Mike, _aroon_. The niver a bit of sinse have I left,\nif it's a thing that I iver happened to have any; an' now, Mike,\nwithout jokin', isn't it mighty quare that I can't get the cowardly\ntongue to wag a word out o' my head when her eye is upon me--did you\niver see Nelly's eye, Mike?\"\n\n\"Scores o' times.\"\n\n\"May-be that isn't an eye?\"\n\n\"May-be there isn't a pair of thim, since you come to that?\"\n\n\"The divil such wicked-lookin' innocince iver peeped out of the head of\na Christian afore, to my thinkin'.\"\n\n\"It's nothin' but right that you should think so, Ned.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mike! to me, the laugh that bames out of thim, whin she's happy,\nis as good to a boy's feelin's as the softest sun-ray that iver made\nthe world smile; but whin she's sad--oh, murdher, murdher! Mike--whin\nthem wathery dimonds flutthers about her silky eye-lashes, or hangs\nupon her downy cheek, like jew upon a rose-lafe, who the divil could\nendure it? Bedad, it's as much as I can do to stand up agin them merry\nglances; but when her eye takes to the wather, be the powers of war, it\nbothers the navigation of my heart out an' out.\"\n\n\"Thrue for you, Ned.\"\n\n\"An' thin her mouth! Did you iver obsarve Nelly's mouth, Mike?\"\n\n\"At a distance, Ned.\"\n\n\"Now, that's what I call a rale mouth, Mike; it doesn't look like some,\nonly a place to ate with, but a soft-talkin', sweet-lovin' mouth, wid\nthe kisses growin in clusthers about it that nobody dare have the\nimpudence to pluck off, eh! Mike?\"\n\n\"Howld your tongue, Ned.\"\n\n\"If Nelly's heart isn't the very bed of love, why thin Cupid's a\njackass, that's all. An' thin her teeth; did you notice thim teeth? why\npearls is pavin'-stones to them; how they do flash about, as her\nbeautiful round red lips open to let out a voice that's just for all\nthe world like talkin' honey, every word she says slippin' into a\nfellow's soul, whether he likes it or not. Oh! Mike, Mike, there's no\nuse in talkin', if she isn't an angel, why she ought to be, that's\nall.\"\n\n\"You're mighty far gone, Ned, an' that's a fact. It's wonderful what a\njanius a boy has for talkin' nonsense when the soft emotions is\nstirrin' up his brains. Did you ever spake to her?\"\n\n\"How the divil could I? I was too busy listenin'; an' more betoken,\nbetween you an' me, the rale truth of the matter is, I couldn't do it.\nWhether it was bewitched I was, or that my sinses got dhrounded wid\ndrinkin' in her charms, makin' a sort of a mouth of my eye, I don't\nknow, but ev'ry time I attempted to say somethin', my tongue, bad luck\nto it, staggered about as if it was corned, an' the divil a word would\nit say for itself, bad or good.\"\n\n\"Well, now, only to think. Let me give you a word of advice, Ned; the\nnext time you see her, take it aisy, put a big stone upon your feelin's\nan' ax about the weather; you see you want to bowlt out all you have to\nsay at once, an' your throat is too little to let it through.\"\n\n\"_Be the mortial_, an' that's a good advice, Mike, if I can but folly\nit. This love is a mighty quare affection, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Thremendious. I had it oncet myself.\"\n\n\"How did you ketch it?\"\n\n\"I didn't ketch it at all. I took it natural.\"\n\n\"And did you ever get cured, Mike? Tell us.\"\n\n\"Complately.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"I got married.\"\n\n\"Oh! let us go to work.\"\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrom the foregoing characteristic conversation between Mike Riley and\nhis friend, Ned Flynn, it would appear pretty evident that the blind\nboy's shaft,\n\n    \"Feathered with pleasure and tipped with pain,\"\n\nwas fast embedded in the heart of the latter, or in plainer and not\nless expressive phrase, he was bothered entirely by Miss Nelly Malone.\n\nDuring an interval of rest from mowing, the dialogue took place; that\nover, they resumed their labor; the convalescent \"married man\" humming\na sprightly air, which kept time to the stroke of his scythe, while the\npoor wounded deer, Ned, came in now and then with an accompaniment of\nstrictly orthodox sighs.\n\nIt certainly was a most extensive smite on the part of pretty Nell; and\na nobler heart never beat under crimson and gold, than the honest,\nmanly one which now throbbed with the first ardor of a passion pure and\nunselfish. A short time longer, and they rested again. Ned was sad and\nsilent; and the never-forgotten respect, which makes suffering sacred\nin the eyes of an Irish peasant, kept Mike mute also; at last, Ned,\nwith a half downcast, whole sheepish expression, said, the ghost of a\nsmile creeping over his features:\n\n\"Mike, do you know what?\"\n\n\"What?\" said Mike.\n\n\"I've writ a song about Nelly.\"\n\n\"No,\" rejoined his friend, with that ambiguous emphasis which might as\nwell mean yes. Adding, with dexterous tact, \"Is it a song? An' why the\nmischief shouldn't you; sure an' haven't you as illigant a heart to\nfish songs up out as anybody else? Sing us it.\"\n\n\"I'm afeard that you'll laugh if I do, Mike.\"\n\n\"Is it me?\" replied Mike, so reproachfully that Ned was completely\nsoftened. After the making-your-mind-up minute or two, with a fine,\nclear voice, he sung.\n\n\n    THE ROSE OF TRALEE.\n\n    All ye sportin' young heroes, wid hearts light an' free,\n    Take care how you come near the town of Tralee;\n    For the witch of all witches that iver wove spell\n    In the town of Tralee, at this moment does dwell.\n    Oh, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me,\n    For the divil all out is the Rose of Tralee.\n\n    She's as soft an' as bright as a young summer morn,\n    Her breath's like the breeze from the fresh blossom'd thorn,\n    Her cheek has the sea shell's pale delicate hue,\n    And her lips are like rose leaves just bathed in the dew;\n    So, then, don't venture near her, be warned by me,\n    For she's mighty desthructive, this Rose of Tralee.\n\n    Oh! her eyes of dark blue, they so heavenly are\n    Like the night sky of summer, an' each holds a star;\n    Were her tongue mute as silence, man's _life_ they'd control;\n    But eyes an' tongue both are too much for one's _soul_.\n    Young men, stay at home, then, and leave her to me,\n    For I'd die with delight for the Rose of Tralee.\n\nAnd now, after this toploftical illustration of the state of Ned's\nfeelings, and inasmuch as they are about to resume their labor, let us\nleave them to their mowing, and see after Miss Nelly Malone, for love\nof whom poor Ned had _tasted_ of the Pierian spring.\n\nIn a neat little chamber, bearing about it the unmistakable evidence of\na tidy woman's care, sits the individual herself, her little fingers\nbusily employed in knitting a very small stocking--her own; no trace of\nwealth is to be seen in this humble abode, but of its more than\nequivalent, comfort, it is redolent. At the open casement there peep in\nthe blossoms of the honey-suckle and the sweet-pea, filling the air\nwith a perfume, more grateful than art could ever obtain; sundry\n_artless_ prints, and here and there a ballad on some heart-breaking\nsubject, probably amongst them the highwayman's autoballadography,\nwherein he heroically observes,\n\n    \"I robbed Lord Mansfield, I do declare,\n    And Lady Somebody in Grosvenor Square,\"\n\nare fastened to the walls, decorated with festoons of cut paper of most\ndazzling variety of color; a fine, plump, contented lark, in an open\ncage, which he scorns to leave, returns his mistress's caress with a\nwild, grateful song, whilst, tutored into friendliness, a beautiful\nsleek puss, whose furry coat glances like satin in the sun-ray, dozes\nquietly upon the window-sill, indulging in that low purr, which is the\nsure indication of a happy cat. It is the home of innocence and beauty,\nfitly tenanted.\n\nAnd what are pretty Nelly's thoughts, I wonder; a shade of something,\nwhich may be anxiety or doubt, but scarcely sorrow, softens the\nbrightness of her lovely face. She speaks, 'twill be no treason to\nlisten. You will perceive that the cat is her _confidante_--a discreet\none it must be confessed.\n\n\"It's foolishness, so it is; isn't it puss?\"\n\nPuss doesn't condescend to notice the remark.\n\n\"Now, Minny, isn't it, I ask you, isn't it folly, the worst of folly to\nbe thinkin' of one who doesn't think of me? I won't do it any more,\nthat I won't. Heigh 'ho! I wonder if he loves me. I somehow fancy he\ndoes, and yet again if he did, why couldn't he say so; there's one\nthing certain, and that is, I don't love _him_, that is to say, I\n_won't_ love him; a pretty thing, indeed, to give my heart to one who\nwouldn't give me his in return. That _would_ be a bad bargain, wouldn't\nit, puss?\"\n\nPussy acquiesced, for silence, they say, is synonymous.\n\n\"But, oh!\" resumed Nelly, \"if I thought he _did_ love me--there, now,\nI've dropped a stitch--what _am_ I thinkin' of?--I mustn't give way to\nsuch foolishness. Why, the bird is done singin', and Minny is looking\nangry at me out of her big eyes--don't be jealous, puss, you shall\nalways have your saucer of milk, whatever happens, and--hark! that's\nhis step, it is! he's comin'! I wonder how I look,\" and running to her\nlittle glass, Nelly, with very pardonable vanity, thought those\nfeatures could not well be improved, and--the most curious part of the\nmatter--she was right.\n\n\"He's a long time coming,\" thought she, as, stealing a glance through\nthe white window-curtain she saw Ned slowly approach the garden gate;\ngladly would she have flown to meet him, but maidenly modesty\nrestrained her; now he hesitates a moment, takes a full gulp of breath,\nand nears the house; at every approaching step, Nelly's pulse beat\nhigher; at last she bethought herself it would be more prudent to be\nemployed; so, hastily taking up her work, which was twisted and\nravelled into inextricable confusion, with a seeming calm face she\nmechanically plied her needles, her heart giving one little shiver as\nNed rapped a small, chicken-livered rap at the door. Nelly opened it\nwith a most disingenuous, \"Ah! Ned, is that you? who _would_ have\nthought it! Come in, do.\"\n\nThe thermometer of Nelly's feelings was about fever heat, yet she\nforced the index to remain at freezing point. \"Take a chair, won't\nyou?\"\n\nAnd there sat those two beings, whose hearts yearned for each other,\nlooking as frigid as a pair of icicles, gazing on the wall, the floor,\npussy, or the lark. Ned suddenly discovered something that wanted a\ndeal of attending to in the band of his hat; whilst Nelly, at the same\ntime, evinced an extraordinary degree of affection for the cat. To say\nthe truth, they were both very far from comfortable. Ned had thoroughly\nmade up his mind to speak this time if ruin followed, and had even gone\nso far as to have settled upon his opening speech, but Nelly's cold and\nindifferent \"take a chair,\" frightened every word out of his head; it\nwas essentially necessary that he should try to recover himself, and he\nseemed to think that twisting his hat into every possible form and\ntugging at the band were the only possible means by which it could be\naccomplished. Once more all was arranged, and he had just cleared his\nthroat to begin, when the rascally cat turned sharply round and stared\nhim straight in the face, and in all his life he thought he never saw\nthe countenance of a dumb creature express such thorough contempt.\n\n\"It well becomes me,\" thought he, \"to be demeanin' myself before the\ncat,\" and away flew his thoughts again.\n\nOf course, all this was very perplexing to Nelly, who, in the\nexpectation of hearing something interesting, remained patiently\nsilent. There was another considerable pause; at last, remembering his\nfriend Mike's advice, and, moreover, cheered by a most encouraging\nsmile from the rapidly-thawing Nell, Ned wound up his feelings for one\ndesperate effort, and bolted out--\n\n\"Isn't it fine to day, Miss Malone?\"\n\nBreaking the silence so suddenly that Nelly started from her chair, the\nlark fluttered in the cage, and puss made one jump bang into the\ngarden.\n\nAmazed and terrified by the results of his first essay, fast to the\nroof of his mouth Ned's tongue stuck once more, and finding it of no\nearthly use trying to overcome his embarrassment--that the more he\nfloundered about the deeper he got into the mud, he gathered himself\nup, made one dash through the door, and was off like lightning. Nelly\nsighed as she resumed her knitting, and this time she was sad in\nearnest.\n\n\"Well, what luck?\" said Mike, as, nearly out of breath from running,\nNed rejoined him in the meadow. \"Have you broke the ice?\"\n\n\"Bedad, I have,\" said Ned, \"and more betoken, fell into the wather\nthrough the hole.\"\n\n\"Why, wouldn't she listen to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, fast enough, but I didn't give her a chance; my ould complaint\ncame strong upon me. Ora! what's the use in havin' a tongue at all, if\nit won't wag the words out of a fellow's head. I'm a purty speciment of\nan omad-haun; there she sot, Mike, lookin' out of the corners of her\neyes at me, as much as to say, spake out like a man, with a soft smile\nrunnin' about all over her face, and playing among her beautiful\ndimples, like the merry moonbame dancin' on the lake. Oh, murther!\nMike, what the mischief am I to do? I can't live without her, an' I\nhaven't the heart to tell her so.\"\n\n\"Well, it is disgraceful,\" replied Mike, \"to see a good-lookin' man\ndisparage his country by flinchin from a purty girl; may-be it might do\nyou good to go an' kiss the BLARNEY STONE.\"\n\n\"That's it,\" exclaimed Ned, joyously clapping his hands together, and\ncutting an instinctive caper, \"that's it. I wonder I niver thought of\nit before; I'll walk every stitch of the way, though my legs should\ndrop off before I got half there. Do you think it 'ud do me good to\nkiss it?\"\n\n\"Divil a doubt of it--sure it never was known to fail yet,\" said Mike,\noracularly.\n\n\"Why, then, may I niver ate a male's vittles, if there's any vartue in\nthe stone, if I don't have it out of it.\" And that very night, so eager\nwas Ned to get cured of his bashfulness, off he started for Killarney.\nIt was a long and tedious journey, but the thought of being able to\nspeak to Nelly when he returned, was sufficient to drive away fatigue;\nin due time he reached the far-famed castle,\n\n    \"On the top of whose wall,\n    But take care you don't fall,\n    There's a stone that contains all the Blarney!\"\n\nMike climbed with caution, discovered the identical spot, and believing\nimplicitly that his troubles were now at an end, knelt, and with a\nheart-whole prayer for his absent Nelly, reverently kissed _The\nBlarney Stone_.\n\nTrue, devoted love had lent him strength to overcome the difficulties\nof access, and imagination, that powerful director of circumstance, did\nthe rest. It was with humility and diffidence he had approached the\nobject of his pilgrimage, but he descended from it with head erect and\ncountenance elated; he could now tell his burning thoughts in _her_\near; he was a changed man; a very pretty girl, who officiated as guide,\nand upon whose pouting lips, report says, the efficacy of the charm\nhas been frequently put to the test, met him at the archway of the\ncastle--for no other reason in the world than merely to try if he were\nsufficiently imbued with the attractive principle--Ned watched an\nopportunity, and, much more to his own astonishment than to hers, gave\nher a hearty kiss, starting back to watch the effect. She frowned not,\nshe did not even blush. Ned was delighted; his end was obtained.\n\n\"He could kiss who he plazed with his Blarney;\" consequently, feeling\nsupremely happy, without losing another moment, he retraced his steps\nhomeward.\n\nMeantime, Nelly missed her silent swain, whose absence tended\nmaterially to strengthen the feeling of affection which she entertained\nfor him; day after day crept on, yet he came not; and each long hour of\nwatching riveted still more closely her heart's fetters. Now, for the\nfirst time, she acknowledged to herself how essential he was to her\nhappiness, and with a fervent prayer that the coming morning might\nbring him to her side, she closed each day. Her wonder at last at his\ncontinued absence quickened into anxiety, and from anxiety into alarm.\nJealousy, without which there cannot be a perfect love, spread its dark\nshadow o'er her soul, and she was wretched. In vain she reasoned with\nherself; the sun of her existence seemed suddenly to be withdrawn, and\nall was gloom; even the very bird, appearing to share his mistress's\nmood, drooped his wing and was silent; so much are externals influenced\nby the spirit of the hour, that her homey chamber felt comfortless and\nsolitary. Nelly loved with a woman's love, devotedly, intensely,\nwholly; to lose him would be to her the loss of all that rendered life\nworth living for; hers was an affection deserving that which was given\nin lieu, although as yet she knew it not.\n\nGazing out one day in the faint hope of seeing something of her\nbeloved, her heart gave one sudden and tremendous bound. She saw\nhim--he had returned at last. But how changed in demeanor. Can her eyes\ndeceive her? No. Her heart tells her it is he, and it could not err.\n\nInstead of the downcast look and hesitating step, joy laughed forth\nfrom his face, and his tread was easy, rollicking, and careless; as he\ncame nearer, she thought she heard him sing; he did sing! what could it\nportend? Had he found one who knew how to break the shell of reserve?\n'Twas torture to think so, and yet it was the first image that\npresented itself to her anxious heart. It was now her turn to be\ntongue-tied, dumb from agitation; she could not utter a syllable, but\ntrembling to the very core, sat silently awaiting what she feared was\nto prove the funeral knell of her departed happiness.\n\nWith a merry song upon his lips, Ned lightly bounded over the little\npaling, and in a minute more was in her presence. Speak or move she\ncould not, nor did his first salutation place her more at ease.\n\n\"Nelly,\" said he, \"you drove me to it, but it's done! it's done!\"\n\n\"What's done--what can he mean?\" thought Nelly, more agitated than\never.\n\n\"It's all over now,\" he continued, \"for I've kissed it. Don't you hear\nme, Nelly? I say I've kissed it.\"\n\n\"In heaven's name,\" cried the pale, trembling girl, \"what do you\nmean--kissed who?\"\n\n\"No _who_ at all,\" said Ned, laughingly, \"but _it_, I've kissed _it_.\"\n\n\"Kissed what?\"\n\n\"Why, the Blarney Stone, to be sure,\" screamed out Ned, flinging his\nhat at pussy, and executing an extremely complicated double-shuffle in\nthe delight of the moment; indeed, conducting himself altogether in a\nmanner which would have jeopardized the sanity of any one but a\nlove-stricken Irishman.\n\n\"Sure it was all for you, Nelly, mavourneen, that I did it; it has\nloosened the strings of my tongue, and now I can tell you how deeply\nyour image is burnin' within my very heart of hearts, you bright-eyed,\nbeautiful darling!\"\n\nWhat more he said or did, it will be unnecessary for me to relate;\nsuffice it to say that the world-renowned talisman lost none of its\nefficacy on this particular occasion. One observation of pretty Nell's,\nI think is worthy of record. At the close of a most uninteresting\nconversation, to anybody but themselves, the affectionate girl\nwhispered to him:\n\n\"_Dear Ned, you needn't have gone so far!_\"\n\nThe course of true love sometimes _does_ run smooth, a great authority\nto the contrary, nevertheless, for in about three weeks' time, the\nchapel bells rang merrily for the wedding of Edward and Nelly. Aye, and\nwhat's more, neither of them had ever cause to regret Ned's visit to\nTHE BLARNEY STONE.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOSPEL CHARM.\n\n\nA finer looking fellow could not be met with in a day's walk than\nGerald Desmond, the only son of the wealthy widow Desmond, her pride\nand sole comfort; tall and strikingly handsome, he had that buoyant,\nreckless air and continuous flow of spirits which would indicate the\npossessor of a heart, over whose welfare the gales of adversity had but\nlightly swept.\n\nAt the period which commences my narrative, he is holding an animated\nconversation with his foster-brother and fast friend, Frank Carolan.\nFrank is also a fine, manly specimen of humanity, much more humbly\ndressed than his companion, yet still with a something of superiority\nabout him, which would prevent a stranger from passing by without a\nsecond look. The substance of their conversation may afford a key to\ntheir pursuits and feelings.\n\n\"Don't talk to me about Biddy Magra. I tell you she's not to be\ncompared to Judy Murphy,\" said Gerald.\n\n\"May-be she isn't, and then again, may-be she is,\" very logically\nreplied Frank, with the manner of one who did not exactly like to\ncontradict his superior, or altogether give up his own opinion.\n\n\"Did you ever see a prettier girl than Judy?\" inquired Gerald.\n\n\"Hum! It strikes me that I have, once or twice,\" said Frank, which was\nvery probable, seeing that he had the prettiest girl in the county for\na sister, a fact which Gerald well knew, although, as yet, he hardly\ndared to acknowledge it to himself.\n\n\"No you haven't--you couldn't, there isn't, there shan't be anything to\nequal her within a hundred miles,\" continued Gerald, partly for the\nsake of argument, and partly because he really did think so at the\nmoment. \"And if I could only bring myself to abandon the delicious\nsociety of the charming sex, and concentrate the affections of Gerald\nDesmond upon one individual, she would be the enviable person.\"\n\n\"So you've said to every decent-lookin' colleen that came near you ever\nsince you've had a heart to feel. You're as changeable as the moon.\"\n\n\"I was, I was; but now I'm fixed, settled, constant as the sun.\"\n\n\"Mighty like the sun, that has a warm beam for every planet, or may-be\nmore like a parlor stove, that burns up any sort of coal. You'll never\nbe steady to one, Gerald.\"\n\n\"Well, we'll see. I've loved Judy three weeks without stopping, and\nthat's a good sign; but I'm going to have a game at loo, and top up\nwith a jollification; you must come along, Frank.\"\n\n\"No, no, master Gerald; it's well enough for you golden-spoon folks to\nwaste time, but I am one of the unfortunate wooden-ladle people. I must\ngo to work.\"\n\n\"Work! Hang work,\" cried Gerald, who never suffered an obstacle to\nremain which opposed his will or pleasure. \"You needn't want money\nwhile I'm with you, Frank. Come, only this once; deuce take it, let us\nenjoy the present, and let to-morrow look out for itself. I shan't ask\nyou again--_only this once_.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Frank, irresolutely, \"I'll go, but remember, 'tis\n_only for this once_.\"\n\n\"ONLY FOR THIS ONCE.\" How often, without thinking of its awful import,\nhas this _lie_ been uttered! Let the soul but _for once_ diverge from\nthe appointed path, how difficult to return! But when to each seductive\nvoice which beckons from the way-side, the victim cries, I shall enjoy\nthee _but for once_, 'tis led so far astray, through such deep windings\nand such adverse mazes, that when it would retrace its steps, the\nconsequences of each evil deed have so obscured, planted with thorns,\nor destroyed the road, 'tis the finger of infinite mercy alone which\ncan conduct it safely back.\n\nGerald Desmond and his foster-brother passed that night, as too many\nhad been passed before, in drunkenness and riot.\n\nNow, although engaged in the same vicious employment, there was great\ndifference in the actuating principles of these two young men. Gerald,\nas yet unchecked by reason, was at this time an uncompromising _rou\u00e9_,\nplunging in every degree of dissipation, with a heart resolved to drain\nthe cup of enjoyment to the very dregs, and have it filled and filled\nagain. Whereas, Frank's easy, yielding disposition, acted upon by the\ncharm of companionship and the circumstances of the moment, caused him\nto be placed in such situations, actually against his better judgment;\nassociation only leading him into vicious scenes, which a lack of\nprudential resolution prevented him from being able to avoid. In fact,\nGerald invariably said, _yes!_ and Frank, had not sufficient\nself-command to say, _no!_\n\nThe strong friendship which frequently attends the adventitious\nrelationship of foster-brotherhood, brought them almost always\ntogether, and as Gerald, from his position, was naturally the leader,\ntheir lives were passed in a continual round of miscalled amusement.\n\nHowever, as we often find that when very dear friends quarrel, it is\nwith a bitterness more than equal to their former kindliness of\nfeeling, so it was with Gerald and Frank. They fell out, during one of\ntheir drinking encounters; something trivial commenced it, but one word\nbrought on another, until the little spark swelled to a flame, and the\npoor remains of reason, left uninjured by the liquor, were scorched to\nfury in the fire of anger. The difference in their dispositions evinced\nitself powerfully. Gerald, foaming with rage, was violent and\nungovernable, while Frank, whose mind was infinitely superior, was cool\nand calm, though inly suffering from suppressed choler.\n\n\"Where,\" exclaimed the former, dashing his hand on the table, \"where\nwould you have been now, were it not for me?\"\n\n\"Where?\" replied Frank, with a smile which _looked_ real; \"why, in\nmy bed, dreaming quiet dreams; a thing I shall never do again.\"\n\n\"Whose fault is that?\"\n\n\"Yours,\" said Frank, sternly regarding him, \"yours. Is this my place?\nWould I have been here of my own will? No--you led me step by step from\ncontent into this brutal degradation.\"\n\n\"But you had your wits about you,\" fiercely retorted Gerald; \"this is\nmy thanks for condescending to make you my companion; the base blood is\nin you; ingratitude is the sure sign of the low-born.\"\n\nFrank's cheeks flushed crimson, his teeth ground together, and the\nblood rushed to his head with a bound; after a moment's pause, he\nreplied, with a terrible effort to be calm, \"Gerald Desmond, I am, as\nyou say, low-born, but not base; a son of toil, but no slave; a poor,\nbut still an independent man; nursed in poverty, I own that I am no fit\ncompany for you. My hand would bear no comparison with yours; 'tis\nlabor-hardened, while yours is lady-soft, and yet, if our hearts were\nput into the scale, I mistake much if the overweight would not make up\nthe difference.\"\n\nAnnoyed by the quiet coolness of his manner, Gerald lost all control.\n\n\"You poor, miserable child of beggary,\" he cried, \"avoid my sight.\nLeave me. Dare to cross my path again, and I shall strike you to my\nfeet.\"\n\nAt these words Frank smiled; it was a small but most expressive smile;\nGerald felt its influence in his very brain.\n\n\"I'll do it now,\" he screamed, foaming with rage, and springing full at\nFrank's throat; but he calmly disengaged himself, and with one effort\nof his tremendous strength, took Gerald up in his powerful arms, and\ncould have dashed him to the ground, but contented himself with quietly\nreplacing him in the chair, exclaiming--\n\n\"Learn to forgive, Gerald Desmond, and condescend to accept a lesson\nfrom your inferior. Farewell,\" and ere the other could reply, maddened\nas he was by rage and mortification, he was gone.\n\n\"The ruffian!\" savagely exclaimed Gerald. \"If I don't wring his heart\nfor this may I inherit everlasting torture.\"\n\nHow he fulfilled his oath we shall see in time.\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn no very enviable mood, Frank Carolan sought his humble home;\nbitterly he repented ever having known Desmond, and firmly he resolved\nto give up all acquaintance which had grown out of this association,\nand depend for the future upon his own honest exertions. Brave resolve,\nseriously and sacredly intended at the time, as all good resolutions\nusually are.\n\nThe only being that Frank cared for in the world was his sister Mary--a\nbright and beautiful young creature, just bursting into womanhood,\ngraceful as a wild fawn, and as timid; unselfishly and wholly, with a\nmost absorbing love, he loved _her_. Upon reaching home, he found her\nin tears, grieving for his prolonged absence, for it was early morning;\nbut the moment he appeared, the rain-drops of sorrow fled, and joy's\nown bright ray sparkled in her face once more.\n\n\"Where have you been so late, dear Frank?\" she murmured, as he kissed\nher dewy eyes.\n\n\"Where, I solemnly promise, my own Mary, never to go again.\"\n\n\"You were with Gerald Desmond, were you not?\"\n\n\"I was! But he and I are brothers, friends, no longer.\"\n\n\"The saints be praised for it,\" fervently cried his sister. \"There is\nsomething about Desmond's eyes that frightens me. 'Tis good for neither\nof us that he should be too near.\"\n\n\"Has he been here, Mary?\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, several times, but only to inquire for you,\" she added,\nhastily.\n\n\"You must avoid him, Mary, for he is a serpent; there's a fascination\nabout that man that even I cannot resist. He has destroyed me; lured me\nfrom my contented humbleness to taste of luxury; and now, like the\nbeast which has once drunk of blood, 'twill be hard for me to avoid the\nseductive banquet. Shun him, Mary, for your brother's sake.\"\n\n\"Dear Frank, doubt me not,\" firmly replied Mary. \"If you do fear my\nwomanly weakness, I here swear, by this blessed _Gospel Charm_ my\nmother placed around my neck, before she died, never to do the deed\nwhich shall cause her spirit to frown, or my brother's cheek to glow\nwith shame.\"\n\n\"My bright-eyed, beautiful Mary, I believe you. God bless you, core of\nmy heart; 'tis for your well-doing only I exist,\" fervently exclaimed\nFrank. \"Go to your rest, darling; 'tis the last time it shall be broken\nby me; to-morrow shall find me a new man. Good night.\"\n\nMary retired, and her brother felt relieved at heart, for a more solemn\noath could not be imagined than that which she had sworn. The Gospel\nCharm, which consists of a text from Scripture, selected and\nconsecrated by the priest, is held to be of peculiar efficacy, and a\npromise made by it is scarcely ever known to be broken.\n\nNo man ever went to bed with a more fixed determination to begin a new\nand better life on the morrow than did Frank, and yet that very morrow\nsaw his resolution shaken, nay, altogether abandoned. During the night\na plan of terrible revenge had been conceived by Gerald Desmond, and to\ncarry out his design, it was necessary that the breach between him and\nFrank should be apparently healed up.\n\nFrank began the day well, cultivating his little farm, inly rejoicing\nin his emancipation from evil society, and glowing with that proud self\ngratification which the exercise of industrious habits ever produces.\nIn the midst of this happy feeling, who should he perceive but Gerald\nDesmond rapidly approaching? His first impulse was, as usual, right. \"I\nwill not listen to him,\" he thought, retiring in an opposite direction,\nwhen he was arrested by the hilarious voice of Gerald calling to him:\n\n\"Frank, my friend! my brother, will you not forgive?\"\n\nThe tones reached into his inmost heart; he paused for an instant, but\n'twas enough--Gerald reached him, and, looking cordially in his face,\nheld forth his hand. Frank grasped it earnestly, and ere many moments\nhad elapsed their friendship was renewed, with full sincerity by one,\nand crafty dissimulation by the other. Alas for good intentions, when\nunassisted by Heaven's pardoning grace! The vitiating practices of\nformer days were again indulged in, and all Frank's so seemingly\nvirtuous resolutions were drowned in the accursed, soul-enslaving\ndrink.\n\nSome few days after this reconciliation, Gerald took Frank aside, and\nhaving first bound him to secrecy, thus began to unfold his design.\n\n\"Frank, my boy,\" said he, \"I am in great need of your assistance; will\nyou give it to me?\"\n\n\"That will I, Gerald,\" uttered Frank, \"with all my heart.\"\n\n\"Nay, but you must promise to do so, even though against your\ninclination; it is a matter of the most vital moment to me?\"\n\n\"If I _can_ help you, I will.\"\n\n\"Say that you will, for I know you can.\"\n\n\"Well, then, I will, whatever it is.\"\n\n\"Enough. Then you must know that I have a little affair of the heart.\"\n\n\"Another?\"\n\n\"The last, as I am a true lover; all I want you to do is to write a\nnote for me. I am fearful that my own hand-writing would be known,\nadded to which, I have disabled my fingers by an accident.\"\n\n\"Yes, but may I not know who the object is?\" inquired Frank.\n\n\"Come, come, you wouldn't ask that. It would be dishonorable in me to\ntell you; suffice it to say that she is a lovely creature, young,\ninnocent, and confiding. I have everything arranged to carry her off\nthis very night.\"\n\n\"You mean to marry her, of course?\" said Frank, seriously.\n\n\"Marry?\" laughingly replied Gerald; \"come, that's a devilish good joke;\ndo you see any symptoms of insanity about me? No, no, I mean to honor\nher with my society for a few months, and then\"----\n\n\"Then cast her off, to the scorn of an uncharitable world. Gerald,\nfriend, pause a moment, think! I know your heart is not entirely\nrotten.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, I have thought, reasoned with myself, but all to no\navail; one word for all. 'Tis necessary to my happiness that I should\npossess this girl. You pretend to be my friend; will you prove it by\ndoing this small service for me?\"\n\nGood intent said no, but irresolution stepped in as usual, and all was\nlost.\n\n\"Dictate,\" said Frank, sadly; \"'tis sorely against my inclination, but\nrather than you should doubt my friendship, I _will_ do it.\"\n\n\"Good fellow,\" delightedly exclaimed Gerald; \"now, let me see; we must\nuse stratagem. Begin--\n\n\"'Dear Mary.'\"\n\nAt the mention of that name, Frank gave an involuntary shudder. He\nlooked straight into the eyes of Gerald, but they returned his gaze\nwithout a change of expression, and the monstrous thought was smothered\nin its birth.\n\n\"Have you written 'Dear Mary?'\" said Gerald, calmly.\n\n\"I have! go on.\"\n\n\"'Business of a sudden and imperative nature calls me away. I shall\nneed your presence and advice; trust yourself unhesitatingly to the man\nwho delivers this; he is my dearest friend.'\"\n\n\"Whom is this supposed to come from?\" inquired Frank.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Gerald, carelessly, \"from her brother.\"\n\n\"Her brother! has she then a brother? God in heaven help _him_! Ah!\nGerald, this is frightful; let me entreat of you to abandon your\nintent; think of the load of misery the indulgence of one evanescent,\nselfish gratification will entail on all this poor girl's friends;\" and\nFrank knelt and took Gerald's hand in his. For an instant, all the good\nin the heart of the latter floated to the surface, but he thought of\nthe degradation he had endured, and revenge sank it down again.\n\n\"Come, come,\" he cried, \"no more sermons if you please; you have\nobliged me so much that I can scarcely tell you, and now remain here\nuntil I return. I shall not be long; there's a bottle of Inishowen,\nsugar, lemons, and hot water; make yourself quite at home. Depend upon\nit, you shall soon be amply repaid for all you have done for me.\" So\nsaying, he went out, and Frank was left alone.\n\nHalf an hour, an hour, passed away, and Gerald did not return. In spite\nof himself, sad, fearfully sad thoughts brooded over Frank's spirits.\nIn vain he resorted to the stimulant so lavishly provided for him; the\nmore he drank, the more terrible were the imaginings which crowded into\nhis very heart and brain; at last, unable longer to endure the\nsuspense, and actuated by an impulse for which he could not account, he\nsuddenly started up to return home--what was his surprise to find the\ndoor locked? He rushed to the window--it was strongly secured. A vague,\nindefinite sensation of terror crept through his frame--he was a\nprisoner, for what purpose--great heaven! if it should be that to which\nhis imagination sometimes pointed, only to be abandoned again from its\nvery intensity of horror. He screamed aloud--echo only answered him.\nLost, bewildered, almost bereft of reason, now would he pace rapidly to\nand fro; now stand stone still. The live-long night he remained in that\nlonely chamber, a prey to every torture that could reach the soul of\nman--minutes swelled into days, a long year of common-place existence\nwas compressed into those few hours. He prayed, cursed, raved\nalternately, nor could the fearful quantity he drank drown reason in\nforgetfulness. Slowly the dim grey of morning began to break--anon, the\ngleesome lark flew upward to greet the sun with his matin song, and yet\nno sign of Gerald. The door was at last unlocked--Frank rushed through,\nand with instinctive dread sought his home. Scarcely pausing to draw\nbreath, in a state of utter exhaustion he reached the cottage, burst\nopen the door, and flew into the room--it was empty!\n\n\"Mary, Mary!\" he cried, in choking accents, but her soft voice did not\nreply; looking round, his eye suddenly rested on an open letter; it was\nhis--most completely had the fiend triumphed. At his own suggestion,\nthe being to whom his very soul was linked had given herself up to the\npower of the seducer. The following words were written in pencil on the\noutside:--\n\n    'She's mine, willingly mine, thanks to thy kindly help.\n    Physician, cure thyself--now '_Learn to forgive_.'\n\n    \"GERALD.\"\n\nIt having been shown that Gerald's diabolical scheme, so far as the\nabduction went, was carried out with entire success, pass we now a\nmonth. Gerald has established himself in the capital, having provided\nMary with an elegant suite of apartments, under the same roof with\nhimself, although not immediately adjoining. His behavior to her was\nstudiously kind, tempered with thorough respect; hoping by such means\nslowly and insidiously to reach his aim through the medium of her own\naffection.\n\nPoor Mary herself hardly dared to think; for her temperament was of\nthat soft and womanly nature, which rendered it impossible for her to\ncontend energetically against the assaults of the world--that most\nbeautiful of all female characteristics, which is content to look up to\nand to reverence, yearning for some natural support and protection, and\nclinging to it when discovered with an enduring tenacity, only to be\nfound in such a woman's love.\n\nTo all her inquiries concerning Frank, Gerald answered evasively, but\nto her satisfaction; still treating her with the greatest possible show\nof reserve and kindness, his manner imperceptibly increasing in fervor\nday by day--letting it be inferred more by his looks than words that\nshe was dearer to him than he dared to acknowledge. The consequence of\nthis specious manoeuvering began gradually to make itself evident in\nthe state of Mary's feelings. Now she involuntary hoped for his\ncoming--seriously deploring his departure; his fiend-like intent was in\na fair way to be completed, when his own impetuosity destroyed the vile\nfabric. Encouraged by her quiet, passive manner, he ventured\nprematurely to unfold his guilty purpose. Who can describe the terrible\nrevulsion of feeling which took place in Mary's soul when the full\ncertainty of his guilty design was made apparent? With a mighty effort\nshe checked the burning flood of passion which swelled up from her\nheart, and subduing herself into perfect calmness, listened to his\ninfamous proposal. A deep hectic glow on each cheek, and a slight\ndifficulty in respiration only evidencing her intense emotion. What\nmore he said she knew not--heard not--for while he was pouring forth\nsome wild rhapsody she was in deep communion with her soul. Construing\nher submissive silence advantageously to himself, he quitted the\napartment. The instant he left her presence, the pent up current of her\nfeelings burst all bounds. She flung herself upon her knees and wept a\nprayer of agony--the helpless, almost hopeless appeal of innocence\nwithin the very grasp of vice; kissing her mother's gift, the Gospel\nCharm, she bathed it in tears, imploring it to save her from this\ndreadful crisis. This outpouring of her spirit calmed and soothed her,\nfor in her extremity there came a thought of safety. To think was to\nresolve, and ere many moments had elapsed, with a firm reliance on the\nhelp of a merciful Providence, Mary quitted the house. It was nearly\nmidnight--dark and bitterly cold--yet she cared not for the\ndarkness--felt not the chilling blast; unknown and friendless, she knew\nnot where to go, but wandered street after street, satisfied that she\nwas away from him who had so cruelly insulted her. Hurrying on, she\nknew not whither, she suddenly came in contact with a well-known form;\nrecoiling a step or two, they gazed on each other for an instant. 'Twas\nthus met the brother and his sister. That chance which he had hungered\nfor, week after week, had occurred at last; seizing her in a nervous\ngripe, Frank dragged her to the nearest lamp. \"Mary,\" he exclaimed, in\na voice trembling from suppressed passion, a wild fire flashing from\nhis eyes, \"are you still worthy to be called my sister?\"\n\n\"Brother, I am,\" meekly replied Mary.\n\n\"You are not _his_ cast-away?\"\n\n\"No! by my mother's dying gift.\"\n\n\"To a merciful God be all the praise,\" fervently cried Frank, as he\nfolded her to his heart with a thrill of rapture.\n\n\"My own blessed, sorely-tempted lamb! But where is he? Come, show me\nwhere to find him. He shall not escape. 'Tis no fault of his, curse\nhim, that you are not foul as sin; lead me to the place.\"\n\n\"Not now, dear Frank,\" touchingly exclaimed Mary. \"Perhaps I may have\nfeared more wrong than was intended. Who is there amongst us that can\nsay, I have never harbored an evil design? Let us be thankful that the\nwicked hour is passed, and leave the punishment in _His_ power whose\nprovince it is to judge the hearts of men.\"\n\n\"Do you forgive him?\"\n\n\"From my inmost soul, and more for his sake than my own, rejoice that\nhis bad design is unaccomplished.\"\n\n\"You love him, then?\" fiercely inquired Frank.\n\nMary was silent.\n\n\"The snake--the fiend--had you not been all angel, the specious villain\nwould have succeeded. Mary, I will, I must see him; if I do not give my\nburning thoughts an utterance, they will consume my very heart.\"\n\n\"Let it be to-morrow, then, dear Frank.\"\n\n\"Be it so. Come, dear one, I have still a home for you; a pure, though\nlowly one. Had you been guilty, tempted as you were, your brother's\narms would never have closed against you; but now your triumphant\ninnocence will bless with happiness our frugal meal, and make your\nhumble couch a bed of flowers.\"\n\nUpon the morrow Frank redeemed his word. With a heart thirsting for\nrevenge he sought Gerald's apartment, but did not meet there the bold,\nreckless libertine that he expected. Throwing himself at Frank's very\nfeet, in wild but heart-uttered tones, Gerald cried:\n\n\"I know why you have come, but she has left me; know you anything of\nher? Oh! for heaven's sake relieve my anxiety--you have not harmed\nher--upon me, wreak all your vengeance, for I deserve it, but she is\npure, pure as the spotless snow. My base, black-hearted villainy has\nrecoiled upon myself. I would have destroyed her, and am myself\ndestroyed if she is lost to me. Say but that she is safe, and I'll coin\nmy very heart for her and you.\"\n\nSoftened, subdued by the now evident sincerity of Gerald's manner,\nFrank assured him of her safety.\n\n\"I thank thee, merciful heaven,\" fervently cried Gerald, \"that one sin\nmore damning than the rest is spared my guilty soul. Mary, beloved\nMary, 'tis thy angelic virtue which has crushed the fiend-spirit that\nhas hitherto controlled my sense. 'Tis she, and she only can protect\nand guide the heart which her innocence has reclaimed.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Gerald?\"\n\n\"That if she will receive in marriage this guilty but repentant wretch,\nit may be that the destroyer shall have one victim the less. Frank,\ndare I to call you once more brother? Intercede for me, will you not?\nThe happiness of my life, nay, the sole hope of my eternal soul rests\nnow with her.\"\n\nGerald's repentance having been proved sincere, it was not long ere\nMary yielded a heartful assent to his proposition, and as Frank at the\nholy altar delivered her over to the sweet custody of a husband, his\nheart whispered to him that he was now tasting most exquisite revenge.\nThe sacred influence of a virtuous love haloed the after lives of\nGerald and Mary with content most ample, and, although her state was\nchanged from humility to comparative affluence, she never laid aside\nher mother's parting gift, but regarding it as her protection in the\nhour of danger, still cherished near her heart THE GOSPEL CHARM.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TEST OF BLOOD.\n\n\"Thou shalt do no murder.\"\n\n\n\"You won't dance with me, Kathleen?\"\n\n\"No, Luke, I will not.\"\n\n\"For what reason?\"\n\n\"I don't choose it. Besides, I'm engaged to Mark Dermot.\"\n\nThe above, very slight conversation in itself, was to the individuals,\nfull of the greatest import. To explain it, it will be necessary to\ntake a Parthian glance at our subject. Kathleen Dwyer was the pretty,\nspoiled, village pet, with quite sufficient vanity to know that the\npreference was deserved. Every young man in the place was anxious to\npay court to her, and sooth to say, she impartially dispensed her\nsmiles to all, reserving, it must be admitted, her more serious\nthoughts for one alone. That one was Luke Bryant, and as he really\nloved her, the flightiness of her conduct, and her interminable\nflirtations gave him very great uneasiness. Often and often would he\nreason with her, imploring her to dismiss the crowd of purposeless\nsuitors that ever fluttered round, and select one, even though that\nselection would doom him to misery.\n\n\"No, no!\" the little madcap would say, with a bright smile, \"I cannot\ngive up altogether the delight of having so many male slaves in my\ntrain; they are useful, and if you don't like it you know your remedy.\"\n\n\"But do you think it is right?\" he would say; \"suppose there may be\nsome, even one who loves you truly, to lead him on by the false light\nof your encouraging smile, to perish at last?\"\n\n\"Pshaw!\" would she answer, \"men are not made of such perishable stuff.\"\n\n\"Well, well, Kathleen, have a care; if any one of your numerous\nadmirers feels towards you as I do, to lose you would be the loss of\neverything.\"\n\nAs may be reasonably supposed, these conversations usually ended in a\nlittle tiff, when the wild, good-hearted, but giddy-headed girl would\nselect some one from her surrounding beaux, to play off against Luke;\ngenerally pitching upon the person most likely to touch his feelings to\nthe very quick; herself, the while, I must do her the justice to say,\nquite as miserable if not more so, than her victim.\n\nAnd now to return, let me describe the individual whom she has this\ntime chosen to inflict torture upon her lover, and I think you will\nagree with me that he has cause for more than discontent.\n\nMark Dermot, or, as he was most generally denominated, Black Mark, was\none of those persons we sometimes meet with in the world, on whom\nprepossessing appearance and great natural ability are bestowed, only\nto be put to the basest possible uses. Character he had none, except of\nthe very worst kind; his ostensible pursuit was smuggling, but crimes\nof the darkest nature were freely whispered about him, and yet, in\nspite of all this, his dashing dare-devil nature and indomitable\nimpudence, enabled him to show himself in places where, although his\nevil reputation was well known, he was tolerated either from\nsupineness, or more likely from the fear of his enmity.\n\nIt is not to be wondered at then, that as Luke stood by and saw this\nruffian carry off his soul's beloved, his very heart should quake from\napprehension. He was unaware until this moment that she ever knew him,\nand his feelings, as ever and anon Mark would seem to whisper something\nin Kathleen's ear, to which she would seem to smile an approval, can\nonly be imagined by such of my readers, if any there be, who have seen\nanother feeding upon smiles which they would fain monopolize.\n\nJealousy of the most painful nature took possession of Luke; he had\noften experienced sensations of annoyance before, but never to this\nextent. Her fame--her character--were compromised; for he knew Black\nMark to be the very worst description of man for a woman to come in\ncontact with at all, caring nothing for the ties of morality, or for\nthe world's opinion--reckless, bad-hearted, and moreover uncomfortably\nhandsome in the eyes of a lover.\n\nThe dance now over, Luke imagined that she would give up her partner\nand join him; but no, the silly girl seemed proud of her conquest, and\nto take a sort of mad delight in wounding Luke's feelings to the\nuttermost. She approached the spot where Luke with folded arms was\nstanding, and leaning familiarly upon the arm of Mark, said laughingly:\n\n\"Why don't you dance, Luke? Come, I'll find a partner for you.\"\n\nGalled to the very quick, Luke answered with asperity--\"Thank you, Miss\nDwyer, you have found one for yourself, and\"--looking at Black Mark, as\na jealous lover only can look--\"you'll pardon me, but I don't like the\nsample.\"\n\nMark regarded him with a scowl of the deepest malignity, while\nKathleen, the real feelings of her heart kept down by coquetry,\nexclaimed with a laugh:--\n\n\"Don't mind him, Mark, he's only jealous, poor fellow. Come, will you\nnot dance again?\"\n\n\"Aye, and again, and for ever,\" impetuously replied Mark; \"Come.\"\n\nAnd as they went to rejoin the dancers, Kathleen caught the expression\nof Luke's features, and there saw so much misery depicted, that she\nwould have given worlds to have recalled her words. She yearned to\nimplore his forgiveness, but her insatiable appetite for admiration\nrestrained her. \"Never mind,\" thought she, \"when the dance is over, I\ncan easily make it up with him,\" and away she went, thinking no more\nabout it.\n\nAt the conclusion of the dance, her better feelings all predominating,\nshe quitted Mark and rushed over to the place where Luke had been\nstanding, but he was gone; with that unfeeling speech rankling in his\nheart, he had left. It was now her turn to be miserable; not all the\nsoft speeches that were poured into her ear had power to console her,\nbut her annoyance was at its height when Black Mark, presuming upon the\nencouragement which she had given him, seated himself beside her, and\nin ardent language declared himself her passionate lover. Poor,\nunthinking Kathleen, she had evoked a spirit which she had not power to\nquell.\n\nIt was more than a week after, before Luke could bring himself to\nventure near Kathleen; but finding that each succeeding day only made\nhim still more wretched, he determined to know his fate at once, and\nwith a sorely palpitating heart he neared her abode, lifted the latch,\nand entered; the first sight that met his eyes was Mark and Kathleen,\nsitting near to each other, the deep blush that crimsoned her to the\nvery throat, evinced to Luke the interesting nature of their\nconversation. She could not speak, neither could he, but giving her one\nlook which sank into her very brain, he left the place; in vain she\ncalled after him, he turned but once--a deep curse was on his lips but\nhis noble heart refused to sanction it. \"Farewell, beloved Kathleen,\"\nhe cried, while bitter tears flowed fast as he spoke, \"May the good God\nprotect you now, for you will need it.\" And Luke rapidly strode towards\nthe village, inly determining to go to sea on the morrow, and never\nlook upon her or his loved home again.\n\nMeanwhile, Kathleen, apprehensive that he would do something desperate,\nimplored Mark to follow and bring him back. With a contemptuous sneer,\nhe answered, \"Do you think I'm a fool? No, no! Kathleen, you've gone\ntoo far with me to retract now. The world sees and knows our intimacy;\nthe only barrier to our happiness was your foolish lover, Luke--he has\ntaken the sulks, and gone away--our road is now clear. I love you\nbetter than a hundred such milk-sops as he could, so come--say the\nword!\"\n\n\"That word,\" replied Kathleen, firmly, \"shall never be said by me.\"\n\n\"Have a care, girl!\" fiercely retorted Mark, \"I'm not a man to be\ntrifled with; you have led me to believe that you liked me, and you\n_shall_ redeem the pledge your eyes at least have given.\"\n\n\"Never! Mark Dermot, never!\" exclaimed Kathleen, rising from her seat;\nbut with a fierce gesture, and a determined fire in his eye, Mark\nforced her down again, saying, in a clear, but terribly earnest manner:\n\"Kathleen, from my youth up, I never allowed the slightest wish of my\nsoul to be thwarted; think you that I shall submit to be led or driven,\ncoaxed near, or sent adrift, at the caprice of any living thing?--no!\nif you can't be mine from love, you shall from fear; for,\" ratifying\nhis threat by a fearful oath, \"no obstacle shall exist between me and\nmy desire.\"\n\n\"What mean you, Mark Dermot?\" cried the terrified girl.\n\n\"No matter,\" he replied, \"the choice rests with you. You cannot deny\nthat your manner warranted me in soliciting your hand. Remember, love\nand hate dwell very near each other--the same heart contains them both.\nBe mine, and every wish of your soul shall be anticipated--refuse me,\nand tremble at the consequences.\"\n\n\"Heaven forgive, and help me,\" inly prayed Kathleen, as the result of\nher weak conduct now made itself so awfully apparent. Thinking to\nenlist some good feeling from Mark's generosity, she frankly\nacknowledged to him that her affections were entirely bestowed upon the\nabsent Luke.\n\nShe knew not the demon-heart in which she had trusted; instead of\ninclining him to mercy, her words only inflamed him into tenfold rage.\n\n\"Vile woman!\" he exclaimed, starting to his feet. \"Have you then been\nmaking a scoff and jest--a play-thing and a tool of me? Better for you\nhad you raised a fiend than tampered with me thus. How know I that you\ndo not lie, even now, woman-devil? One word for all!--by your eternal\nhope, who is it that you do love?\"\n\n\"On my knees--Luke Bryant,\" fervently said Kathleen.\n\n\"Then wo to ye both!\" cried Mark, casting her rudely from him, and,\nwith a look of intense hate, rushing from the cottage.\n\nThere was a perfect tempest of rage in Mark's breast, as he quitted\nKathleen; plans of revenge, deadly and horrible, suggested themselves\nto him, and he nursed the devilish feeling within his heart until every\nhumanizing thought was swallowed up in the anticipation of a sweeping\nrevenge. On reaching the village, his first care was to find Luke; upon\nseeing him, he started as though a serpent stood in his path.\n\n\"Keep away from me, Mark Dermot,\" he sternly exclaimed. \"If you are\ncome to triumph in your success, be careful, for there may be danger in\nit.\"\n\n\"Luke,\" replied the other, in a sad tone, \"we are rivals no longer.\nNay, listen, I bring you good news, there are not many who would have\ndone this; but what care I now--the fact is, like a sensible man, I am\ncome to proclaim my own failure. Kathleen has refused me.\"\n\n\"She has?\"\n\n\"As true as I'm alive--rejected me for you, Luke. Nay, as good as told\nme that she merely flirted with me to fix your chains the tighter.\nCunning little devil--eh, Luke? Come, you'll shake hands with me now, I\nknow.\"\n\n\"If I could believe you, Mark,\" said Luke, the joy dancing in his very\neyes.\n\n\"I tell you she acknowledged to me that she never could love any one\nbut you. Now am I not a generous rival, to carry his mistress's love to\nanother? She requested me to ask you to call in this morning, if you\nwould have conclusive proof of her sincerity, and you would then find\nthat _she could never use you so again_. But now 'tis getting late, and\nas I have delivered my message, I shall leave you to dream of Kathleen\nand happiness. Good night--be sure and see her in the morning;\" and\nthey parted.\n\nSoon afterwards, Luke missed his clasp-knife with which he had been\neating his supper, but, after a slight search, thought no more of the\nmatter, his very soul glowing with renewed delight at the thought of\nseeing his loved one on the morrow--that their differences should be\nmade up, and all again be sunshine.\n\nAbout an hour after, as he was preparing to retire for the night, it\nsuddenly occurred to him that he would like to take a walk towards\nKathleen's cottage--perchance he should see her shadow on the\ncurtain--he might hear her sweet voice--no matter, to gaze upon the\nhome that contained her would at least be something; so off he started\nin that direction, a happy feeling pervading his every sense. Arrived\nwithin sight of her abode, he fancied he heard a stifled groan, but his\nthoughts, steeped in joy, dwelt not on it. In a moment after, a\ndistinct and fearful scream, as of one in agony, burst on the stillness\nof the night. It came from the direction of Kathleen's cottage.\nInspired with a horrible fear, he ran wildly forward--another, and\nanother terrible scream followed; there was no longer doubt--it was the\nvoice of his Kathleen. With mad desperation, he reached the place just\nin time to see the figure of a man, who, in the doubtful light, he\ncould not recognize, rush from the door and disappear in darkness. In\nbreathless horror Luke entered. Great Heaven! what a sight met his\neyes. His beloved Kathleen lay on the blood-dabbled floor, in the last\nagony of departing nature, her beating heart pierced with many wounds;\nshe saw and evidently recognized Luke, for 'mid the desperate throes of\nebbing life, she clutched his hand in hers, essaying, but in vain, to\narticulate--she could but smile; her eye glazed over--her hand relaxed\nits grasp--and with her gentle head resting on his breast, her spirit\npassed away.\n\nAll this was so sudden and fearfully unexpected to Luke, that he\nscarcely knew 'twas reality, until several of the surrounding\nneighbors, who had been alarmed by the out-cry, came hastily in.\n\n\"See!\" cried one, \"'Tis as I thought; murder has been done.\"\n\n\"And here is the fatal instrument with which it has been effected,\"\nsaid another, as he picked up a gory knife from the floor. It caught\nthe eye of Luke. \"That knife is mine,\" said he, in the measured tone of\none stricken down by terrible calamity.\n\n\"Yours?\" they all exclaimed at once. \"Then you have murdered her?\"\n\nLuke only smiled--a ghastly, soul-crushed smile, most awful to look\nupon at such a time; his heart was too full for words. Reason, which\nhad been dethroned by this unexpected blow, had scarcely yet returned\nto its seat, for all unconsciously he still held the lifeless form\ntightly clasped in his arms, gazing, with a sort of stony expression,\nupon the face of her who had been to him the world.\n\nIt was not until they approached to seize him for killing _her_, that\nhe seemed to be thoroughly aware of his position.\n\n\"What would you do, friends?\" said he, mournfully, as they endeavored\nto force him away. \"Would you deny me the sad comfort of dying in her\npresence?\"\n\n\"Have you not murdered her, wretch?\" cried one of the by-standers.\n\n\"What!--murder _her_--God in heaven forbid,\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Is not this your knife?\"\n\n\"It is!\"\n\n\"And how came it here--if not used by you--in this unknown manner?\"\n\n\"It was stolen from me by that arch-demon, Mark Dermot,\" said Luke,\nshuddering to the very heart, as he mentioned that name.\n\n\"That has got to be proved,\" cried one of the crowd, who happened to be\na friend of Mark's, \"we can't take your bare word for it. Let him be\nsecured.\"\n\nBut Luke needed no securing. Listlessly he suffered them to pinion his\narms; and in the same room with the precious casket which once\ncontained his heart's treasure, he abided the remainder of the night,\nin a state of mental torture utterly incapable of being rendered into\nwords.\n\nThe morning after this awful occurrence, a coroner's jury was summoned,\nand the identity of the knife having been proved, added to his own\nadmission, and the fact of his having had a quarrel with her the day\nbefore being testified to, every circumstance tended to fix the guilt\nupon him; a verdict was delivered accordingly, and Luke Bryant stood\ncharged with the murder of one for whom he would willingly have shed\nhis last drop of blood.\n\nWith a degree of effrontery consonant with his general character, Black\nMark made his appearance amongst the spectators who attended the\ninquiry, and was loudest in denunciation against the supposed criminal.\nIt only remained now for the accused, who had been removed during the\ninquest, to be brought into the chamber of death, previously to the\nwarrant being drawn out for his final committal, to be tried at the\nensuing quarter sessions. He was conducted into the room; with a\nlistless, apathetic gaze he looked around him mechanically, for he\ncared not now what fate might do to him, when suddenly his eyes rested\non Mark Dermot. The consciousness of everything that had taken place\nseemed all to flash through his brain at once.\n\n\"Murderer!\" he cried. \"Can it be that Heaven's lightning slumbers!\nFriends!--behold that fiend; who, not content with the life's blood of\none victim, now comes to triumph in a double murder!\"\n\n\"What means the fool?\" contemptuously exclaimed Mark. \"Does he suppose\nthat reasoning men will credit his ravings, or help him to shift his\nload of crime upon another's shoulders?\"\n\n\"As I am a living man--as there is a just God who knows the secrets of\nall hearts, there stands the murderer, Mark Dermot!\" solemnly replied\nLuke. \"It is not for myself I care, for Heaven knows that I would\nrather die than bear about this load of misery; but that he should\nbrave the angels with a shameless brow, he whose hands are crimsoned\nwith her precious blood--it is too much!--too much!\"\n\n\"Then, Luke Bryant,\" said the coroner, \"you deny having committed this\ncrime?\"\n\n\"On my knees--before the throne of mercy--I do!\"\n\n\"I trust, then, that you may cause a jury of your countrymen to believe\nso; but for me, I have only one duty to perform, and circumstances\nclearly bear me out in my assumption. I must send you to trial!\"\n\nAt this juncture, one of the jurymen, who thought he could perceive a\nmeaning in Mark's peculiar, ill-concealed glance of savage delight,\nbegged to be heard: keeping his eye steadily fixed on Mark's face, he\nsaid, with solemnity:\n\n\"When the judgment of man is in perplexity as to the author of crimes\nlike these, the aid of Heaven may well be solicited, that it might be\nmercifully pleased to give some indication by which the innocent might\nbe prevented from suffering for the guilty. We have an old tradition\nhere, that if the accused lays his right hand upon the breast of the\ncorpse, swearing upon the Holy Gospel that he had no act or part in the\ndeed, speaking truly, no results will follow; but if he swears falsely,\nthe dead itself will testify against him; for the closed wounds will\nre-open their bloody mouths, and to the confusion of the guilty one,\nthe stream of life will flow once more for a short space! It seems to\nme that this is a case in which _The Test of Blood_ might be applied\nnot vainly.\"\n\n\"Willingly!--most willingly will I abide the test,\" exclaimed Luke.\n\n\"And you?\" said the juror, with a penetrating glance at Mark.\n\n\"I!\" said the latter, with an attempt at recklessness, \"What is it to\nme?--why should I be subject to such mummery--who accuses me?\"\n\n\"I do!\" thundered Luke, \"and I now insist upon his going through the\ntrial--myself will point out the way.\" So saying, he approached the\nlifeless body, and sinking on his knees, laid his right hand reverently\non the heart, saying--\n\n\"My blessed angel! if thy spirit lingers near, thou knowest that this\nhand would rather let my life-blood forth, than offer thee the shadow\nof an injury!\"\n\nThey waited an instant--all was quiet; meantime, Mark, persuading\nhimself that it was but a form, and yet trembling to the very core,\nadvanced. All eyes were upon him; he paused--cast a glance around, and\ngrinding his teeth savagely, cried out:\n\n\"Why do you all fix your gaze on me? I'm not afraid to do this piece of\nfolly.\" He advanced another step--again he hesitated;\nheartless--brutal--though he was, the spell of a mighty dread was on\nhis soul. His face grew livid; the blood started from his lips; large\nround drops burst from his forehead and rolled down his ashy cheeks. At\nlast, with a tremendous effort, he knelt, and attempted to stretch\nforth his hand--it seemed glued to his side. Starting to his feet\nagain, he cried fiercely:\n\n\"I will not do it--why should I?\"\n\n\"You cannot!--you dare not!\" solemnly ejaculated Luke. \"If you are\nguiltless, why should you fear?\"\n\n\"Fear!\" screamed the other, \"I fear neither man nor devil--dead nor\nliving,\" suddenly placing his hand upon the breast of the dead!\n\n\"See--see!\" cried Luke, wildly, \"the blood mounts up--it overflows!\"\n\n\"It's a lie!\" madly exclaimed Mark.\n\nBut it was no lie; the ruddy stream welled upward through those gaping\nwounds, and flowed once more adown her snowy breast, a murmur of awe\nand surprise breaking from the assembled group; whilst shivering to the\nvery heart, the terrors of discovered guilt and despair seized upon\nMark.\n\n\"Curse ye all!\" he roared. \"You would juggle my life away; but you\nshall find I will not part with it so readily.\" Hastily drawing a\npistol, it was instantly wrested from him. Several of the bystanders\nflung themselves upon him; but the desperate resistance which he made,\nadded to the frightful internal agony which he had just endured, caused\nhim to break a blood-vessel; and in raving delirium, the hardened\nsinner's soul wended to its last account in the presence of those whom,\nin his reckless villainy, he had expected to destroy.\n\nWonder succeeded wonder; and the mystery was soon discovered to be no\nmystery at all, but the natural instrument in the hands of Providence\nto confound the guilty. As relapsing into his former listlessness, Luke\nwas intently gazing on the body of his beloved, suddenly his heart gave\none tremendous throb.\n\n\"Hush!\" he exclaimed, with anxious, trembling voice; \"For Heaven's\nlove, be silent for an instant! I thought I heard a sound like--Ha!\nthere it is again--a gasp--a gentle sob, and scarcely audible, but\ndistinct as thunder within my soul--there's warmth about her\nbreast--her eyelids tremble. The God of Mercy be thanked!--she\nlives--she lives!\" and Luke sunk upon his knees; a copious flood of\ntears, the first he had ever shed, relieved his overcharged feelings.\n\nIt was true--she did live; from loss of blood only had she fainted, and\nthe excessive weakness had thus far prolonged the insensibility; none\nof the stabs had reached a vital part, and it was the first effort of\nnature to resume its suspended functions which had caused the blood\nonce more to circulate, just at the instant which so signally\nestablished the guilt of the intended murderer.\n\nIt only remains for me to say that Mark Dermot's previous bad character\nprevented much sympathy being felt for a fate so well deserved. In\nprocess of time Luke's devoted love was well rewarded. Kathleen\nrecovered from the effects of her wounds--gave him her hand, and\nprofiting by the terrible lesson which she had received, made an\nestimable, virtuous, and affectionate wife.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MORNING DREAM.\n\n    The dream of the night, there's no reason to rue,\n    But the dream of the morning is sure to come true.\n\n    OLD SAYING.\n\n\nPretty Peggy May; a bright-eyed, merry-hearted, little darling you are,\nPeggy! there's no gainsaying that fact; a cunning little gipsy, and\nmost destructive too, as many an aching heart can testify. But who can\nblame _thee_ for that? as well might the summer's sun be blamed for\nwarming the sweet flowers into life. It is a natural ordination that\nall who see you should love you.\n\nPretty Peg has just completed her eighteenth year; in the heedless\ngaiety of youth, she has hitherto gambolled through the road of life,\nwithout a grief, almost without a thought. Oh! for the sunny days of\nchildhood, ere, wedded to experience, the soul brings forth its progeny\nof cares. Why can we not add the knowledge of our wiser years, and\nlinger over that most blessed, least prized period of our existence,\nwhen every impulse is at once obeyed, and the ingenuous soul beams\nforth in smiles, its every working indexed in the face--ere Prudence\nstarts up like a spectre, and cries out: \"Beware! there is a prying\nworld that watches every turn, and does not always make a true report.\"\nPrudence! how I hate the cold, calculating, heartless phrase. Be loyal\nin word, be just in act, be honest in all; but Prudence! 'tis\ntwin-brother to Selfishness, spouse of Mistrust, and parent of\nHypocrisy! But, me-thinks I hear some one say, \"This is a most\ncavalierly way of treating one of the cardinal virtues\"--to which I\nreply, \"It certainly has, by some means or another, sneaked in amongst\nthe virtues, and thereby established a right to the position; but it is\nthe companionship only which makes it respectable, and it must be\naccompanied by _all the rest_ to neutralize its mischievous tendency.\"\n\nBut what has all this to do with Peggy and her dreams? Pshaw! don't be\nimpatient--we are coming to that. If you have taken the slightest\ninterest in little Peg, prepare to sympathize in her first heart-deep\nsorrow. She is in love! Now, if she herself were questioned about the\nmatter, I'm pretty sure she would say it's no such thing; but I take\nupon myself to declare it to be true, and for fear you should think\nthat I make an assertion which I cannot substantiate, permit me to\nrelate the substance of a conversation which took place between Peg and\nher scarcely less pretty, but infinitely more mischievous cousin,\nBridget O'Conner. They had just returned from one of those gregarious\nmerry-meetings, where some spacious granary, just emptied of its\ncontents, gives glorious opportunity for the gladsome hearts of the\nvillage, and \"all the country round\" to meet and astonish the\nrats--sleek, well-fed rascals, dozing in their holes--with uproarious\nfun and revelry.\n\nA sudden, and indeed, under the circumstances, extremely significant\nsigh from Peg, startled Bridget from the little glass where she was\nspeculating as to how she looked, for the last hour or two. I may as\nwell say the scrutiny was perfectly satisfactory--she had not danced\nall her curls out.\n\n\"Gracious me!\" she exclaimed, \"Peg, how you do sigh!\"\n\n\"And no wonder,\" rejoined Peggy, with a slight squeeze of acid, \"after\nhaving danced down twenty couple twenty times, I should like to know\nwho wouldn't?\"\n\n\"Ah! but that wasn't a tired sigh, Peg. I know the difference; one\nneedn't dive as low as the _heart_ for them; a tired sigh comes\nflying out upon a breath of joy, and turns into a laugh before it\nleaves the lips; you are sad, Peg!\"\n\n\"How you talk; why, what on earth should make me sad?\"\n\n\"That's exactly what I want to know; now there's no use in your trying\nto laugh, for you can't do it. Do you think I don't know the\n_difference_ between a laugh and that nasty deceitful croak?\"\n\n\"Bridget!\" exclaimed Peg, with a look which she intended should be very\nsevere and very reproachful, \"I'm sleepy.\"\n\n\"Well, then, kiss me, and go to bed,\" replied Bridget. \"Ho! ho!\"\nthought she, \"there's something curious about Peg to-night. I think\nwhat I think, and if I think right, I'm no woman if I don't find out\nbefore I sleep.\" Craftily she changed the conversation, abused the\nwomen's dresses, and criticised their complexions, especially the\npretty ones. At last, when she had completely lulled the commotion of\nPeg's thoughts into a calm, she suddenly cried out: \"Oh! Peg, I forgot\nto tell you, that one of the boys we danced with had his leg broke\ncoming home to-night!\"\n\nPeggy, surprised into an emotion she found it impossible to conceal,\nstarted up, pale as snow, and gasped out:\n\n\"Who was it--who?\"\n\nHa! ha! thought the other, the fox is somewhere about--now to beat the\ncover.\n\n\"Did you hear me ask you who?\" said Peg, anxiously.\n\n\"I did, dear,\" replied Bridget, \"but I'm trying to recollect. I think,\"\nand she looked steadily into Peggy's eyes, \"I think it was Ned Riley.\"\nPeg didn't even wink.\n\nShe doesn't care about him, and I'm not sorry for that, thought\nBridget, thereby making an acknowledgment to herself, which the\nsagacious reader will no doubt interpret truly.\n\n\"No, it wasn't Ned,\" she continued, \"now I think of it, it was--it\nwas--a\"----\n\n\"Who? who?\" cried Peg, now sensibly agitated, \"do tell me, there's a\ndear.\"\n\nNot she, not a bit of it, but lingered with feminine ingenuity, now\nmaking as though she recollected the name, and then with a shake of her\nhead, pretending to dive back into memory, just as the inquisitors of\nold used to slacken the torture, to enable the recipient to enjoy\nanother dose.\n\n\"Now I have it,\" said she, \"no, I haven't; I do believe I've forgotten\nwho it was, but this I know, it was the pleasantest-mannered and nicest\nyoung fellow in the whole heap.\"\n\n\"Then it _must_ have been Mark!\" exclaimed Peg, throwing prudence\noverboard, and fixing her large, eloquent eyes full on Bridget's mouth,\nas if her everlasting fate depended upon the little monosyllable about\nto issue from it.\n\n\"It _was_ Mark! that _was_ the name!\"\n\nPeggy gave a gasp, while Bridget went on, with a triumphant twinkle in\nher wicked little eye which did not show over-favorably for her\nhumanity.\n\n\"_Mark Brady!_\" dwelling on the name with slow, distinct emphasis,\nwhich made Peggy's heart jump at each word as though she had received\nan electric shock.\n\nShe knew the tenderest part of the sentient anatomy, Bridget did, and\ntook intense delight in stabbing exactly there; not mortal stabs,\n_that_ would be mercy, but just a little too far for tickling. That\nsort of a woman was Bridget, who, if possessed of an incumbrance in\nhusband shape, would take infinite pains to discover the weakest points\nin his temper, and industriously attack those quarters, piling up petty\nprovocations, one upon another; none in themselves of sufficient\nimportance to induce a sally, but making altogether a breastwork of\naggravation, that must at last o'ertop the wall of temper. And if the\nunfortunate besieged don't take his hat, and make a not very honorable\nretreat, philosophy will be obliged to strike its flag, the signal for\na civil war, which, like all such unnatural conflicts, strikes at the\nroot of all domestic comfort, and whichever side may remain the\nvictors, the trophy is a home destroyed.\n\nBut to return to Peg, for whose benefit I have indulged in the\nforegoing rather spiteful digression, in order that she might have time\nto recover herself; or rather, I should say, to be thoroughly conscious\nof the extent of her unhappiness. Remember, 'tis her first grief, so\npardon its intensity. Phantoms of crutches and of wooden legs came\ncrowding on her imagination, contrasting themselves with the curious\nagility with which poor Mark had \"_beat the floor_\" in the merry\njig, until he made it echo to every note of the pipes. Then rose up\nvague spectres of sanguinary-minded surgeons, with strange butcherly\ninstruments; then she saw nothing but fragmentary Marks, unattached\nlegs, a whole room-full dancing by themselves; there they were,\ntwisting and twirling about, in the various difficult complications of\nthe \"toe and heel,\" \"double shuffle,\" \"ladies' delight,\" and \"cover the\nbuckle;\" she shut her eyes in horror, and was sensible of nothing but a\ngloomy blood-red. There's no knowing to what lengths her terrible\nfancies might have gone, had they not been dispersed like wreaths of\nvapor by a hearty laugh from the mischievous Bridget. Peggy opened her\neyes in astonishment. Was she awake? Yes, there was her cousin enjoying\none of the broadest, merriest, wickedest laughs that ever mantled over\nthe face of an arch little female.\n\n\"Poor Mark!\" she cried, and then burst forth again into ringing\nlaughter, which dimpled her crimson cheeks like--what shall I\nsay?--like a fine healthy-looking cork-red potatoe, an Irish simile, I\nmust say; but had we seen Bridget, and were acquainted with the\nfeatures of the aforesaid esculent, I'm pretty certain you would\nacknowledge its aptness.\n\n\"What in the name of gracious are you laughing at?\" exclaimed Peggy, a\ngleam of hope breaking on the darkness of her thought.\n\n\"Why, that you should take on so, when I told you Mark had broken his\nleg,\" gaily replied Bridget.\n\n\"Hasn't he?\"\n\n\"Not half as much as your poor little heart would have been broken if\nhe had,\" said the tormentor.\n\n\"Bridget! Cousin!\" said poor Peg, now enduring much more pain from the\nsudden revulsion of feeling, \"you should not have done this; you have\ncrowded a whole life-time of agony in those few moments past.\"\n\n\"Well, forgive me, dear Peggy. I declare I didn't know that you had the\naffection so strong on you, or I wouldn't have joked for the world. But\nnow, confess, doesn't it serve you right, for not confiding in me, your\nnatural born cousin? Did I ever keep a secret from you? Didn't I tell\nyou all about Pat Finch, and Johnny Magee, and Jack, the hurler, eh?\"\n\n\"But not one word about Edward Riley, with whom you danced so often\nto-night,\" observed Peg, with a very pardonable dash of malice.\n\nIt was now Bridget's turn to change color, as she stammered out, \"I--I\nwas going to, not that I care much about _him_; no, no, Mark is the\nflower of the flock, and I've a mighty great mind to set my cap at him\nmyself.\"\n\nPeggy smiled, a very small, but a peculiar, and it might have been,\nperfectly self-satisfied smile, as she replied: \"Try, Miss Bridget, and\nI wish you success.\"\n\n\"Truth is scarce when liars are near,\" said Bridget. \"But I say, Peg,\ndoes Mark know you love him so hard?\"\n\n\"Don't be foolish; how should he?\"\n\n\"Did you never tell him?\"\n\n\"What do you take me for?\"\n\n\"Did he never tell _you_?\"\n\n\"What do you take _him_ for?\"\n\n\"For a man, and moreover a conceited one; don't you mean to let him\nknow his good fortune?\"\n\n\"It isn't leap year, and if it was, I'd rather die than do such a\nthing,\" said Peggy!\n\n\"Come, I'll bet you a new cap, that I mean to wear at your wedding, you\n_will_ let him know the state of your feelings, and that, before a week\nis over your head,\" provokingly replied Bridget.\n\nPeggy, said nothing. Prudent Peg.\n\n\"Is it a bet?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, anything, but go to sleep, or we shan't get a wink\nto-night.\"\n\n\"True for you, cousin, for it's _to-morrow_ already! Look at the\ndaybreak, how it has frightened our candle, until it's almost as pale\nas your cheek.\"\n\n\"Good night, Bridget.\"\n\n\"Good night, dear Peg, don't forget to remember your dreams. Recollect\nit's morning, now, and whatever we dream, _is sure to come true_.\"\n\nBefore she slept, Bridget formed a project in her mind to ensure the\nwinning of her bet. What it was, it will be time enough to find out\nby-and-by.\n\nVery early in the day, Mark Brady and Ned called to inquire after the\nhealth of their respective partner. It so happened that Bridget\nreceived them; and very quickly, for she was one of those tyrants in\nlove who make their captives feel their chains, on some frivolous\npretence or another, dismissed her swain and began to develop her plot\nwith Mark.\n\nNow, Mark, I may as well tell you now as at any other time, was a very\nfavorable specimen of a class I regret to say, not over numerous in\nIreland; a well to-do farmer, his rent always ready, his crops\ncarefully gathered, and a trifle put by yearly, so that he enjoyed that\nmost enviable condition in life, \"a modest competence.\" As to his\npersonal appearance, there's scarcely any occasion to describe that,\nfor, with the exception of one individual, I don't suppose he has a\nfeature or characteristic which would be considered by any one at all\nuncommon or interesting. Suffice it to say, Mark was a _man_! A volume\nof eulogy could not say more.\n\nAnd, moreover, Mark _did_ love pretty Peggy May; with a whole-hearted,\nmanly, and unselfish love, he loved her. I tell you this, dear reader,\nin order that you may not waste time in speculating on the subject of\nMark's thoughts, as he sat silent and fidgety, a passive victim to the\nmischievous Bridget, who, shrewd little puss, knew every turn of his\nmind as though imprinted on his face; and for the matter of that, so\nthey were, in nature's own characters, type most readable.\n\nMark was apparently very busy, sketching imaginary somethings on the\nfloor with his blackthorn stick, and seemingly unconscious of Bridget's\npresence, when she suddenly interrupted his revery by saying:\n\n\"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Brady!\"\n\n\"Eh! what!\" he replied, blushing 'till it fairly stung his cheek like a\nmillion of needles. \"A penny, is it, Miss? faith, an' it's _dear_\nthey'd be at that same.\"\n\n\"And what might you be thinking of, may I ask, Mr. Mark?\" said Bridget,\naccompanying the question with one of her very sweetest smiles.\n\n\"Just nothing at all, Miss,\" replied Mark.\n\n\"'Nothing!' then they _would_ be '_dear_,' and that's true Mark; but\nsupposing, now,\" she continued, archly; \"I only say, supposing it\nhappened to be your sweetheart you were thinking of, you might find\nanother meaning for that same little word!\"\n\nMark felt as though he had been detected in some fault, as he replied,\nsketching away on the floor faster than ever, \"But what if I hadn't a\nsweetheart to think of, Miss O'Conner.\" It was a miserable attempt at\nprevarication, and he felt that it was.\n\n\"Why, then, I should say, as you're not blind, it's mighty lucky that\nyou don't carry such a thing as a heart about you. I'd be ashamed if I\nwere you, rising twenty years old, and neither crooked nor ugly; it's\ndisgraceful to hear you say so--a pretty example to set to the boys!\"\n\n\"True for you, and so it is,\" said Mark, \"and more betoken, it's a much\ngreater shame for me to tell any lies about the matter; I _have_ a\nsweetheart, though she doesn't know it; ay, and have had one for this\nnigh hand a twelve-month.\"\n\n\"Only to think,\" replied Bridget, casting down her eyes, and affecting\nto conceal some sudden emotion, \"and for a twelve-month nigh hand! Oh,\ndear! I don't feel well!\"\n\nMark was puzzled, in point of fact, embarrassed. There was something in\nBridget's manner which he couldn't understand; he had a vague\npresentiment that there was a mistake somewhere, but when she,\npretending to be overcome, flung herself into his arms, the truth burst\nupon him at once. He was in a precious dilemma; Bridget was in love\nwith him, and he felt downright ashamed of himself for being so\nfascinating. What he was to do, or how to extricate himself, he\ncouldn't tell, as she, casting a fascinating glance right at him, said,\nsoftly:\n\n\"Dear Mark, those good-looking eyes of yours told me of your love,\nlong, long before your lazy tongue.\"\n\n\"Love,\" interrupted Mark, endeavoring to put in a demurrer.\n\n\"To be sure,\" said she, \"I saw it, I knew it and well;\" she continued,\nseeing he was about to speak. \"When do you mean to talk to Aunty? You\nknow my fifty pounds are in her hands.\" She was an heiress, was\nBridget.\n\n\"Pounds! Aunty! yes, to be sure,\" replied Mark, perfectly bewildered,\n\"but I thought Ned Riley was\"----\n\n\"Peggy's sweetheart--well, we all know that,\" interrupted Bridget, inly\nenjoying the consternation that painted Mark's cheek a livid white.\n\"And you to be so jealous of Riley,\" she went on, \"not to dance with me\nlast night; I knew the reason, but the jealousy that springs from love\nis soon forgot, so I forgot yours.\"\n\n\"Peggy! _his_ sweetheart? Riley's?\"\n\n\"To be sure, don't you know they are going to be married?\"\n\n\"No!\" vacantly replied the sorely bewildered Mark.\n\n\"Oh, yes! and now I want to tell you a pet plan of mine, if you don't\nthink me too bold, Mark, and that is, how nice and cozy it would be, if\nwe could only all be married on the same day.\"\n\nThis was too much for Mark; he couldn't endure it any longer; he\nstarted up, pushed his hat very far on his head, saying, in what he\nintended to be a most severe tone:\n\n\"Miss O'Conner, I don't know what could have put such an idea into your\nhead. Marry, indeed! I've enough to do to take care of myself. No, I'm\nsorry to wound _your_ feelings, but I shall never marry!\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, you will,\" said Bridget, placing her arm in his, which he\ndisengaged, saying bitterly:\n\n\"Never! never!\"\n\n\"Nonsense, I'll bet you will, and, if it was only to humor me, Mark, on\nthe very same day that Peggy is!\"\n\n\"Bridget, I didn't think I could hate a woman as I'm beginning to hate\nyou.\"\n\n\"Better before marriage than after, Mr. Mark. Come, I'll bet you a new\nSunday coat, against a calico gown, and that's long odds in your favor,\nthat what I've said will come true.\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\"\n\n\"Is it a bet?\"\n\n\"Pooh! I'll bet my life, against\"----\n\n\"What it's worth, Mr. Mark--just nothing at all.\"\n\n\"True for you, now, Bridget; true for you,\" and Mark suddenly quitted\nthe house in such real sorrow that it touched for a moment even\nBridget's heart; but only for a moment. Pshaw! thought she, let him\nfret; it will do him good, and make the joy greater when he comes to\nknow the truth. A hunt would be nothing without hedges and ditches.\nProceeding to the window, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.\n\n\"Ha! as I live, here comes Peg herself. She must meet Mark; what fun!\nHe sees her and stops short; what a quandary he's in. She sees _him_!\nHow the little fool blushes; now they meet. Mark doesn't take her hand.\nI wonder what he's saying. 'It's a fine day,' I suppose, or something\nequally interesting; he passes on, and Peg looks as scared as if she\nhad seen a ghost.\"\n\nA sudden thought at this moment seemed to strike Bridget; she clapped\nher hands together and laughed a little, sharp laugh, saying, \"I'll do\nit, I will; I'll have a bit of fun with Peg, too,\" so she pretended to\nbe very busy at her spinning-wheel as Peggy entered, and hanging up\nher, cloak and bonnet, sat down without saying a word.\n\n\"Ah! Peg,\" Bridget began, \"is that you? Mark has just been here.\"\n\n\"Indeed?\" replied Peggy, twisting up one pretty curl so tightly as to\nhurt her head.\n\n\"The blessed truth,\" continued the wicked little tormentor. \"Did you\nmeet him?\"\n\nA very desponding \"yes,\" was the response.\n\n\"Well,\" demanded Bridget, anxiously, \"did he say anything--I mean,\nanything _particular_?\"\n\n\"He only said the weather was pleasant, and then passed on, without\never even shaking hands with me,\" sadly replied Peggy.\n\n\"Mark needn't have done that; whatever happens, he ought to be civil to\n_you_,\" said Bridget, with a peculiar expression that made Peggy's\nheart flutter within her like a pigeon.\n\n\"Civil to me! what _do_ you mean, Bridget?\"\n\nBridget hummed an air, and, as if suddenly wishing to change the\nconversation, said, gaily:\n\n\"Oh! I forgot, we were to tell each other's dreams this morning. Peg,\nyou begin, what did _you_ dream about?\"\n\n\"Nothing, Bridget, I didn't sleep.\"\n\n\"Then you couldn't have dreamed,\" sagely responded the other, \"but I\ndid.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"I dreamed that I had a beautiful new gown given to me, and by whom do\nyou think?\"\n\n\"I don't know; Ned Riley, may-be.\"\n\n\"Ned Riley, indeed,\" replied Bridget with a sneer; \"not a bit of it. By\na finer man than ever stood in _his_ shoes. Who but Mark Brady?\"\n\nPeg's heart sank within her.\n\n\"That wasn't all I dreamed,\" and she fixed her wild eyes full on Peg,\nin a way that made hers fall instantly, \"I dreamed that I was married\nto him.\"\n\n\"To Mark?\" whispered Peggy.\n\n\"_To Mark!_\"\n\nPeggy didn't utter another syllable; didn't even look up, but sat\nmotionless and pale, very pale. Bridget couldn't understand her seeming\napathy; a more acute observer would have but contrasted it with the\nintense emotion which she felt within--an emotion not a whit lessened\nas Bridget continued, with marked expression:\n\n\"I dreamed all that this blessed morning, and morning dreams, you know,\n_always come true_.\"\n\nPeggy, still silent, seemed to be wholly occupied in demolishing, piece\nby piece, the remnant of a faded flower which she had taken from her\nbosom, lingering over its destruction as though a portion of her heart\nwent with each fragment--when Bridget suddenly started up, exclaiming,\n\"Here comes Mark, I declare.\"\n\nA painful spasm shot through Peggy's frame, yet she did not stir from\nher seat; the only evidence that she heard Bridget's exclamation was\nthat her lips grew as pallid as her cheek.\n\n\"But, law, what am I thinking about? I must go and tidy my hair.\"\n\nAnd away flew Bridget up to her room, from whence she crept stealthily\ndown, and snugly ensconced herself behind the door. Naughty girl! to\nlisten to what transpired.\n\nMark, who, since his conversation with Bridget, had seriously\ncontemplated suicide, but was puzzled about the best mode of making\naway with himself, had come to the conclusion that to enter the army as\na common soldier would be the least criminal, although certainly the\nmost lingering process, and it was to lacerate his feelings by a\nparting interview with his dearly-loved Peg, before he consummated the\nact of enlistment, that he now came.\n\nArrived at the door, he hesitated a moment, then giving one big gulp,\nhe lifted the latch and entered. There he saw Peggy herself, looking\nstraight into the fire, never once turning aside or raising her eyes,\nproof positive to Mark, if he wanted it, that she cared nothing for\nhim. He sat down, and for several minutes there was a dead silence.\nMark had fully intended to say something frightfully cutting to his\nsweetheart, but as he gazed upon her white, sad face, his resentment\nvanished, and he felt more inclined to implore than to condemn. He\nwanted to speak, but what to say he had not the remotest idea. At last\nPeg broke the silence, by murmuring softly, as though it were but a\nthought, to which she had given involuntary expression--\n\n\"May you be happy, Mark! May you be happy!\"\n\n\"Happy!\" echoed Mark, with a sharp emphasis, that thrilled painfully\nthrough Peggy, \"Faith, it's well for _you_ to be wishing me happiness.\"\n\n\"Indeed, indeed I do, Mark--I mean Mr. Brady,\" meekly replied the poor\ngirl.\n\n\"Oh, that's right!\" said Mark, bitterly. \"Mr. Brady! It used to be\nMark.\"\n\n\"But never can again.\"\n\n\"You're right! never!\"\n\n\"Never!\" and poor Peggy sighed deeply.\n\nAfter another embarrassing pause, broken only by a sort of smothered\nsound, which _might_ have been the wind, but wasn't, Mark started\nup, exclaiming:\n\n\"I see my company is displeasing to you, but I shan't trouble you long.\nThat will be done to-morrow which will separate us for ever.\"\n\n\"To-morrow! so soon?\" replied Peggy, with a stifled sob.\n\n\"Yes! the sooner the better. What is it _now_ to you?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing, nothing! But I thought--that is--I'm very, very foolish.\"\n\nPoor Peggy's heart overflowed its bounds; burying her face in her\nhands, she burst into tears.\n\nMark didn't know what to make of it. She must have liked me a little,\nthought he, or why this grief? Well, it's all my own fault. Why didn't\nI tell her of my love, like a man? and not sneak about, afraid of the\nsound of my own voice. I've lost her, lost the only thing that made\nlife to me worth enduring, and the sooner I relieve her of my presence\nthe better.\n\n\"Miss May! Peggy!\" he said, with an effort at calmness, \"this is the\nlast time we may meet on earth; won't you give me your hand at\nparting?\"\n\nPeggy stretched out both hands, exclaiming through her tears--\"Mark!\nMark! this is, indeed, cruel!\"\n\n\"It is, I know it is!\" said Mark, brushing away an obtrusive tear. \"So,\nGod bless you, and good angels watch over you; and if you ever cared\nfor me\"----\n\n\"If I ever cared for you! oh, Mark!\"\n\n\"Why! did you?\" inquired Mark.\n\n\"You were my only thought, my life, my happiness!\" There was the same\ncurious sound from the chamber door, but the innocent wind had again to\nbear the blame. Peggy continued--\"Mark, would that you had the same\nfeeling for me!\"\n\n\"I had! I had!\" frantically he replied. \"And more, oh! much more than I\nhave words to speak. Why didn't we know this sooner?\"\n\n\"Ah! why, indeed?\" sadly replied Peggy, \"but it is too late.\"\n\n\"_double_\" replied Mark, \"_too late!_\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it!\" exclaimed Bridget, bursting into the room, streaming\nwith tears of suppressed laughter, \"Don't look so frightened, good\npeople; I'm not a ghost. Who lost a new cap? eh, Peg. And more,\nbetoken, who is likely to lose a new gown? I'll have my bets, if I die\nfor it. So, you've spoke out at last, have you? You're a pretty pair of\nlovers. You'd have gone on everlastingly, sighing and fretting\nyourselves, until there wouldn't have been enough between you to make a\ndecent fiddlestring, if I hadn't interfered.\"\n\n\"You?\" cried Peggy and Mark, simultaneously.\n\n\"Yes, indeed, it made me perfectly crazy to see the two of you groaning\nand fussing, without the courage to say what your hearts dictated.\nThere, go and kiss each other, you pair of noodles.\"\n\nIt is hardly necessary to say that Bridget's explanation brought about\na pleasant understanding between all parties, and it will be only\nneedful to add that a few weeks afterwards there was a _double_\nwedding at the little parish chapel. One of the brides wore a bran new\ncalico gown of such wonderful variety of color, and moreover a new cap\nof so elaborate a style of decoration, that she was the admiration and,\nof necessity, the envy of the entire female population.\n\nBridget had won both her wagers, thereby establishing, just as\ninfallibly as all such matters _can_ be established, the truth of\nthe old saying:\n\n_The dream of the morning is sure to come true._\n\n\n\n\nTHE FORTUNE-TELLER.\n\n    \"Show his eyes, and grieve his heart,\n    Come like shadows so depart.\"\n\n    SHAKSPEARE.\n\n\nThe insatiable desire to penetrate the dark veil of futurity, which\npervades all classes, from the highest to the lowest, renders the\noccupation of the _Fortune-Teller_ one of considerable profit. In no\npart of the world are there so many professors of the _art_, as in\nIreland. The most insignificant village has its cunning person, of one\nsex or the other, whose province generally is to cure bewitched cattle,\nbe well acquainted with all the scandalous gossip of the vicinity, and\ngive advice and assistance in all delicate and difficult affairs of the\nheart; added to which, in some instances, a \"_trifle of smugglin'_,\"\nand in all, the vending of interdicted drink: _Potieen_, that had never\nseen the ill-looking face of a gauger; a kind of liquid fire you might\nweaken with aquafortis, that would scrape the throat of an unaccustomed\ndrinker as if he had swallowed a coarse file, but which our seasoned\ntipplers \"_toss off_,\" glass after glass, without a grin, their\nindurated palates receiving it like so much water.\n\nThe class of individuals who take up, or are instructed in the\nmysteries of Fortune-telling, combine rather antagonistic elements.\nThey are generally the shrewdest, cunningest, cleverest, laziest people\nyou can find. Studying, and understanding to a charm, the most\nassailable points of human nature, they obtain from their applicants,\nby circuitous questioning, the precise nature of their expectations;\nthen dexterously \"_crossing the scent_,\" with an entirely different\nsubject, astonish them at last by expounding their very thoughts. Nor\nare the old-established mysteries, the appliances and incantations\nomitted, although they necessarily must be of a simple and curious\nnature; the great oracle, the cards, is brought into requisition on all\noccasions, varied by a mystic examination of tea-grounds, melted lead,\nand indeed, sometimes in imitation of the ancient soothsayer, _facilis\ndescensus_, by the sacrifice of some poor old cat.\n\nBridget Fallow, or _Biddy na Dhioul_, as she was most commonly\ndesignated, was an extraordinary specimen of the genus. Many a\nheart-breaking was averted through her agency, and numberless the\nstrange doings ascribed to her powers of witchcraft. The love-stricken\n_\"from all parts of the country round,\"_ a comprehensive Irish phrase,\nsignifying a circuit of some twelve or fourteen miles, consulted ould\nBiddy, daily. Immense was her mystic reputation, and very many the\n_\"fippenny bits,\"_ the smallest piece of coin that could be obtained to\n_\"cross her hand,\"_ did she sweep into her greasy pocket, from the\ncredulous of either sex.\n\nIt would be difficult to describe accurately the temple of this\nparticular dispenser of fortune. Bent nearly double, partly from age,\nand partly to give greater effect to her divinations (for the older a\nwitch appears, the more credit is given to her skill), she sat, or\nrather crouched in a small, dimly-lighted room, surrounded by some\ndozen cats, of all ages and complexions, from playful kittendom to\ngrave and reverend cat-hood; black, white, pie-ball'd, skew-ball'd,\nfoxy, tortoise-shell, and tab. Now, those companions of Biddy's were\nheld in especial horror by her visitors, who firmly believed them to be\nfamiliar demons, attendant on her will. But never were animals so\nlibelled, for they were in truth, as frolicsome and mundane specimens\nof the feline, as ever ran after a ball of worsted. Biddy was fond of\nher cats, and though naturalists doubt the sincerity of cat-love, they\ncertainly appeared to be greatly attached to her; night and day did\nthose three generations of puss gambol about her; perhaps, indicating\ntheir preference for still life, they looked upon Biddy, as, in rigid\nmobility, she sat motionless and silent, inly enjoying their pranks, as\nmerely a portion of the furniture, and so had as much right to jump on\nher shoulder, and hunt each other's tail, over and about her as upon\nanything else in the room. Certain it is they did not respect her a\nwhit more than an old table, and Biddy, delighted with such\nfamiliarity, put no restraint on their impertinence. A dingy curtain,\nreaching half-way across the room, concealed a large, rudely-finished\nmirror-frame, which Biddy found extremely useful on several occasions.\nThere were none of the awe-compelling accessories of the magic art, no\nalligator stuffed, no hissing cauldron, no expensive globes; nothing,\nsave an old black-letter folio, Biddy's universal book of reference,\nand a terribly dirty pack of cards, the marks nearly effaced from\nconstant use, being the second, which, in a long life of\nfortune-telling, she had ever consulted. Adapting her mode of\noperations to the wish of her applicant, Biddy had various ways of\npenetrating the clouds of futurity, enumerating them to the curious\nvisitor as follows: \"Wirra, thin, it's welcome that yez are to ould\nBiddy na Dhioul; may you niver know sickness, sorrow, poverty, or\ndisthress. It's myself that can tell yer fortune, whativer it is. I can\ntell it be the stars, or the cards, be the tay-grounds, coffee-grounds,\nmeltid lead, or baccy-ashes; be signs, an' moles, an' dhrames; be the\nwitch's glass, or be yer own good-lookin' hand.\"\n\nThe great secret of Biddy's success was, that all her auguries presaged\n_some_ amount of good, and it was observed that the larger the piece of\nsilver with which her hand was crossed, the more extensive was the\nfortune predicted. A \"_fippenny-bit_,\" might produce a \"_smart boy for\na husband_,\" but \"_half a crown_\" would insure a \"_jaunting car_,\" or,\nhint obliquely at \"_the young masther_,\" give mysterious foreshadowings\nof \"_silken gounds_,\" and an \"_iligant family of childher_.\" A cute old\nsoul was Biddy, and extensive the knowledge experience had given her of\nthe pregnable points of general character. Why should we not give her a\ncall?\n\nI'll just tell you a few secrets, known only to two or three\nindividuals besides myself, and as some of them will be very likely to\nneed Biddy's assistance, we shall unceremoniously accompany them on\ntheir visit.\n\nIt is Sunday; mass is just over; the sober gravity of the morning (for\nno people are more earnest in the performance of their religious duties\nduring the time so allotted, than are the Irish peasantry), is\nbeginning to change to a general aspect of enjoyment. The girls in\ntheir neat, clean dresses, are tripping along homeward; and many a\nbonnet and shawl, or calico dress, is descanted upon, praised or\ncensured according to the opinion of the speaker, for the universal\nduty of the feminine chapel or church-goer, is to criticise at\nintervals the dresses of her neighbors.\n\n\"Athin, Mary,\" says one, \"_did_ you ever see such a pattern of a gound\nas _Miss_ Machree had on her back this blessed day; if it hadn't as\nmany colors in it as would make nigh hand half a dozen rainbows, I hope\nI may turn into a _nagur_. I declare to my goodness, I wouldn't give my\nould washed-out gound for two of the likes of it.\"\n\nWouldn't she?\n\n\"True for you, Nell,\" replies another, \"an' did you remark _purty_\nNorah, as the boys call her? Purty, indeed! it wouldn't take blind\nBarty, the piper, a month of Sundays to see all the purty there is\nabout her. _I_ wouldn't be seen with such a nose on _my_ face; an'\nshe comin' over us wid the pride of a sthraw bonnet, this beautiful\nsummer's day; the hood of an ould grey cloak was good enough for the\nmother before her, to wear. It isn't disgracin' my mother's memory I'd\nbe, by puttin' sthraw bonnets on my head.\"\n\n\"Well, it is a shame; do you know what I've heerd?\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Why, neither more nor less than that _purty_ Miss Norah is setting her\nsthraw bonnet at Pat Kinchela.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"It's the heaven's truth; didn't I see her to day, lookin' at him\ndhreadful? _I_ wouldn't look at a man the way she did, no, not if\nhe was made of goold.\"\n\n\"Whist! Nelly; look yondher! if there isn't Pat, see and that consated\nminx walkin' _arm-in-arm_; bless your sowl, there's quality manners for\nye. I wonder, for my part, the road doesn't open and swally such\nimpidence right up; now just obsarve them, sthruttin' along as if\neverybody else was the dirt undher their feet. Well, if that isn't\nowdaciousness, I wish somebody would tell me what is.\"\n\nBut, inasmuch as our story has more to do with Pat and Norah than with\nthose chattering specimens of a rather numerous class, we'll attend to\n_them_, and let the others go about their business--of detraction.\n\nPat has just hazarded an important question, as would appear from the\nsudden and more brilliant flush that spread over pretty Norah's cheek,\nthan from any significancy in her reply, which was simply:\n\n\"You're mighty impident to-day, Mr. Kinchela.\"\n\n\"Athin, Norieen, jewel,\" answered Pat, \"if it comes to the rights of\nthe thing, how the divil can I help it? Sure an' haven't you kept me\ndanglin' afther you for nigh hand a twel'month, an' it's neither yis\nnor no, that I can squeeze out of your purty little mouth.\"\n\n\"Ah, indeed!\" said Norah, with the shadow of a pout that might have\nbeen simulated, \"then I suppose you'd be satisfied whichever it was.\"\n\n\"Faix, yis would be satisfactory enough,\" replied Pat, who did his\nwooing in rather a careless manner, philosophically.\n\n\"And if it happened to be no?\"\n\n\"Why, thin, I suppose I'd have to put up wid that for the want of a\nbetther.\"\n\n\"An' try your luck somewhere else, may-be?\" continued Norah, with a\ndash of lemon.\n\n\"An' why not?\" answered Pat, with apparent carelessness. \"If you\ncouldn't ketch a throut in one place, you wouldn't come back wid an\nempty basket, would you? unless, may-be, you had no particular appetite\nfor fish.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, you have my permission to bait your hook as soon as you\nlike, for I have no idea of nibblin',\" said Norah, letting go Pat's\narm, and walking _very_ fast--not so fast, though, but that our\ncavalier friend could keep up with her, flinging in occasional morsels\nof aggravation.\n\n\"Now, don't be foolish, Norah; you're only tellin' on yourself. The\nboys will see that we've had a tiff, and the girls will be sure to say\nyou're _jealous_.\"\n\n\"Jealous, indeed! I must _love_ you first, Mr. Impidence.\"\n\n\"So you do.\"\n\n\"I ain't such a fool, _sir_.\"\n\n\"Yes, you are, _ma'am_; an' what's more nor that, you can't help it,\n_ma'am_.\"\n\n\"Can't I?\"\n\n\"Not a bit of it. You've caught the sickness, an' it's the goolden ring\nthat'll cure you, an' nothin' besides.\"\n\n\"It isn't you that'll be docthor, anyway.\"\n\n\"The divil a one else.\"\n\n\"High hangin' to all liars.\"\n\n\"I'd say that, too, only I wouldn't like to lose you, Norah, afther\nall. Come now, darlin',\" he went on, varying his tactics, \"don't let us\nquarrel on this blessed day; let us make it up _acush_; take a howld of\nmy arm, this right arm, that would work itself up to the elbow to do\nyou any sarvice, or smash into small pitatys the blaggard that offered\nyou the ghost of an offince.\"\n\nThis blarney-flavored speech had some effect upon Norah, yet she\nconcealed it like--a woman, sinking it down into her heart, and calling\nup a vast amount of anger to overwhelm it. Is it at all astonishing\nthat the latter flew away in words, while the former nestled there for\never? Poor, foolish little Norah, her real feeling concealed by the\ncloud of temper she had raised, thought at that moment there was not a\nmore unlovable being in existence than Pat, and what's more, she said\nso.\n\n\"Mr. Kinchela,\" said she, in her iciest manner, \"I'm obleeged to you\nfor your company, such as it is, but here is Cousin Pether, an' you\nneedn't throuble yerself, or be wearin out shoe-leather any more comin'\nafther me.\"\n\n\"Norah!\" said Pat, suddenly stricken into gravity, \"are you in\nairnest?\"\n\n\"I wish you the best of good mornin's, sir;\" and taking Cousin Peter's\narm, with a provoking smile on her lip, and triumph in her eye, off\nwent Norah, leaving Pat gazing after her, looking rather the reverse of\nwise--once only did she turn as she passed the corner of the street,\nbut that simple circumstance rekindled hope within Pat's soul.\n\nAs he was thus standing, utterly unconscious of the observation he\nattracted, he was suddenly accosted by his best friend, Jim Dermot.\n\n\"Why, tear an' nounthers,\" said Jim, \"is it ketchin' flies, or\nfairy-sthruck, or dead all out you are, Pat, avic? why, you look the\npicther of misfortune, hung in a black frame.\"\n\n\"Hollo, Jim, is that you?\" cried Pat, waking out of his reverie,\n\"wasn't that too bad intirely?\"\n\n\"So it was--what was it?\" replied Jim.\n\n\"Why, to lave me stuck here like a post, and to go off wid that\n_omadhaun_ Pether.\"\n\n\"Well, it was quare, sure enough,\" replied Jim, without the slightest\nidea what Pat was driving at, yet hoping to arrive at it better from an\napparent knowledge than by downright questioning. \"To run off,\" he\ncontinued, \"an' wid Pether, of all fellows in the world;\" adding to\nhimself, \"I wondher who the divil Pether is, and where he's run to?\"\n\n\"I didn't think she could sarve me so,\" said Pat.\n\n\"Oh! it's a she that's in it, is it?\" thought Jim, saying, with a sage\nshake of the head, \"I nivir would have b'lieved it of her myself; but\nwimin _is_ conthrary divils, an' that's the truth. When did she go,\nPat?\"\n\n\"Why, now, this very minute.\"\n\n\"You don't say? well, an' what do you mane to do?\"\n\n\"Do? why, nothing; what would you do?\"\n\n\"Well, I believe I'd do _that same_, Pat, an' nothin' else.\"\n\n\"It isn't very likely that I'll let her know how much her conduct has\nhurt me.\"\n\n\"It might make her consated.\"\n\n\"She's a shameless jilt.\"\n\n\"That she is, as sure as her name is----what it is,\" said Jim, hoping\nPat would fill up the pause.\n\n\"What would you advise me to do, Jim?\" inquired Pat.\n\n\"Well, I don't know,\" replied the other, \"it's a mighty delicate point\nto give a man advice upon; but if you'd be ruled by me you'd go an' ax\nould Biddy na Dhioul.\"\n\n\"By gorra, but you're right there,\" said Pat, \"I wondher I didn't think\nof that afore.\"\n\n\"It isn't too late.\"\n\n\"True for you; an' it's there I'll go this blessed minute. I'd rather\nknow my fate at onst, than be kep' like a mouse in a thrap, wondhering\nwhether the cat'll play wid me, or ate me in the mornin'.\"\n\n\"So, it is thrapped you are, Pat, is it? arrah, how did you manage\nthat?\"\n\n\"Faix, an' I walked into it wid my eyes open, like any other omadhoun\nof a mouse.\"\n\n\"Bedad, it takes a sinsible mouse to walk away from the smell of\ncheese, anyway, Pat.\"\n\n\"That's a fact, Jim, but I must be off to ould Biddy's: I'll get my\nmind _aised_ one way or the other, wid a blessin' afore I sleep.\"\n\n\"Good luck attend you,\" said Jim, sorely mortified that with all his\ncunning, he couldn't get at the rights of the matter.\n\nPat made the best of his way to Biddy's cabin, truly in a miserable\nstate of mind: this, the first obstacle to his love, had so increased\nits strength and intensity. After he had knocked once or twice the door\nopened, and he found Biddy in her usual position, surrounded by her\nusual play-mates.\n\n\"God save you, Biddy,\" said he, taking a seat, and brushing the\nperspiration from his brow, \"you're a knowledgeable woman, an' can tell\nme what I want to know.\"\n\n\"In coorse, I can, Mr. Pat Kinchela, whativer it is; not that I pretind\nto tell anything but what the iligant stars prognostify,\" replied\nBiddy, gravely referring to her miraculous volume, not that she had the\nslightest occasion to employ her shrewd plan of pumping this time; she\nknew all about it.\n\n\"The saints be good to us, Pat, darlin',\" she suddenly exclaimed, \"but\nhere's a bitther disappointment for some one.\"\n\n\"Not for me, Biddy; don't say for me,\" cried Pat, \"here, take this, an'\nthis, pouring out all the copper, very thinly intersected with silver,\nwhich he had about him, into her apron; now, give us a good fortune if\nyou can; long life to you.\"\n\n\"I didn't say it was for you, did I? just howld your whist, an' let the\nstars work without bein' hindhered, for they're mighty fractious now\nand thin,\" said Biddy, mumbling some unintelligible expressions and\nslily counting the while the extent of Pat's donation. The result was\nsatisfactory.\n\n\"Pat, jewel,\" she said, \"howld up your head, for there's money bid for\nyou--you'll be a thremendious rich man yet.\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't care for that,\" he interrupted, \"tell me of\"----\n\n\"Norah Malone,\" quietly interrupted Biddy.\n\nPat was wonder-stricken, he gasped for breath.\n\n\"It's thrue, then, that you do know everything, Biddy.\"\n\n\"A'most everything,\" replied the old crone.\n\n\"Then, it's no use in my telling you,\" continued Pat, \"how every\nlife-dhrop of my heart was devoted to that same girl, how every wakin'\nthought, an' every sleepin' dhrame was filled up with her; now I've\nlost her, and the sunshine of my life is gone with her for ever.\"\n\n\"I know it all.\"\n\n\"But what--what am I to do? tell me, or I shall go mad.\"\n\n\"Thry your luck somewhere else.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! I might as well thry to stop the tide with a pitchfork.\"\n\n\"You do really love her, then?\"\n\n\"Love her! Why do you ask? Do you doubt it?\"\n\n\"I do.\"\n\n\"That shows how much you know, and now I doubt your power to tell any\none's thoughts, since you can't tell mine.\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, but I can, if you want me to prove it, I'll tell you who\nyou're thinking of at this moment.\"\n\n\"Do, and I'll believe anything.\"\n\n\"_Cousin Pether!_\"\n\nPat fairly started from his seat; large drops suddenly gathered on his\nbrow; he was frightened.\n\nBiddy, seeing her advantage, went on: \"You're a purty fellow, to call\nmy power in question. I've a great mind to make you feel it in airnest.\nWill I go on or not?\"\n\n\"Go on; anything,\" said Pat; \"I'll say no more.\"\n\nBiddy then shuffled the dirty pack of cards, cut and set them out in\nher lap, saying, as she proceeded: \"Bad--nothing but bad luck. There,\nthat queen of clubs is your sweetheart, and that knave of hearts must\nbe Cousin Pether; he's rather carroty-headed.\"\n\nPat groaned.\n\n\"Here's a wedding,\" Biddy went on, \"and lots of money, to who? Let me\nsee: if it isn't to that knave of hearts again.\"\n\n\"Curse the knave of hearts,\" cried Pat, starting up, \"I have had enough\nof this. I do believe you've been playin' wid me all this time.\nGood-bye\"----\n\n\"Stay one minute; you think I've been playing with you, eh?\" said the\nold witch, rising, and speaking in a mysteriously solemn tone of voice,\n\"Young man, have you strength of mind enough to look upon the magic\nglass, and have your _eyes_ convinced?\"\n\n\"What mean you?\" exclaimed Pat.\n\n\"To show you what you least wish to see--Norah and her cousin in each\nother's arms.\"\n\n\"Impossible; you're juggling with me now; you cannot show me that.\"\n\n\"_Look!_\" screamed old Biddy, tearing back the dingy curtain--and\nthere, sure enough, within the frame of the mirror, locked in each\nother's embrace, were _Norah_ and _Peter_.\n\nThe suddenness of the disclosure, combined with the terror of the\nmoment, acting upon a frame rendered weak from apprehension, made the\nblood rush into the brain of the unfortunate lover, and without\nuttering a sound, he fell heavily to the floor in a faint.\n\nIt was some time before he was restored to consciousness, when the\nfirst form that fell upon his sight was that of the detested Peter. He\nshut his eyes in the misery of unavailing rage, but opened them again\nin astonishment, as a well-known voice whispered in his ear:\n\n\"Dear Pat, it's your own Norah that's beside you.\"\n\nPat's delight was perfectly indescribable, and I shrink from the\nresponsibility of attempting it; suffice it to say, for the elucidation\nof our mystery, that Norah and Peter were beforehand with him at old\nBiddy's, when, seeing him approach, they hid themselves behind the\ncurtain. Norah had such a convincing proof of Pat's truthful love, that\nshe never quarrelled with him again--at least before they were married:\nof their further proceedings I frankly confess my ignorance.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY CIRCLE.\n\n    \"Don't be conthrairy\n    With an Irish fairy,\n    Or, I declare, he\n      Won't regard you much;\n    But be complaisant,\n    When that he's adjacent,\n    And he'll use you dacent,\n      If you merit such.\"\n\n\n\"Corney; avic?\"\n\n\"Ma'm to you.\"\n\n\"What the mischief are you thinking so _thremendious_ hard about?\"\n\n\"Me thoughts is me own, anyway, Missis O'Carrol.\"\n\n\"Unless, may-be, you borrowed them from some one else; an' that's most\nlikely, Mr. O'Carrol; for the niver an original idaya did I obsarve\niminatin' from your own sinsabilities, sence here I've been.\"\n\n\"Exceptin' once.\"\n\n\"An' whin was that, may I ax?\"\n\n\"Whin I tuk it into me foolish head to marry you.\"\n\n\"An' have you the owdashious vanity to suppose that nobody thought that\nbefore you?\"\n\n\"Not to me knowledge, Mrs. O'C.\"\n\n\"The saints be good to us! There's a _dale_ of ignorance in the world;\nbut come now, tell me, what is it that makes you lave off your work,\nevry now an' thin, lookin', for all the world, as cute as a concaited\n_gandher_.\"\n\n\"Why, thin, Moll _machree_, I'll tell you; but you must promise not to\nmake fun o' me, for it's your good that's iver foremost in me heart.\"\n\n\"The blessin's on your lovin' sowl! I know it is.\"\n\n\"Well, then, Moll, come an' sit near me, an' lave off polishin' up that\nowld copper kittle; for I want to spake mighty sarious to you. Haven't\nyou noticed that big, slated house that's just builded up, fornenst our\nvery nose?\"\n\n\"Of coorse I have.\"\n\n\"Yes, but do you know who's livin' in it? Who, but young Phil Blake,\nthat was as poor as a _thranieen_, an' as ragged as a mountain goat, in\nhis ivry-day clothes, not more nor six months ago?\"\n\n\"You don't say!\"\n\n\"It's the mortial truth; didn't I see him awhile ago, struttin' up an'\ndown the place, as proud as any other paycock, wid a _blew_ coat on his\nback, covered over wid brass buttons, a'most as big as fryin' pans,\nenough to dazzle the eyes out of a Christian's head; an' he ordherin'\nthe min about, as importint as you plaze. Phil Blake, of all fellows in\nthe _worrild_, that niver had the ghost of a fippenny-bit to bless\nhimself wid, to see him now, crammin' his fists into his breeches\npockets, an jinkin' the goold an' the silver about, in the most\naggravatin' way.\"\n\n\"But where did he get it all?\"\n\n\"That's the chat--where? Guess, won't you?\"\n\n\"I don't know, may-be some rich ould lady fell in love wid him.\"\n\n\"Is it wid Phil? Small chance of that, I'm thinkin'. Guess agin.\"\n\n\"May-be he had a lawshuit!\"\n\n\"Be my _sowkins_, you're further in the mud than iver, Moll-shee.\nLawshuits isn't the stuff goold mines is made of; if so, it's only the\nlawyers that's licensed to dig. I'll tell you. Last night, meself an' a\nfew boys was takin' a jug of punch, at the \"Cross Kays,\" whin one of\nthem up and towld us all about it. Moll, as thrue as you're here, it\nwas neither more nor less than a _fairy-gift_.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Gospel! He cotch one of the little schamers (saving their prisince,\nfor I suppose there's a lot of thim listenin', if we knew where they\nwere perched), an' so, he wouldn't let him go until he gave him hapes\nof money. Why, they say Phil's as rich as an archbishop!\"\n\n\"But, Corney, darlin', don't you know that fairy money niver thrives?\nlet us wish Blake good luck, and think no more about it.\"\n\n\"Pooh! Nonsense! He has luck enough; we had better wish ourselves a\nslice. Money's money, Moll; a fairy groat would pay for a pot of\nporther just as aisily as Father Fogarty's. It isn't that I'm over\ncovetious, but I can't help envyin' Phil.\"\n\n\"An' you see what harm even the first beginnin' of such a feelin' does.\nAll this blessed day, you've hardly done a stitch of work; instead of\nmakin' the lapstone echo with the sound of your merry voice, you've\nbeen lookin' as disthracted as a sthray pig; why, you haven't even\nkissed the babby sence dinner. Go to work, Corney, while I get a cup of\ntay ready. Thank God, we've never wanted for a male's vittles yet, and\nhave always a plinty in the house, agin we do.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know that; but haven't I to work for it, day afther day! No\nrest; nothing but slave, slave, slave, from year's end to year's end,\nwhile gintlefolks, like Phil, bad 'cess to him, can sthroll up an' down\nthe sunny-side of the street, smoke as many pipes of tibbacky as they\nplaze; have roast beef ev'ry Sunday, an' wear top-boots. Murdher alive!\nIt's a great thing to be one of the _quality_.\"\n\n\"Well, the mischief has got into you, I b'lieve. Corney, you niver tuk\nsuch a fit as this, afore.\"\n\n\"Niver mind, Moll, I know what I know; luck's like a fox; you have to\nhunt it hard before you ketch it; the divil a toe will it come to you.\nThere's plinty of fairies about, an' who knows but there may be as\nlucky chaps as Phil Blake in the _worrild_.\"\n\nAt the conclusion of the above conversation, Corney silently resumed\nhis work, endeavoring to add another piece to a wonderfully patched\nbrogue, while Mary busied herself at the little bright turf-fire,\nboiling the water for _tea_--a few scanty grains of some apochryphal\nherb, representing that indispensable delicacy. She holds a rasher of\nexceedingly fat bacon on the end of a fork, which screws and twists\nitself about like some living thing enduring fierce agony, while a\nsleepy-looking puss, with her tail twisted comfortably around her paws\nlike a muff, sits intently watching the operation, evidently wondering\nin her own mind what it can possibly be that spits so cat-like and so\nspitefully into the fire. The walls of the little room are comfortably\nwhitewashed; only one broken pane of glass in the window, and that\nneatly mended with a piece of old newspaper; the dresser is as white as\nsoap and sand applied by tidy hands can make it, while the few\nhousehold utensils that adorn it, shine to the utmost extent of their\ncapability. It's hardly necessary to say, that a good, cleanly, homely\nand sensible wife, was Mary O'Carrol; and our friend Corney was an\nungrateful rascal to be dissatisfied with his condition. The mistake he\nmade was this (and it is by no means confined to Corney), he contrasted\nhis situation in life with the _few_ who were better off than himself,\ninstead of the _many_ who were infinitely worse.\n\nAnd now, dear, domestic, tidy Mary spreads her little cloth, coarse\n'tis true, but scrupulously clean and ironed, every fold showing like a\nprinted line; she opens a little cupboard and produces an enormous\nhome-baked loaf, so close and dense that a dyspeptic individual would\nfeel an oppression by merely looking at it, but which our toil-hungered\nfriends can dispose of by the pound, without the assistance of tonics;\nthen, the small, black teapot, having _stood_ the conventional time,\nis carefully wiped, and placed on the table, and the whole frugal but\ncomfortable meal arrayed with that appetizing neatness without which it\nbecomes a mere matter of feeding and not of enjoyment.\n\n\"Now, Corney, dear,\" said Mary, \"tay's ready.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' there's a pair of us,\" replied Corney, \"I'm just about as\nhungry as a dragin.\"\n\nAnd no gourmet, even after he had lashed his appetite with stimulants,\nwhich would otherwise have sneaked away from the laborious work it had\nto undergo, ever sat down with so keen a palate, or rose from table\nwith so capital a sense of satisfaction as did Corney on this\nparticular occasion.\n\n\"Well, Molly machree,\" he cried, \"I don't know that I iver had a\ngreater thrate nor that same rasher; if the fat of it wasn't, for all\nthe _worrild_, like double-distilled _marra_, may I niver use another\ntooth; an' that _tay_! _Gogs bleakey_, Moll, if you haven't a recait\nfor squeezin' the parliaminthary flaviour out of the _herrib_! regard\nthe color of it!\"\n\n\"An' afther three wathers,\" replied Mary, with pardonable vanity.\n\n\"Thrue for you, darlin'; why, the bread seems lighter, an' the butther\nsweeter, an' the crame thicker. I'll be judged by the cat--look at the\nbaste; if she hasn't been thryin' to lick the last dhrop off of her\n_hushkers_, for as good as a quarther of an hour, an' it's stickin'\nthere still, as tight as a carbuncle to a Christian's nose; an' may-be\nI ain't goin' to enjoy this,\" he continued, as drawing his chair close\nto the fire, out came his use-blackened pipe. He took just as much time\nin preparation, cutting his tobacco and rolling it about in his hand,\nas Mary did to clear away the tea-things, in order that nothing should\ninterfere with that great source of comfort--his smoke. Having placed a\nsmall piece of lighted turf on top of his pipe he threw himself back in\nhis chair. With eyes half closed, and an expression of the most\nprofound gratification creeping over his features, he sent forth\nseveral voluminous whiffs--what he called \"saysonin' his mouth;\" but\nvery soon, as though the sensation was too delicious to be hurried\nover, he subsided into a slow, dignified, and lazy smoke, saying,\nbetween puffs:\n\n\"Blessin's on the fellow that first invented 'baccy; it's mate an'\ndhrink to the poor man; I'd be on me oath, if I wouldn't rather lose me\ndinner nor me pipe, any day in the week.\"\n\n\"Where did 'baccy come from, Corney?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"Why, from 'Meriky; where else?\" he replied, \"that sint us the first\npitaty. Long life to it, for both, say I!\"\n\n\"What sort of a place is that, I wonder?\"\n\n\"'Meriky, is it? They tell me it's mighty sizable, Moll, darlin'. I'm\ntowld that you might rowl England through it, an' it would hardly make\na dent in the ground; there's fresh water oceans inside of it that you\nmight dround Ireland in, and save Father Matthew a wonderful sight of\nthrouble; an' as for Scotchland, you might stick it in a corner of one\nof their forests, an' you'd niver be able to find it out, except,\nmay-be, it might be by the smell of the whisky. If I had only a thrifle\nof money, I'd go an' seek me fortune there.\"\n\n\"Arrah, thin, what for Corney?\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't know; I'm not aisy in me mind. If we were only as rich now\nas Phil Blake, how happy we might be!\"\n\nThere was the cloud that shut out content from Corney's heart--far-sighted\nenvy, that looks with longing eyes on distant objects, regardless of\nthe comfort near. Most stupid _envy_, which relinquishes the good\nwithin its grasp to reach at something better unattainable, and only\nbecomes conscious of its folly when time has swept away the substance\nand the shadow.\n\n\"It was the fairies that gave it to him,\" resumed Corney, as though\ncommuning with himself, while poor Mary, with a fond wife's prescience,\nmourned, as she foresaw that the indulgence of this new feeling would,\nmost probably, change her hitherto industrious mate into an idle\nvisionary.\n\n\"_The Fairies!_--An' why the divil shouldn't they give one man a taste\nof good luck, as well as another? I'll do it--I will--this very blessed\nnight--_I'll do_ it!\"\n\n\"Do what?\" interrupted Mary, in alarm.\n\n\"Oh, nothing, nothing!--an' yet, I've niver kept anything from you,\nMolly, an' I don't know why I should now! Sure, it's you that'll have\nthe binifit of it, if it comes to good.\"\n\n\"Dear Corney,\" replied Mary, \"I'm happy enough as it is, so long as\nHeaven gives us strength to provide for each other's wants, an' you\ncontinue to be, what you always have been, a good husband to me. I'd\nrather not be throubled with any more.\"\n\n\"It's nothin' but right for you to say so, Mary, darlin',\" returned\nCorney; \"but now, supposin' that I could make a lady of you--eh? Think\nof bein' able to wear a fine silken gound, an' a beautiful sthraw\nbonnet, wid a real feather stuck in it; wouldn't you jerk your\nshowlders to show off the silk, an' toss your purty head for to humor\nthe feather?\"\n\nI must confess Mary's heart did flutter a little, at the mention of the\nsilk gown and the feather. Corney saw his advantage, and continued,\n\n\"You know how it was Phil got his money; it was by sleepin in a _fairy\ncircle_. I know where there's one, an' wid a blessin', I'll thry it\nmeself.\"\n\n\"You won't be so foolish, Corney?\"\n\n\"May I niver taste glory, if I don't do it!\"\n\nOf course, after that solemn, though doubtful obligation, Mary dared\nnot endeavor to dissuade him from following out his intention,\nnotwithstanding the most melancholy forebodings of kidnapping,\nfairy-blighting, and all the terrors associated with supernatural\nagency, filled her imagination.\n\nThe evening was now far advanced, and Corney, having finished his pipe,\nrose to go.\n\n\"Come, Molly,\" he exclaimed, gaily, \"kiss me before I start, an' wish\nme iligant luck.\"\n\nMary, with tearful eyes, replied, \"Dear Corney, if you had all the luck\nI wish you, you wouldn't have to go out into the cowld to hunt for it.\"\n\n\"Well, God bless you, darlin', if I don't come back to you Cornalius\nO'Carrol, Esquire.\"\n\n\"You'll come home my own dear, contented husband.\"\n\n\"We'll see,\" said Corney, and away he went.\n\nIt was nothing but reasonable that he should pay a visit to the \"Cross\nKays\" before he went on his fairy hunt, and it was nothing but natural\nupon his arrival there, to find his resolution had receded so far that\nit took sundry pots of beer to float it up again. At last, brimful of\nthat unthinking recklessness, which the intoxicated generally mistake\nfor courage, off he started on his expedition, singing remarkably loud,\nin order to persuade any lurking feeling of cowardice that might be\nwithin him, that he wouldn't be influenced by it a morsel. As he neared\nthe village church, however, his voice unconsciously subsided into\nutter silence; there was a short cut through the churchyard to the\nplace of his destination, but he made a full stop at the little stile;\nmany and many a time had he crossed it night and morning, without a\nthought, and now it seemed to call up ghostly images; the wind as it\nmoaned through the trees, appeared to address itself particularly to\nhim; it wasn't more than a stone's throw to the other side, and he\nwanted to clear it with a bound. At this moment the rusty old clock\nsuddenly squeaked and boomed out upon the startled air. The first\nstroke, so sharp and unexpected, shattered Corney's nerves like a\nstroke of paralysis; recovering from his fright, he laughed at his\nfolly, but the sound of his own voice terrified him still more. It was\nnot familiar to him--he didn't know it! A fancy came into his head that\nsomebody was laughing for him, and he fairly shivered!\n\nA sudden thought relieved him: there was no occasion to go through the\nchurchyard at all!\n\n\"What a fool I am,\" thought he, \"it isn't so far round, and there's\nplenty of time. Divil take me if I wouldn't go home agin, only Mary\nwould think me such a coward, besides, didn't Phil do it? That's\nenough; faint heart never won anything worth spakin' of--so here goes.\"\n\nAbout half an hour's walk brought him to the meadow in which lay the\nobject of his search--a fairy-circle. Now this same fairy-circle, is\nnothing more nor less than a ring of grass, which, from some cause or\nanother, probably known to botanists, but certainly a mystery to most\npeople, is of a different shade of color to that which surrounds it.\nTradition celebrates such places as the favorite resort of fairies, by\nwhom they were formed, that they might pursue their midnight revelry\nwithout fear of danger from inimical powers. The Irish peasantry\ncarefully avoid trespassing on those sacred precincts, and indeed\nscarcely ever pass them without making a reverential bow.\n\nOur ambitious friend, Corney, hesitated for some time, before he\nentered the magic enclosure, exceedingly doubtful as to the treatment\nhe should receive; at last, swallowing his trepidation with a spasmodic\ngulp, he placed one foot within the circle, taking care to propitiate\nthe invisibles on whose exclusive property he was so unceremoniously\nintruding.\n\n\"The blessin's on all here,\" said he, \"an' I hope I'm not disturbin'\nany frolic or business that yez may be indulgin' in. It's mighty sleepy\nthat I am, an' if yer honors would give me lave to recline meself atop\nof the grass, an' make it convanient not to stick any rheumaticks into\nme for takin' such a liberty, I'd recaive it as a compliment. If it's a\nthing that I happen promiscuously to thread on anybody's toes, I have\nno manin' whativer in it. By your laves, I'm goin' to lie down, an'\nI'll drop aisy, in order that I mayn't hurt anything.\"\n\nSo saying, Corney let himself down very gingerly, and lay full length\nwithin the fairy circle; he was one of those weather-proof individuals\nto whom the meadow-grass was as good as a feather-bed. Consequently\nwhat with the walk and the beer, it wasn't many minutes before he was\nsnoring fast.\n\nHe hadn't been asleep, as he thought, an instant, before he felt an\ninnumerable quantity of tiny feet traversing him all over; with regular\nstep they marched up his throat, and scaled his chin; making two\ndivisions up his cheeks, they arrived at his eyes, where they commenced\ntugging at the lids until they were forced open; the sight that met his\nview filled him with dreadful wonder. The circle of meadow, in which he\nhad barely room to stretch himself out, formed all he could see of\nearth. Church, village, country, all had vanished; he rubbed his eyes\nand looked again, but there was nothing; with an inexpressible\nsensation of awe, he turned round, and creeping cautiously to the edge\nof the circle, gazed downward, and could just discover the village he\nhad quitted about a mile below; with still increasing dread, he was now\naware that he was gradually mounting higher and higher. One more look,\nvillages, cities, countries, were blended into an undistinguishable\nmass, and soon the globular form of the earth appeared, thoroughly\ndefined, swinging in the air.\n\nHe then became sensible of a tremendous heat, which increased in\nintensity, until he found to his dismay that he was rapidly shrinking\nin size; his flesh dried up, shrivelled, cracked, and clasped his\ndiminishing bones tighter, until at last he was not bigger than a\nrespectable fly. \"This is mighty quare,\" thought Corney, \"there's a\ngreat lot of things like me frolicin' about. I feel as light as a\nfeather. I wonder if I couldn't make one among them.\" So saying, he\nbounded up, and to his great amazement found that he had literally\njumped out of his skin. He perched upon his own head, which had resumed\nits natural size and flying off, found himself floating securely in the\nair, while the carcass which he had just deserted fell, fairy-circle\nand all, rapidly towards the earth, and finally, also disappeared. Oh!\nthe pranks that Corney played in the first delight of being able to\nfly; he dived down, he careered up, he threw mad summersets like a\ntumbler-pigeon--so light and buoyant had he become, that the passing\nvapors served him for a resting-place; he was happy, intoxicated with\nglee, thousands upon thousands of atomies gambolled around him like\ngnats in a sunbeam, the whole surrounding expanse was instinct with\njoyous life.\n\nAnd they knew Corney, and saluted him as he passed by, with a\ncompliment.\n\n\"Hallo!\" said they, \"here's Corney O'Carrol; how are you, Corney? It's\nwell you're looking;\" and Corney was astonished at the extensive nature\nof his atmospheric acquaintance.\n\n\"How do you like a fairy's life, Corney?\" said one slim, midge-waisted\nchap.\n\n\"Iligant, your fairyship, iligant,\" said Corney.\n\n\"Then, I'd advise you to make the most of it, while it lasts. You'll\nsoon have to appear before our king, and if you don't give a\nsatisfactory reason for seeking him, woe betide you.\"\n\n\"Don't be frightened, sir,\" said Corney; \"I've rayzon enough for\ncomin', to satisfy any dacint-disposed fairy.\"\n\n\"Doubtful,\" said the good-natured elf, and off he flew.\n\n\"Stupid sperrit,\" thought Corney, and over he tumbled in mad\nrecklessness, enjoying actually, that delicious sensation which\nsometimes occurs to people in dreams--the ability to skim through the\nair with the speed and safety of a bird. What struck Corney most\nparticularly was the universal expression of glee which prevailed;\nnothing could he hear but a universal hum, which rose and fell on the\near with a purr-like undulation, such as one might imagine would\nproceed from a paradise of remarkably happy cats.\n\nWhile Corney was thus revelling in his new-found element, he was\nsuddenly accosted by two very genteel fairies. \"Mr. Cornelius O'Carrol,\nwe presume?\" said they.\n\n\"There's not a doubt of it, gintlemen,\" replied Corney.\n\n\"We have come to have the honor of conducting you into the presence of\nour king,\" they continued.\n\n\"With a heart and a half,\" said Corney; \"where might his majesty\ndomesticate?\"\n\n\"In yonder goold-tinted cloud, a few seconds' fly from this; follow\nus.\"\n\nUpon nearing the regal abode, Corney observed sundry small substances,\nlike duck-shot, dropping downward. \"What's thim?\" inquired he of his\nconductors.\n\n\"Oh!\" answered one, \"only a few discontented souls, who, like you, have\nsought our king, and haven't given sufficient reason for troubling him\nwith their complaints.\"\n\nCorney began to feel nervous, but coming to the conclusion that he had\nas good a right to be enriched through fairy agency as ever Phil Blake\nhad, he put on a bold front, and was ushered into the presence of the\nfairy potentate. There, a sight of such dazzling splendor presented\nitself to his view, that, as he said himself, \"You might as well try to\ncount the stars of a frosty night, or look right into the sun's heart\nof a summer's day, as to give the slightest notion of the grandeur that\nsurrounded me.\" All he could compare it to, was, a multitude of\n_living jewels_ of every variety of hue, sparkling and flashing in\nperpetual light.\n\nAs soon as he could collect his scattered senses, he heard a voice\nexclaim, \"What, ho! soul of O'Carrol, approach!\"\n\n\"So I'm thravelin' without my trunk this time, any way,\" thought\nCorney, as he advanced toward the voice.\n\nIt continued, \"Soul of a mortal, why hast thou sought our presence?\"\n\n\"May it plaze yer majesty,\" Corney began to stammer out, \"bekase I was\na trifle unaisy in me mind.\"\n\n\"What about?\"\n\n\"In regard of the scarcity of money, plaze your reverence.\"\n\n\"What is your trade?\"\n\n\"A shoemaker, sir.\"\n\n\"Cobbler, you mean,\" said the voice, severely. \"No lying here;\nrecollect your poor, miserable, naked soul stands before us.\"\n\nCorney thought of the height he'd have to fall, and trembled.\n\n\"You can't get work, I suppose,\" the voice returned.\n\n\"Too much of it, if it plaze yer honor. I niver have a minute to\nspare.\"\n\n\"For what?\"\n\n\"Why, yer honor, to--to----\"\n\n\"Remember the punishment of prevarication. To what?\"\n\n\"To take a drink.\"\n\n\"Then you have no home?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, but I have, sir.\"\n\n\"But 'tis pleasanter to lounge in a tap-room?\"\n\n\"A trifle, may-be, your honor.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you have no wife to make your home comfortable?\"\n\n\"Have't I though; the best that ever drew the breath of life,\" cried\nCorney, with a loving remembrance of Mary.\n\n\"Poor fellow,\" continued the voice; \"your situation is deplorable, it\nappears. You have a good trade, an excellent wife, a comfortable home,\nand yet you are discontented.\"\n\nCorney felt himself resolving into a leaden pellet.\n\n\"One question more,\" said the voice; \"when did you first feel\ndissatisfied?\"\n\n\"Why, to tell the truth, yer honor, as soon as that fellow, Phil Blake,\nbegan to build his big brick house opposite to my little mud cabin.\nBefore that, I was as gay as a lark, but it stood like a great cloud\nbetween me and the sun.\"\n\n\"Envy was the cloud, envy, that gloomiest of all earthly passions. Why\ndo you covet this man's fortune?\"\n\n\"Because, sir, he always looks so smilin', and jinks his money about,\nan' dispises the poor boys he used to be friendly with.\"\n\n\"Foolish, foolish soul!\" said the voice, in accents of commiseration,\n\"but not yet wholly tainted. Thy love of home hath partially redeemed\nthee. Listen to me. Dost thou see yonder piled up mass of\nrainbow-tinted clouds. Do they not look gloriously, as the rising sun\nflings his beams through them, as though revelling in their embrace?\nWouldst thou not like to behold such magnificence closer?\"\n\n\"Nothing in life betther, yer majesty,\" said Corney.\n\n\"Then away; a wish will place you in their midst--a thought return you\nhere.\"\n\nSo with the wish and thought Corney went and came back.\n\n\"Well, what didst thou see?\" inquired the Fairy King.\n\n\"The divil a haperth,\" replied Corney, \"but a mighty black and most\nunwholesomely damp cloud.\"\n\n\"What should that teach you?\"\n\n\"Never to thravel without an umbrella, yer honor, I suppose,\" answered\nCorney, who to say the truth, _was_ a little obtuse.\n\n\"Fool,\" said the fairy, \"since I cannot lesson thee, go to thy kindred\nearth, and learn experience from realities. Proceed to the chamber of\nthe man whose good fortune thou enviest; then to thine own, and if thou\nart not satisfied with thy condition, seek me again, and meet with thy\nreward. Away!\"\n\nAs if by magic, the brilliant assembly dispersed like clouds of\ngold-dust floating on the wind, and Corney was left alone.\n\n\"That's a mighty high sort o' chap,\" said Corney, \"but I suppose I'd\nbetther do what he towld me for fear'd he'd turn spiteful.\"\n\nSo Corney wished himself within the chamber of Blake, and there he saw\nthe most piteous sight earth can produce: a young mother weeping tears\nof agony over the body of her first-born. A man stood beside her with\nfeatures set and hard, as though turned to stone by hopeless grief.\n\n\"My God,\" thought Corney, \"and these are the people whose lot I have\nenvied, and my own blue-eyed darling, is _he_ safe? Home, home,\" cried\nhe, and with the wish was there. In his little cradle lay the beautiful\nboy steeped in the angel-watched, the holy sleep of infant innocence,\nwhile Mary, on her knees, mingled her prayer for her absent husband.\nCorney was rushing towards her, but suddenly remembering himself: \"What\na fool I am,\" thought he, \"I forgot I was a sperrit, at all events, I\ncan kiss the babby.\" With that, he bounded into the cradle, and nestled\non the boy's lip. Mary, seeing the child smile in his sleep, exclaimed:\n\"Good angels are putting sweet thoughts into your head, my blessed\nbabe,\" and she softly kissed him too.\n\n\"Oh! murdher,\" thought Corney, \"this will never do; I must go and look\nafther my body and bring it home. Thanks to the good fairies, I've\nlarned a lesson that shall last _my_ life and my boy's, too, if I\nhave any influence over him.\"\n\nSo saying, Corney wished himself in the meadow where his tangible\nproportions were extended, and having kicked and got in, shook himself\ncarefully to see if he had obtained absolute possession.\n\n\"It's all right,\" said he, \"I've come back.\" Looking up and around him,\nhe was surprised to see the bright sunlight of morning, and still more\nso to observe Mary trudging through the churchyard to meet him.\n\n\"Oh, well,\" said Mary, anxiously, when they encountered, \"what luck?\"\n\n\"A power of knowledge, but no money,\" said Corney, sententiously.\n\n\"Did you see the fairies?\"\n\n\"Did I _see_ them! bedad, I was one myself.\"\n\n\"Oh! be aisy!\"\n\n\"The divil a doubt of it; wasn't I at home a bit ago, unbeknownt to\nyou? Answer me this, didn't you kiss the babby just before you came\nout?\"\n\n\"As thrue as life, I did,\" said Mary, slightly awe-struck.\n\n\"I was there and saw you do it.\"\n\n\"Where were you, Corney?\"\n\n\"Sittin' on the end of his nose.\"\n\nOf course that was proof positive, but inasmuch as Mary always _did_\nkiss the boy before she left the house, the coincidence becomes less\nremarkable.\n\nIt only remains for me to say, that the circumstance made a very\nfavorable change in Corney's disposition, or rather dissipated the cloud\nwhich obscured his real character. Mary found her account in it, by an\nincrease of industry on his part, and he was rewarded by a corresponding\nanxiety in her, to make his home happy. Many and many a time would he\ngive an account of his aerial journey, religiously convinced of its\nreality; once only Mary just ventured to insinuate that it might\npossibly have been a dream, but the _I-pity-your-ignorance-look_ which\nCorney gave her, made her heartily ashamed of having hazarded so stupid\nan opinion, and, as a matter of course, she soon believed as implicitly\nas her husband, the wonderful adventure of _The Fairy Circle_.\n\n\n\n\nO'BRYAN'S LUCK.\n\nA TALE OF NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE MERCHANT-PRINCE.\n\n\nIn the private office of a first-class store sat two individuals, each\nthoroughly absorbed in his present employment, but with very different\nfeelings for the work. One--it was the head of the establishment, the\ngreat Mr. Granite, the millionaire merchant--was simply amusing\nhimself, as was his usual custom at least once a day, figuring up, by\nrough calculation, the probable amount of his worldly possessions, they\nhaving arrived at that point when the fructifying power of wealth made\nhourly addition to the grand total; while the other, his old and\nconfidential clerk, Sterling, bent assiduously over a great ledger,\nmechanically adding up its long columns, which constant use had enabled\nhim to do without the possibility of mistake. With a profound sigh of\nrelief, he laid down his pen, and rubbing his cramped fingers, quietly\nremarked:\n\n\"Accounts made up, sir.\"\n\n\"Ah, very good, Sterling,\" replied the stately principal, with a smile,\nfor his arithmetical amusement was very satisfactory, \"how do we\nstand?\"\n\n\"Balance in our favor, two hundred and fifty-seven thousand eight\nhundred and forty-seven dollars, and twenty-three cents,\" slowly\nresponded the old clerk, reading from his abstract.\n\n\"You're certain that is correct, Mr. Sterling?\" inquired the\nmerchant-prince, in a clear, loud voice, which indicated that the old,\ntime-worn machine was wearing out. He was so deaf that it was only by\nusing his hand as a conductor of the sound, that he could hear\nsufficiently to carry on a conversation.\n\n\"Correct to a cypher, sir,\" he replied. \"I have been up and down the\ncolumns a dozen times.\"\n\n\"Good.\"\n\n\"Did you speak, sir?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Ah! my poor old ears,\" the old clerk whispered, half aside. \"Five and\nforty years in this quiet office has put them to sleep. They'll never\nwake up again, never, never.\"\n\n\"You have been a careful and useful assistant and friend, Sterling,\"\nsaid the merchant, in a kindly tone, touching him on the shoulder with\nunaccustomed familiarity, \"and I thank you for the great good your\nservices have done the house.\"\n\n\"Bless you, sir, bless you--you are too good. I don't deserve it,\"\nreplied Sterling, unable to restrain the tears which this unusual\ndisplay of good feeling, had forced up from the poor old man's heart.\n\n\"I shall have no further need of you to-day, Sterling, if you have any\nbusiness of your own to transact.\"\n\n\"I have, I have, my good, kind friend, and thank you for granting me\nthe opportunity,\" said Sterling, descending with difficulty from his\nplace of torture.--Why will they not abolish those inflexible horrors,\nthose relics of barbarism, those inquisitorial chattels--office-stools?\n\"I'll go now, and mingle my happiness with the sweet breath of\nHeaven--and yet, if I dared to say what I want--I\"----\n\n\"Well, speak out, old friend.\" The merchant went on, with an\nencouraging look: \"If your salary be insufficient\"----\n\n\"Oh! no, no!\" interposed the other, suddenly, \"I am profusely paid--too\nmuch, indeed--but\"--and he cast down his eyes hesitatingly.\n\n\"This reserve with me is foolish, Sterling. What have you to say?\"\n\n\"Nothing much, sir; indeed, I hardly know how to bring it out, knowing,\nas I well do, your strange antipathy\"---- Granite turned abruptly away.\nHe now knew what was coming, and it was with a dark frown upon his brow\nhe paced the office, as Sterling continued:\n\n\"I saw _him_ to-day.\"\n\n\"Travers?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the other, \"Travers. But don't speak his name as though\nit stung you. I was his father's clerk before I was yours.\"\n\n\"You know what I have already done for him,\" moodily rejoined the\nmerchant.\n\n\"Yes, yes--I know it was kind, very kind of you--you helped him once;\nbut he was unsuccessful. He is young--pray, pray, spare him some\nassistance. You won't miss it--indeed you won't,\" pleaded the clerk.\n\n\"Sterling, you are a fool,\" Granite replied, sternly. \"Every dollar\nlent or lost is a backward step that must be crawled up to again by\ninches. But I am inclined to liberality to-day. What amount do you\nthink will satisfy this spendthrift?\"\n\n\"Well, since your kindness emboldens me to speak--it's no use patching\nup a worn coat, so even let him have a new one--give him another\nchance--a few hundred dollars, more or less, can't injure you, and may\nbe his salvation. About five thousand dollars will suffice.\"\n\n\"Five thousand dollars! are you mad, Sterling?\" cried the merchant,\nstarting to his feet in a paroxysm of anger.\n\n\"Your son will have his half a million to begin with,\" quietly\nsuggested Sterling.\n\n\"He will, he will!\" cried the other, with a strange, proud light in his\neye, for upon that son all his earthly hopes, and haply those beyond\nthe earth, were centered. \"Wealth is power, and he will have\nsufficient; he can lift his head amongst the best and proudest; he can\nwag his tongue amongst the highest in the land--eh, my old friend?\"\n\n\"That can he, indeed, sir, and be ashamed of neither head nor tongue,\nfor he's a noble youth,\" replied the clerk.\n\n\"Here, take this check, Sterling. I'll do as you wish this time; but\nmind it is the last. I have no right to injure, even in the remotest\ndegree, my son's interests, of which I am simply the guardian. You can\ngive it to--to--_him_, and with this positive assurance.\"\n\n\"Bless you--this is like you--this is noble, princely,\" murmured the\nold clerk, through his tears, which now were flowing unrestrainedly;\n\"when I tell\"----\n\n\"Hold! repeat his name again, and I recall the loan. I repent already\nof having been entrapped into this act of folly.\"\n\n\"You wrong your own liberal nature,\" said Sterling, mildly. \"You are\ngoodness itself, and fear not but you will receive your reward\nfour-fold for all you have done for\"----\n\n\"Away, you prating fool,\" cried Granite, in a tone that hurried the old\nclerk out of the office, full of gratitude for the service done, and of\nunaffected joy, that Providence had selected him to be the bearer of\nsuch happy intelligence to the son of his old employer.\n\nMeantime, the merchant-prince flung himself into his comfortable\neasy-chair, a spasm of agony passing across his harsh features. \"Oh!\nTravers, Travers!\" he inly ejaculated, \"must that black thought ever\nthrust itself like a grim shadow across the golden sun-ray of my\nprosperity?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE MAN OF LABOR.\n\n\nThe accommodating reader will now be kind enough to accompany me to a\nfar different place from that in which the foregoing dialogue was held.\nWith an effort of the will--rapid as a spiritual manifestation--we are\nthere. You see, it is an exceedingly small habitation, built entirely\nof wood, and, excepting that beautiful geranium-plant on one window,\nand a fine, sleek, contented-looking puss winking lazily on the\nother--both, let me tell you, convincing evidence that the household\ndeities are worshipped on the hearth within--for wheresoever you see\nflowers cultivated outside of an humble house, look for cleanliness,\nand domestic comfort on the inside--excepting those two things, but\nlittle of ornament is visible. Kind people dwell within, you may know;\nfor, see, the placid puss don't condescend to change her position as we\nnear her; her experience hasn't taught her to dread an enemy in our\nspecies.\n\n\"Lift the latch; 'tis but a primitive fastening--nay! don't hesitate;\nyou know we are invisible. There! you are now in the principal\napartment. See how neat and tidy everything is. The floor, to be sure,\nis uncarpeted; but then it is sedulously clean. Look at those white\nwindow-curtains; at that well-patched table-cloth, with every fold as\ncrisp as though it had been just pressed; the dresser over there, each\narticle upon it bright as industry and the genius of happy home can\nmake it.--What an appetizing odor steams in from yonder kitchen! and\nlisten to those dear little birds, one in each window, carrying on a\nquiet, demure conversation, in their own sweet way! Do they not say,\nand does not every quiet nook echo:\n\n\"Though poor and lowly, there is all of Heaven that Heaven vouchsafes\nto man, beneath this humble roof; for it is the sphere of her who is\nGod's choicest blessing--that world angel--a good, pure-hearted, loving\nWIFE.\"\n\nBut hark! who is that singing? You can hear him, although he is yet a\nstreet off; and so can she who is busy within there, you can tell by\nthat little scream of joy.\n\nThat is Tom Bobalink, the honest truckman, and the owner of this little\nnest of contentment.\n\nBut, if you please, I will resume my narrative my own way, for you are\na very uncommunicative companion, friend reader, and it is impossible\nfor me to discover whether you like the scene we have been looking at,\nor do not.\n\nIn a few moments, Tom rushed into the little room, his face all a-glow\nwith healthy exercise, and a joyous song at his lips.\n\n\"Hello! pet, where are you?\" he cried, putting down his hat and whip.\n\n\"Here am I, Tom!\" answered as cheerful a voice as ever bubbled up from\na heart, full of innocence and love.\n\n\"_Din_ in a _sec_,\" meaning dinner in a second; for \"Tom and Pol,\" in\ntheir confidential chats, abbreviated long words occasionally; and I\ngive this explanation as a sort of guide to their pet peculiarity.\n\n\"Hurry up, Polly!\" cried Tom, with a good-humored laugh, \"for I'm jolly\nhungry, I tell you. Good gracious! I've heard of people's taking all\nsorts of thing to get up an appetite; if they'd only have the sense to\ntake _nothing_, and keep on at it, it's wonderful what an effect it\nwould have on a lazy digestion.\"\n\nPolly now entered with two or three smoking dishes, which it did not\ntake long to place in order. Now, I should dearly like to give you a\ndescription of my heroine--aye! heroine--for it is in her station that\nsuch are to be found--noble spirits, who battle with privation and\nuntoward fate--smoothing the rugged pathway of life, and infusing fresh\nenergy into the world-exhausted heart. Oh! what a crown of glory do\nthey deserve, who wear a smile of content upon their lips, while the\niron hand of adversity is pressing on their hearts, concealing a life\nof martyrdom beneath the heroism of courageous love.\n\nI say I should like to give you some slight description of Polly's\nexternal appearance, but that I choose rather that my readers should\ntake their own individual ideas of perfect loveliness, and clothe her\ntherein; for, inasmuch as she is the type of universal excellence, in\nmind and character, I wish her to be so in form and beauty.\n\n\"What have you got for me, Polly?\" says Tom.\n\n\"It ain't much,\" she replied; \"cos you know we can't afford _lux'es_;\nbut it's such a sweet little neck of _mut_, and lots of _wedges_.\"\n\n\"Gollopshus!\" says Tom; \"out with it! I'm as hungry as an unsuccessful\noffice-seeker.\"\n\n\"Office-seekers! what are they, Tom?\"\n\n\"Why, Polly, they are--faith, I don't know what to compare them to;\nyou've heard of those downy birds, that when some other has got hisself\na comfortable nest, never rests until he pops into it. But them's\npolitics, Polly, and ain't _prop_ for _wom_ to meddle with.\"\n\n\"I agree with you there, Tom, dear; there's enough to occupy a woman's\ntime and attention inside of her house, without bothering her heart\nwith what's going on outside.\"\n\n\"Bless your homey little heart!\" cried Tom, heartily. \"Oh! Polly,\ndarling, if there were a few more good wives, there would be a great\nmany less bad husbands. This is glorious! If we could only be sure that\nwe had as good a dinner as this all our lives, Pol, how happy I should\nbe; but I often think, my girl, that if any accident should befall me,\nwhat would become of you.\"\n\n\"Now, don't talk that way, Thomas; nor don't repine at your condition;\nit might be much worse.\"\n\n\"I can't help it. I try not; but it's impossible, when I see people\ndressed up and tittevated out, as I go jogging along with my poor old\nhorse and truck--I envy them in my heart, Pol--I know it's wrong; but\nit's there, and it would be worse to deny it.\"\n\n\"Could any of those fine folks enjoy their dinner better than you did,\nTom?\" said Polly, with a cheering smile.\n\n\"No, my girl!\" shouted he, and the joy spread over his face again--\"not\nif they had forty courses. But eating isn't all, Pol,\" he continued,\ngrowing suddenly serious once more. \"This living from hand to\nmouth--earning with hard labor every crust we put into it--never seeing\nthe blessed face of a dollar, that isn't wanted a hundred ways by our\nnecessities--is rather hard.\"\n\n\"Ah! Tom, and thankful ought we to be that we have health to earn that\ndollar. Think of the thousands of poor souls that are worse off than\nourselves! Never look above your own station with envy, Thomas; but\nbelow it with gratitude.\"\n\nIt was at this moment that there appeared at the open door, a poor,\nwretched-looking individual, evidently an Irishman, and, from the\nsingularity of his dress, only just arrived. He said not a word, but\nupon his pale cheek was visibly printed a very volume of misery.\n\n\"Hello! friend, what the devil do you want?\" asked Tom.\n\n\"Don't speak so, Thomas. He's sick and in distress,\" said Polly, laying\nher finger on his mouth. \"There! suppose you were like that?\"\n\n\"What? a Paddy!\" replied the other, with a jolly laugh; \"don't mention\nit!\" then calling to the poor stranger, who was resignedly walking\naway; \"Come on Irish!\" he cried. \"Do you want anything?\"\n\n\"Av you plaze, sir,\" answered the Irishman, \"I'd like to rest meself.\"\n\n\"Sit down, poor fellow!\" said Polly, dusting a chair, and handing it\ntowards him.\n\n\"I don't mane that, ma'm; a lean o' the wall, an' an air o' the fire'll\ndo. The blessin's on ye for lettin' me have it!\" so saying, he placed\nhimself near the cheerful fire-place, and warmed his chilled frame.\n\n\"A big lump of a fellow like you, wouldn't it be better for you to be\nat work than lounging about in idleness?\" said Tom.\n\n\"Indeed, an' its thrue for ye, sir, it would so; but where is a poor\nboy to find it?\"\n\n\"Oh! anywhere--everywhere.\"\n\n\"Bedad, sir, them's exactly the places I've been lookin' for it, for\nthe last three weeks; but there was nobody at home. I hunted the work\nwhile I had the stringth to crawl afther it, an' now, av it was to\ncome, I'm afear'd that I haven't the stringth to lay howld ov it.\"\n\n\"Are you hungry?\" inquired Polly.\n\n\"I'm a trifle that way inclined, ma'm,\" he replied, with a semi-comic\nexpression.\n\n\"Poor fellow, here, sit down and eat,\" said Polly, hurriedly diving\ninto the savory stew, and forking up a fine chop, which she handed to\nthe hungry stranger.\n\n\"I'd relish it betther standin', if you plaze, ma'm,\" said he, pulling\nout a jack-knife and attacking the viands with vigorous appetite,\nexclaiming, \"May the Heavens bless you for this good act; sure it's the\npoor man that's the poor man's friend, afther all. You've saved me,\nsowl and body this blessed day. I haven't begged yet, but it was comin'\non me strong. I looked into the eyes of the quality folks, but they\ncarried their noses so high they couldn't see the starvation that was\nin my face, and I wouldn't ax the poor people for fear they were worse\noff than meself.\"\n\n\"Ain't you sorry, Thomas, for what you said just now?\" inquired Polly\nof her husband.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, striking his fist on the table. \"I'm more\ndiscontented than ever, to think that a few hundred scoundrel schemers,\nor fortunate fools, should monopolize the rights of millions; isn't it\ndevilish hard that I can't put my hand in my pocket and make this poor\nfellow's heart jump for joy.\"\n\n\"Point out to him where he can get some employment, Thomas, and his\nheart will be continually jumping,\" replied Polly.\n\nBy this time the poor stranger had finished his extempore meal, and\nshut up his pocket-knife, which he first carefully wiped on the tail of\nhis coat. \"May God bless you for this,\" said he. \"I'm stronger now.\nI'll go an' hunt for a job; may-be luck won't be a stepfather to me all\nmy days.\"\n\n\"Stop,\" cried Tom, \"suppose I were to give you something to do, what\nwould you say?\"\n\n\"Faix, I wouldn't say much, sir,\" said the Irishman, \"but I'd do it.\"\n\n\"Come along with me, then, and if I get any job, I'll get you to help\nme.\"\n\n\"Oh, then, may long life attend you for puttin' fresh blood in my\nveins,\" responded the excited Milesian, giving his already curiously\nbad hat a deliberate punch in the crown, to show his gratitude and\ndelight.\n\n\"Bless his noble, honest, loving heart,\" cried Polly, as Tom, having\nimpressed his usual kiss upon her lips, started to his labor again. \"If\nit were not for those little fits of discontent every now and then,\nwhat a man he'd be; but we can't be all perfect; don't I catch myself\nthinking silks and satins sometimes, instead of cottons and calicoes?\nand I'll be bound, if the truth was known, the great folks that wear\nnothing else but grand things, don't behave a bit better, but keep\nlonging for something a little grander still, so _he_ mustn't be\nblamed, nor he shan't, neither, in my hearing.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE BOARDING-HOUSE.\n\n\nTurn we now to the _highly-genteel_ establishment where Henry Travers\nand his young wife are now domiciliated, presided over by a little\nmore than middle-aged, severe-looking personage, who rejoiced in the\neuphonious name of GRIMGRISKIN; her temper, phraseology, and general\ndisposition may be better illustrated by the conversation which is now\ngoing on between her and her two unfortunate inmates. The mid-day\naccumulation of scraps, which was dignified by the name of dinner, but\njust over, Henry Travers, in his small, uncomfortable bed-room, was\nruminating upon the darkness of his present destiny, when a sharp knock\nat his door admonished him that he was about to receive his usual\ndunning visit from his amiable landlady.\n\n\"Come in,\" he gasped, with the articulation of a person about to\nundergo a mild species of torture.\n\n\"You'll excuse me, good people,\" said Grimgriskin, \"for the intrusion;\nbut business is business, and if one don't attend _to_ one's business,\nit's highly probable one's business will make unto itself wings, and,\nin a manner of speaking, fly away: not that I want to make you feel\nuncomfortable. I flatter myself, in this establishment, nobody need\nbe under such a disagreeable apprehension; but houses won't keep\nthemselves, at least _I_ never knew any so to do. Lodgings is\nlodgings, and board is board; moreover, markets--specially at this\nseason of the year--may reasonably be said to be _markets_; beef\nand mutton don't jump spontaneously into one's hands; promiscuous-like,\nneither do the hydrants run tea and coffee--at least as far as my\nknowledge of hydrants goes.\"\n\n\"The plain sense of all this is\"----\n\n\"Exactly what I am coming to,\" interrupted the voluble hostess. \"I'm a\nwoman of few words; but those few, such as they are, I'm proud to say,\nare generally to the purpose. I make it a point to send in my bills\nregularly every month, and I presume that it's not an unreasonable\nstretch of imagination to expect them to be paid. Now, for the last\nthree months they have come up to you receipted, and down to me with\nwhat one might call the autographical corner torn off. Now, as it is\nnot in my nature to make any one feel uncomfortable, and being a woman\nof very few words, I would merely intimate to you that rents is\nrents--and, moreover, must be paid--and mine, I am sorry to observe, is\nnot a singular exception in such respect.\"\n\n\"My dear Mrs. Grim\"----\n\n\"One moment!\" interposed the woman of few words. \"Perhaps you may not\nbe aware of the circumstance, but I have my eyes open--and, moreover,\nmy ears--whispers is whispers, and I _have_ heard something that\n_might_ make you uncomfortable; but as that is not my principle, I\nwon't repeat it; but talkers, you know, will be talkers, and boarders\ncan never be anything else in the world but boarders.\"\n\n\"What have they dared to say of us?\" inquired Henry.\n\n\"Nothing--oh! nothing to be repeated--dear, no! I'm proud to observe\nthat my boarders pay regularly every month, and are therefore highly\nrespectable; and respectable boarders make a respectable house, and I\nwouldn't keep anything else. Thank Heaven, I have that much\nconsideration for my own respectability!\"\n\n\"May I be permitted to ask what all this amounts to?\" asked Henry, with\ncommendable resignation.\n\n\"Just two hundred dollars,\" sharply replied Mrs. Grimgriskin; \"being\neighty for board, and one hundred and twenty for extras. I'm a woman of\nfew words\"----\n\n\"And I'm a man of less,\" said Henry, \"I can't pay it.\"\n\n\"I had my misgivings,\" cried the landlady, tartly, \"notwithstanding\nyour boast of being connected with the rich Mr. Granite. Allow me to\nsay, sir,\" she continued, seating herself upon a chair, \"I've just sent\nfor a hackman to take your trunks away, and I mean to retain the\nfurniture until some arrangement is made.\"\n\n\"May I come in?\" murmured a small, but apparently well-known voice at\nthe door, from the alacrity with which Henry's poor, young wife rushed\nto open it, admitting old Sterling, the clerk.\n\n\"Let me look in your eyes,\" cried she; \"is there any hope?\"\n\nSterling shook his head.\n\n\"No--no more!\"\n\n\"Heaven help us!\" she exclaimed, as she tottered back to her seat.\n\n\"Heaven has helped you, my bright bird,\" said Sterling. \"I only shook\nmy head to make your joy the greater.\"\n\n\"What say you?\" exclaimed Travers; \"has that stony heart relented?\"\n\n\"It is not a stony heart,\" replied Sterling; \"I am ashamed of you for\nsaying so. It's a good, generous heart. It has made mine glow with\nlong-forgotten joy this day.\"\n\n\"Does he give us relief?\" inquired Henry.\n\n\"He does,\" said the old man, the enthusiasm of generous happiness\nlighting up his features; \"great, enduring relief. What do you think of\nfive thousand dollars?\"\n\n\"You dream, I dream!\" cried Travers, starting up in astonishment; while\nMrs. Grimgriskin, smoothing her unamiable wrinkles, and her apron at\nthe same time, at the mention of so _respectable_ a sum, came forward,\nsaying, in her newest-lodger voice--\n\n\"You'll excuse me; but I'm a woman of few words. I hope you won't take\nanything I've said as at all personal to you, but only an endeavor, as\nfar as in me lies, to keep up the credit of my own establishment; as\nfor that little trifle between us, of course you can take your own time\nabout that.\" So saying, and with a profusion of unnoticed courtesies,\nshe quitted the room.\n\nShe had scarcely done so, when, with a deep groan of agony, Sterling\npressed his hand against his head, and staggered to a chair. In an\ninstant, Henry and his wife were by his side.\n\n\"What is the matter, my dear Sterling?\" cried Henry.\n\n\"Don't come near me,\" replied the old clerk, the very picture of\ndespair and wretchedness; \"I am the destroyer of your peace, and of my\nown, for ever. Oh! why was I allowed to see this dreadful day? Curse\nme, Travers! Bellow in my blunted ear, that my vile sense may drink it\nin. I've lost it--lost it!\"\n\n\"Not the money?\" exclaimed Henry and his wife at a breath.\n\n\"That's right! kill me--kill me! I deserve it!\" continued Sterling, in\nan agony of grief. \"Oh! careless, guilty, unhappy old man, that in your\nown fall must drag down all you love, to share your ruin!\nlost--lost--lost, for ever!\"\n\n\"Forgive even the appearance of injustice, my good, kind old friend,\"\nsoothingly observed Travers. \"It is I who am the doomed one. There is\nno use in striving against destiny.\"\n\n\"Don't, Henry, don't!\" gasped the old clerk, through his fast-falling\ntears. \"This kindness is worse than your reproof. Let me die--let me\ndie! I am not fit to live!\" Suddenly starting to his feet, he cried:\n\"I'll run back--perhaps I may find it. Oh! no--no! I cannot; my old\nlimbs, braced up by the thought of bringing you happiness, are weakened\nby the effect of this terrible reaction!\"\n\n\"Come--come, old friend, take it not so much to heart!\" said Travers,\ncheering him as well as he could. \"There, lean upon me; we'll go and\nsearch for it together, and even if it be not found, the loss is not a\nfatal one, so long as life and health remain.\"\n\n\"You say this but to comfort me, and in your great kindness of heart,\ndear, dear boy!\" cried Sterling, as he rose from the chair, and\nstaggered out to retrace his steps, in the hope of regaining that which\nhad been lost.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE PIECE OF LUCK.\n\n\nIt so happened that the very truckman who was sent to take Henry's\ntrunks, was our friend Bobolink, who was plying in the vicinity, and as\nit was his first job, he was anxious enough to get it accomplished;\ntherefore, a few minutes before Sterling came out, he and his prot\u00e9g\u00e9,\nBryan, the Irishman, trotted up to the door.\n\n\"There! away with you up, and get the trunks,\" said Bobolink; \"I'll\nwait for you here.\"\n\nBryan timidly rung at the bell, and entered. In the meantime, Tom stood\nat his horse's head, pulling his ears, and having a little confidential\nchat. Taking out his wallet, he investigated its contents.\n\n\"Only fifty cents,\" he exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders, \"and this\njob will make a dollar--that's all the money in the world.\"\n\nIn putting back his greasy, well-worn wallet, his eye happened to fall\nupon an object, which made the blood rush with a tremendous bound\nthrough his frame. Lying close to the curb, just below his feet, was a\nlarge pocket-book.\n\n\"Good gracious!\" he exclaimed, \"what's that? It looks very\nlike\"--(picking it up hurriedly, and taking a hasty survey of its\ncontents)--\"it is--money--heaps of money--real, good money, and such a\nlot--all fifties and twenties!\" And now a crowd of contending thoughts\npressed upon his brow. First, he blessed his good luck; then, he cursed\nthe heaviness of the temptation--he thrust it deep into his bosom;\nagain, he thought he would place it where he found it; at one moment he\nwould whistle, and endeavor to look unconcerned; at another, he would\ntremble with apprehension. What to do with it, he did not know; but the\ntempter was too strong; he at last determined to retain it. \"It's a\nwindfall,\" said he to himself; \"nobody has seen me take it. Such a\nlarge sum of money could not have been lost by a poor person, and\nnobody wants it more than I do myself. I'll be hanged if I don't keep\nit!\"\n\nJust then Bryan emerged from the door, with a most lachrymose\nexpression of countenance, and was very much astonished to find that\nhis stay did not produce an equally woe-begone effect upon Tom.\n\n\"There's no thrunks goin',\" said Bryan. \"The fellow as was leavin',\nain't leavin' yet; because somebody's after leavin' him a lot o' money.\n\n\"Come, jump up, then,\" cried Bobolink, \"and don't be wasting time\nthere.\"\n\nAt that moment his eye caught that of Sterling, who, with Travers, had\ncommenced a search for the lost pocket-book. Instinct told him in an\ninstant what their occupation was, and yet he determined to keep the\nmoney.\n\n\"My man,\" said Travers to Bryan, \"did you see anything of a pocket-book\nnear this door?\"\n\n\"Is it me?\" replied Bryan. \"Do I look as if I'd seen it? I wish I had!\"\n\n\"What for? you'd keep it, I suppose?\" observed Travers.\n\n\"Bad luck to the keep,\" replied Bryan; \"and to you for thinkin' it! but\nit's the way of the world--a ragged waistcoat's seldom suspected of\nhidin' an honest heart.\"\n\n\"Come, old friend,\" said Henry to Sterling, \"these men have not seen\nit, evidently;\" and off they went on their fruitless errand, while a\nfeeling of great relief spread itself over Bobolink's heart at their\ndeparture.\n\n\"How wild that ould fellow looked,\" said Bryan.\n\n\"Humbug!\" replied Bobolink; \"it was only put on to make us give up the\npocket-book.\"\n\n\"Make us give it up?\"\n\n\"Yes; that is to say, if we had it. There, don't talk. I'm sick. I've\ngot an oppression on my chest, and if I don't get relief, I'll drop in\nthe street.\"\n\n\"Indeed, an' somethin's come over ye since mornin', sure enough,\" said\nBryan; \"but you've been kind, an' good, an' generous to me, an' may I\nnever taste glory, but if I could do you any good by takin' half yer\ncomplaint, I'd do it.\"\n\n\"I dare say you would,\" replied Tom; \"but my constitution's strong\nenough to carry it all. There, you run home, and tell Polly I'll be\nback early. I don't want you any more.\"\n\nAs soon as Bryan was off, Bobolink sat down on his truck, and began to\nruminate. His first thought was about his wife. \"Shall I tell Polly?\"\nthought he. \"I've never kept a secret from her yet. But, suppose she\nwouldn't let me keep it? I shan't say a word about it. I'll hide it for\na short time, and then swear I got a prize in the lottery.\" It suddenly\noccurred to him that he was still on the spot where he had found the\nmoney. \"Good Heaven,\" said he, \"why do I linger about here? I must be\naway--away anywhere! and yet I feel as though I was leaving my life's\nhappiness here. Pooh! lots of money will make any one happy.\" So\nsaying, and singing--but with most constrained jollity--one of the\nsongs which deep bitterness had called up spontaneously from his heart,\nhe drove to the nearest groggery, feeling assured that he should\nrequire an unusual stimulant of liquor, to enable him to fitly bear\nthis accumulation of good luck, which did not justly belong to him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nHOME.\n\n\n\"What a dear, considerate, good-natured husband I have, to be sure! The\nproudest lady in the land can't be happier than I am in my humble\nhouse,\" said Polly, as she bustled about to prepare for Tom's coming\nhome, having been informed by Bryan that she was to expect him. \"Poor\nfellow! he may well be tired and weary. I must get his bit of supper\nready. Hush! that's his footstep,\" she continued. But something smote\nher as she noticed the fact, that he was silent. There was no cheering\nsong bursting from his throat--no glad word of greeting; but he entered\nthe door, moody and noiseless. Another glance. Did not her eye deceive\nher? No! The fatal demon of Liquor had imprinted his awful mark upon\nhis brow. She went up to him, and, in a voice of affection, asked what\nwas the matter.\n\n\"Matter? What should be the matter?\" he answered, peevishly.\n\n\"Don't speak so crossly, Thomas,\" said she, in a subdued voice; \"you\nknow I did not mean any harm.\"\n\n\"Bless your little soul! I know you didn't,\" he exclaimed, giving her a\nhearty embrace. \"It's me that's the brute.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Thomas, you are nothing of the kind,\" she went on, the\ncheerful smile once more on her lip.\n\n\"I am, Polly; I insist upon being a brute. Ah! you don't know all.\"\n\n\"All what? you alarm me!\"\n\n\"I wish I dared tell her,\" thought Bobolink; \"I will! I've found a\njolly lot of money to-day, Polly.\"\n\n\"How much, Thomas?\"\n\n\"Shall I tell her? I've a great mind to astonish her weak nerves. How\nmuch do you think?\" cried he, with a singular expression, which Polly\nattributed but to one terrible cause, and she turned sadly away. That\nangered him--for men in such moods are captious about trifles. \"I won't\ntell her,\" said he; \"she doesn't deserve it. Well, then, I've earned a\n_dollar_.\"\n\n\"Only a dollar?\" replied Polly. \"Well, never mind, dear Thomas, we must\nmake it do; and better a dollar earnt, as you have earnt yours, by your\nown honest industry, than thousands got in any other way.\"\n\nSomehow Tom fancied that everything she said was meant as so many digs\nat him, forgetting, in his insane drunkenness, that she must have been\nignorant of what had passed. The consequence was, that he became\ncrosser than ever.\n\n\"Why do you keep saying savage things, that you know must aggravate\nme?\" he cried. \"I can't eat. Have you any brandy in the house? I have a\npain here!\" and he clasped his hands upon his breast, where the\npocket-book lay concealed. \"I think the brandy would relieve me.\"\n\n\"My poor Thomas,\" replied his wife, affectionately; \"something must\nhave happened to annoy you! I never saw you thus before; but you are so\nseldom the worse for drink, that I will not upbraid you. The best of\nmen are subject to temptation.\"\n\nAt that word Bobolink started from his seat, and gazing intently in her\nface, exclaimed--\n\n\"What do you mean by that?\"\n\n\"Why, even you, Thomas, have been tempted to forget yourself,\" she\nreplied.\n\n\"How do you know?\" he thundered, his face now sickly pale.\n\n\"I can see it in every feature, my poor husband!\" said she,\nsorrowfully, as she quitted the room to get the brandy he required.\n\n\"I suppose you can,\" muttered Bobolink to himself, as he fell into the\nchair, utterly distracted and unhappy; \"everybody can. I'm a marked,\nmiserable man! and for what? I'll take it back; no, no! I can't now,\nfor I've denied it!\"\n\n\"Something has happened to vex you terribly, my dear husband!\" cried\nPolly, as she returned with a small bottle of brandy.\n\n\"Well, suppose there has,\" replied he, in a loud and angry tone, \"is a\nman accountable to his wife for every moment of his life? Go to bed!\nWhere's the use in whimpering about it? You've had such a smooth road\nall your life, that the first rut breaks your axle. Come, don't mind\nme, Polly!\" he went on, suddenly changing to a joyous laugh, and yet\nsomewhat subdued by the tears that now flowed down his wife's pale\ncheeks; \"I don't mean to worry you, but--but you see that I'm a little\nsprung. Leave me to myself, there's a good girl! Come, kiss me before\nyou go. Ha! ha! I'll make a lady of you yet, Pol! see if I don't.\nDidn't you hear me tell you to go to bed?\"\n\n\"Yes, Thomas, but\"----\n\n\"But what?\"\n\n\"Pray, drink no more.\"\n\n\"I'll drink just as much as I please; and, moreover, I won't be\ndictated to by you, when I can buy your whole stock out, root and\nbranch. I've stood your nonsense long enough, so take my advice and\nstart.\"\n\n\"Oh! Thomas--Thomas!\" cried his weeping wife, as she hurried to her\nlittle bedroom; \"never did I expect this, and you'll be sorry for it in\nthe morning.\"\n\n\"Damn it! I am an unfeeling savage. Don't cry, Pol!\" he shouted after\nher, as she quitted the room; \"I didn't intend to hurt your feelings,\nand I won't drink any more, there. Say God bless you before you go in,\nwon't you?\"\n\n\"God bless you, dear husband!\" said the loving wife.\n\n\"That's right, Pol!\"\n\nAs soon as Tom found himself quite alone, he looked carefully at the\nfastenings of the doors and windows, and having cleared the little\ntable of its contents, proceeded to examine the interior of the\npocket-book. With a tremulous hand and a quick-beating heart, he drew\nit forth, starting at the slightest sound; tearing it open, he spread\nthe thick bundle of notes before him; the sight seemed to dazzle his\neye-sight; his breath became heavy and suffocating; there was more,\nvastly more, than he had ever dreamed of.\n\n\"What do I see?\" he cried, while his eyes sparkled with the fire of\nsuddenly-awakened avarice, \"tens--fifties-hundreds--I do\nbelieve--thousands! I never saw such a sight before. What sound was\nthat? I could have sworn I heard a small voice call out my name. For\nthe first time in my life, I feel like a coward. I never yet feared to\nstand before a giant! now, a boy might cow me down. Pshaw! it's because\nI'm not used to handling money.\"\n\nAgain and again, he tried to count up how much the amount was, but grew\nconfused, and had to give it up.\n\n\"Never mind how much there is,\" he cried, at last; \"it's mine--all\nmine! nobody saw me; nobody knows it: nobody--but one--but one!\" he\ncontinued, looking upward for an instant, and then, clasping his hands\ntogether, and leaning his head over the money, he wept bitter tears\nover his great _Piece of Luck_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nTHE WILL.\n\n\nAt a splendid escritoir Mr. Granite sat, in his own room, surrounded by\nthe luxurious appliances which wait upon wealth, however acquired. The\nface of the sitter is deadly pale, for he is alone, and amongst his\nmost private papers. He has missed one, upon which the permanence of\nhis worldly happiness hung. Diligently has he been searching for that\nsmall scrap of paper, which contained the sentence of death to his\nrepute. Oh! the agony of that suspense! It could not have been\nabstracted, for it was in a secret part of his writing-desk; although\nby the simplest accident in the world it had now got mislaid; yet was\nhe destined not to recover it. In hastily taking out some papers, it\nhad dropped through the opening of the desk, which was a large one,\nupon the carpet, where it remained, unperceived. In the midst of his\nanxious and agonized search, there was a knock at the door, and even\npaler and more heart-broken than the merchant himself, Sterling\ntottered into the room.\n\n\"Well, my good Sterling,\" said the merchant, with a great effort\nstifling his own apprehension, \"I am to be troubled no more by that\nfellow's pitiful whinings. I was a fool to be over-persuaded; but\nbenevolence is my failing--a commendable one, I own--but still a\nfailing.\"\n\n\"I am glad to hear you say that, sir, for you now have a great\nopportunity to exercise it.\"\n\n\"Ask me for nothing more, for I have done\"--interrupted Granite;\nfancying for an instant that he might have placed the missing document\nin a secret place, where he was sometimes in the habit of depositing\nmatters of the first importance, he quitted the room hurriedly.\n\n\"Lost! lost, for ever! I have killed the son of my old benefactor!\"\ncried Sterling. \"He can't recover from the shock--nor I--nor I! my\nheart is breaking--to fall from such a height of joy into such a gulf\nof despair--I, who could have sold my very life to bring him\nhappiness.\" At that moment his eye caught a paper which lay on the\ncarpet, and with the instinct of a clerk's neatness solely, he picked\nit up and put it on the table before him. \"The crime of\nself-destruction is great,\" he continued, \"but I am sorely tempted.\nWith chilling selfishness on one side, and dreadful misery on the\nother, life is but a weary burden.\" Carelessly glancing at the paper\nwhich he had taken from the floor, he read the name of Travers; he\nlooked closely at it, and discovered that it was an abstract of a will.\nCuriosity prompted him to examine it, and his heart gave one tremendous\nthrob, when he discovered it to bear date after the one by which Henry,\nin a fit of anger, was disinherited by his father.\n\nThe old man fell upon his knees, and if ever a fervent, heartfelt\nprayer issued from the lips of mortal, he then prayed that he might but\nlive to see that great wrong righted.\n\nHe had but just time to conceal the paper within his breast, when\nGranite returned.\n\n\"You here yet?\" he cried. \"Have I not done enough to-day? What other\nbeggarly brat do you come suing for?\"\n\n\"For none, dear sir,\" said Sterling. \"I would simply test that\nbenevolence, of which you spoke but now--the money which you sent to\nTravers\"----\n\n\"Well, what of it?\"\n\n\"I have lost!\"\n\n\"Pooh! old man,\" continued the other, contemptuously, \"don't think to\ndeceive me by such a stale device; that's a very old trick.\"\n\n\"You don't believe me?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"After so many years!\" cried the old man, with tear-choked utterance.\n\n\"The temptation was too much for you,\" bitterly replied the merchant.\nThe old leaven exhibited itself once more. \"You remember\"----\n\n\"Silence, sir!\" cried the old man, drawing up his aged form into sudden\nerectness, while the fire of indignation illumined his lustreless eye.\n\"The majesty of my integrity emboldens me to say that, even to\nyou--your cruel taunt has wiped out all of feeling that I had for\nyou--fellow-sinner, hast thou not committed an error also?\"\n\n\"Insolent! how dare you insinuate?\"\n\n\"I don't insinuate; I speak out; nay, not an error, but a _crime_. I\n_know_ you have, and can prove it.\"\n\n\"Away, fool! you are in your dotage.\"\n\n\"A dotage that shall wither you in your strength, and strip you of your\nill-bought possessions,\" exclaimed the old man, with nearly the vigor\nof youth; \"since Humanity will not prompt you to yield up a portion of\nyour _stolen_ wealth, Justice shall force you to deliver it all--aye,\nall!\"\n\n\"Villain! what riddle is this?\" cried Granite, with a vague\npresentiment that the missing paper was in some way connected with this\ncontretemps.\n\n\"A riddle easily solved,\" answered Sterling. \"Behold its solution, if\nyour eyes dare look at it! A will, devising all the property you hold\nto Henry Travers! There are dozens who can swear to my old employer's\nsignature. Stern, proper justice should prompt me to vindicate his\nson's cause; yet, I know that he would not purchase wealth at the cost\nof your degradation. Divide equally with him, and let the past be\nforgotten.\"\n\nThere was but one way that Granite could regain his vantage-ground, and\nhe was not the man to shrink from it.\n\nWith a sudden bound, he threw himself upon the weak old clerk, and\nsnatching the paper from him, exclaimed--\n\n\"You shallow-pated fool! think you that you have a child to deal with?\nThe only evidence that could fling a shadow across my good name would\nbe your fragment of miserable breath, which I could take, and would, as\neasily as brush away a noxious wasp, but that I despise you too\nentirely to feel your sting. Go, both of you, and babble forth your\ninjuries to the world! go, and experience how poor a conflict\nstarveling honesty in rags can wage against iniquity when clad in\ngolden armor! I defy ye all! Behold how easily I can destroy all danger\nto myself, and hope to him at once.\" So saying, he held the paper to\nthe lamp, and, notwithstanding the ineffectual efforts of Sterling to\nprevent it, continued so to hold it until a few transitory sparks were\nall that remained of Henry Travers's inheritance.\n\nSterling said not a syllable, but, with a glance at the other, which\nhad in it somewhat of inspiration, pointed upward, and slowly staggered\nfrom the room.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMORNING THOUGHTS.\n\n\nThe early grey of dawn peeped furtively through the shutters of Tom\nBobolink's home, and as they strengthened and strengthened, fell upon a\nfigure which could scarcely be recognized as the same joyous-hearted\nindividual of the day before. On the floor lay Tom; the candle, which\nhad completely burned out in its socket, close to his head; one hand\ngrasped the empty bottle, and the other was tightly clutched within his\nbreast.\n\nAnd now another scarcely less sorrowful-looking figure is added. Polly\ngazes, with tearful eyes, upon the prostrate form. He is evidently in\nthe maze of some terrible dream, for his head rolls fearfully about,\nhis limbs are convulsed, and his breathing is thick and heavy.\n\nPolly stooped down to awake him gently, when, at the slightest touch,\nhe started at one bound to his feet, muttering incoherent words of\nterror and apprehension; his eyes rolled about wildly. He seized Polly,\nand held her at arms' length for an instant, until he fairly realized\nhis actual situation, when he burst into a loud laugh, that chilled his\npoor wife's very blood.\n\n\"Ha! ha! Pol, is that you?\" he cried, wildly. \"I've been a bad boy, I\nknow; but I'll make up for it gloriously, my girl. Ugh! what a dream\nI've had. Ah! the darkness is a terrible time to get over when one's\nconscience is filling the black night with fiery eyes.\" Then, turning\nto his wife, he said, loudly: \"Polly, darling, I'm ashamed of myself;\nbut it will be all right by and by. You were cut out for a rich woman,\nPol.\"\n\n\"Dear Thomas, let me be rich in the happiness of our humble home; 'tis\nall I ask.\"\n\n\"Oh, nonsense! Suppose now you got a heap of money a prize in the\nlottery, wouldn't you like to elevate your little nose, and jostle\nagainst the big bugs in Broadway?\"\n\n\"Not at the price of our comfort, Thomas,\" she answered, solemnly.\n\n\"You're a fool! Money can buy all sorts of comfort.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Thomas, by those hints about money? has anything\nhappened?\"\n\n\"Oh! no--no!\" he replied, quickly, turning his eyes away; \"but there's\nno knowing when something might. Now I'll try her,\" thought he. \"It's\nmy dream, Pol. Shall I tell it to you?\"\n\n\"Do, my dear Tom. Oh! I'm so glad to see you yourself once more.\"\n\n\"Well, dear,\" he continued, sitting close to her, and placing his arm\naround her waist, \"I dreamed that as I was returning from a job, what\nshould I see in the street, under my very nose, but a pocket-book,\nstuffed full of money. Presently the owner came along. He asked me if I\nhad found it. I said no, and came home a rich man--oh! so rich!\"\n\n\"I know your heart too well, Tom, to believe that such a thing could\nhappen except in a dream,\" said his wife, to his great annoyance. He\nstarted up, and after one or two turns about the little, now untidy,\nroom, exclaimed, angrily:\n\n\"Why not? I should like to know if fortune did--I mean--was, to fling\nluck in my way, do you think I'd be such a cursed fool as not to grab\nat it?\"\n\n\"Thomas, you have been drinking too much,\" said she, sadly.\n\n\"No, no,\" he interrupted, \"not enough; give me some more.\"\n\n\"Not a drop, husband,\" she replied, seriously, and with determination.\n\"If you will poison yourself it shall not be through my hand.\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool,\" he cried, savagely, \"or it may be the worse for you.\nI'm master of my own house, I think.\"\n\n\"Home! ah, Thomas, some evil spirit has stolen away our once happy home\nfor ever,\" said Polly, as she slowly and sorrowfully returned again to\nweep in the silence of her own room.\n\n\"There has, there has,\" cried Tom, as she quitted him. \"And this is\nit\"--pulling out the pocket-book, which he had not left hold of for an\ninstant, and frowning desperately at it--\"Confound your skin, it's you\nthat has stolen away our comfort. I'll take the cursed thing back; I\nwouldn't have Polly's eyes wet with sorrow to be made of money--I'll\ntake it back this very blessed morning; and somehow that thought brings\na ray of sunlight back to my heart.\" So saying, he thrust the\npocket-book, as he thought, safely within his vest, but in his\neagerness to take extra care of it, it slipped through, and dropped\nupon the floor; his mind being taken off for a moment by the entrance\nof Bryan, to tell him that the horse and truck were ready.\n\n\"Very well, I'm glad of it,\" cried Tom. \"Now I'll see what the fine,\nbracing, morning air will do for this cracked head of mine; now then,\nto take this back,\" and he slapped his chest, under the full impression\nthat the pocket-book was there. \"Bryan, I don't want you for half an\nhour; just wait till I come back, will you?\"\n\n\"That I will, sir, and welcome,\" said Bryan, and with a merry song once\nmore at his lip, and a cheerful good-bye to Polly, to whose heart both\nbrought comfort in her great sadness, Bobolink mounted his truck, and\ntrotted off.\n\nMeantime Bryan, now left alone in the room, dived into the recesses of\nhis capacious coat-pocket, and producing from thence a piece of bread\nand cheese, moralized the while upon the pleasant change in his\nprospects.\n\n\"Long life to this tindher-hearted couple,\" said he. \"Shure an' I'm on\nthe high road to good luck at last; plenty of the best in the way of\natin', and an elegant stable to sleep in, with a Christian-like\nquadruped for company; av I had only now a trifle o' money to get\nmyself some clothes--these things doesn't look well in this part of the\nworld,\" casting his eyes down in not over-delighted contemplation of\nhis nether integuments. \"A little bit o' money now would make me so\nhappy an' industrious, I could take the buzz out of a hive o' bees. The\nsaints between us and all mischief, what's that?\" he continued,\nstarting to his feet, as his glance fell upon the pocket-book which Tom\nhad dropped. \"It serves me right,\" he went on, his face suddenly\nbecoming pale as paper, \"to wish for any such thing. I don't want\nit--it was all a mistake,\" cried he, apologetically. \"This is the\ndevil's work; no sooner do I let a word out o' me mouth, that I didn't\nmane at all at all, but the evil blaggard sticks a swadge of temptation\nright before me. I won't have it--take it away.\"\n\nAt that instant Polly returned into the room. \"Take care how you\ncome--don't walk this way,\" said Bryan. \"Look!\"\n\n\"What is it?\" cried Polly, in alarm.\n\n\"Timptation!\" shouted Bryan. \"I was foolish enough just now to wish for\na trifle of money, and may I niver see glory if that lump of a\npocket-book didn't sprout up before me very eyes.\"\n\n\"Pocket-book, eh?\" cried Polly, seizing it in her hands, despite of the\ncomic apprehension of Bryan, who insisted that it would burn her\nfingers. The whole truth flashed across her mind at once. Tom's dream\nwas no dream, but a reality, and the struggle in his mind whether to\nkeep or return it, had caused that sleepless and uncomfortable night.\n\"Bryan,\" said she, quickly, \"did you hear any one say that they had\nlost any money yesterday?\"\n\n\"Let me see,\" replied the other. \"Yes, to be sure, 44 came out of the\nhall-door, and axed me if I saw a pocket-book.\"\n\n\"It must be his. Thank God for this merciful dispensation,\" cried the\nagitated wife. \"Quick, quick, my bonnet and shawl, and come you, Bryan,\nyou know the place; this money must be that which was lost.\"\n\n\"I'm wid you, ma'am,\" answered Bryan. \"Who knows but that may be the\nidentical pocket-book; at any rate it'll do as well if there's as much\nmoney in it, and if there isn't, there'll be another crop before we\ncome back.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nRETRIBUTION.\n\n\nSnugly ensconced in his own particular apartment, Mr. Granite had flung\nhimself in post-prandial _abandon_ into his easiest of easy-chairs.\nLeisurely, and with the smack of a true connoisseur, he dallied with a\nglass of exquisite Madeira. The consciousness of the enviable nature of\nhis worldly position never imbued him so thoroughly as at such a\nmoment. Business was flourishing, his health was excellent, and his\nson, on whom he concentrated all the affection of which his heart was\ncapable, had recently distinguished himself at a college examination.\nEverything, in fact, seemed to him _couleur de rose_.\n\nIt can readily be imagined that to be disturbed at such a period of\nenjoyment was positive high treason against the home majesty of the\nmercantile monarch.\n\nFancy, therefore, what a rude shock it was to his quiet, when he was\ninformed that Mr. Sterling wished to see him on a matter of the\ngreatest importance. \"I cannot, I will not see him, or anybody,\" said\nthe enraged potentate; \"you know, he knows, my invariable rule. It must\nnot be infringed, for any one whatever, much less for such a person,\"\nand, closing his eyes in a spasm of self-sufficiency, he again subsided\ninto calmness, slightly ruffled, however, by the outrageous attack upon\nhis privacy.\n\nHe had just succeeded in restoring his disturbed equanimity, when he\nwas once more startled into ill-humor by the sound of voices as if in\naltercation, and a sharp knock at the chamber-door.\n\nThe next instant, to his still greater surprise and anger, the old\nclerk, Sterling, who had been ignominiously dismissed since the last\ninterview between him and Granite, stood before him. Every particle of\nhis hitherto meekness and humility had apparently vanished, as for a\nfew moments he regarded the merchant with a fixed and penetrating look.\n\n\"What villainous intrusion is this? Where are my servants? How dare\nthey permit my home to be thus invaded?\" cried Granite, with flashing\neyes and lowering brow.\n\n\"I am here, not for myself,\" replied Sterling, calmly, \"but for the\nvictim of your rapacity--of your terrible guilt. I have intruded upon\nyou at this unusual time to inform you of the extremity in which\nTravers is placed, and from my carelessness--my criminal carelessness.\nWill you not at least remedy that?\"\n\n\"No!\" thundered the exasperated merchant. \"Your indiscreet zeal has\nruined both you and those for whom you plead. I'll have nothing to do\nwith any of ye--begone!\"\n\n\"Not before I have cautioned you that my lips, hitherto sealed for fear\nof injury to him, shall henceforward be opened. Why should I hesitate\nto denounce one who is so devoid of common charity?\"\n\n\"Because no one will believe you,\" responded the other, with a bitter\nsneer. \"The denunciations of a discharged servant are seldom much\nheeded; empty sounds will be of no avail. Proof will be needed in\nconfirmation, and where are you to find that?\"\n\n\"Ah! where, indeed! you have taken care of that; but have you reflected\nthat there _is_ a power to whom your machinations, your schemes of\naggrandizement, are as flimsy as the veriest gossamer web?\" solemnly\nejaculated Sterling.\n\n\"Canting sways me as little as your hurtless threats. What I have, I\nshall keep in spite of\"----\n\n\"Heaven's justice?\" interposed the old clerk.\n\n\"In spite of anything or everything,\" savagely replied the irritated\nmerchant. \"You have your final answer, nor is it in the power of angel\nor devil to alter it; and so, the sooner you relieve me from your\npresence the better I will like it, and the better it may be for your\nfuture prospects.\"\n\n\"Of _my_ future, God knows, I take no care; but for the sake of those\npoor young things, so cruelly left to struggle with a hard, hard world,\nI feel that I have strength even to oppose the stern rock of your\nobstinacy, almost hopeless though the effort may be. I am going,\" he\nwent on, seeing the feverish impatience working in Granite's face,\n\"but, as a parting word, remember that my dependence is not in my own\nability to unmask your speciousness, or contend against the harshness\nof your determination. No, I surrender my case and that of my clients\ninto _His_ hands who never suffers the guilty to triumph to the end.\nThe avalanche falls sometimes on the fruitfullest vineyards, as well as\non the most sterile waste.\"\n\n\"By Heaven! you exhaust my patience,\" roared the other, as he rung the\nservants' bell impetuously; \"since you will not go of your own accord,\nI must indignantly thrust you forth into the street like a cur.\"\n\n\"There shall be no need of that,\" meekly replied the clerk, turning to\nleave the apartment, just as the servant entered, bringing a letter for\nMr. Granite on a silver waiter.\n\nThe latter was about to address an angry sentence to the servant, when\nhe perceived that the letter he carried was enclosed in an envelope\ndeeply bordered with black.\n\nHis heart gave one mighty throb as he snatched it--tearing it open, and\ngasping with some terrible presentiment of evil, he but glanced at the\ncontents, and with a fearful shriek fell prostrate.\n\nSterling rushed to his side, and with the aid of the servant, loosed\nhis neckcloth, and placed him in a chair, using what immediate remedies\nhe could command in the hope of restoring animation. It was some\nminutes before the stricken man, clutched from his pride of place in\nthe winking of an eyelid, gave signs of returning vitality. During his\nunconsciousness, Sterling ascertained from the open letter lying at his\nfeet, that the merchant's son, the sole hope of his existence, for whom\nhe had slaved and toiled, set at naught all principle, and violated\neven the ties of kindred and of honesty, had died suddenly at college.\nNo previous illness had given the slightest shadow of an apprehension.\nHe had quietly retired to his bed at his usual hour on the previous\nnight, and in the morning was found stark and cold. None knew the agony\nwhich might have preceded dissolution. No friendly tongue was nigh to\nspeak of consolation; no hand to do the kindly offices of nature.\n\nSlowly, slowly and painfully the wretched parent returned to\nconsciousness, and with it, the terrible reality of his bereavement.\nGlaring around him fiercely: \"Where am I?--what is this?--why do you\nhold me?\" he cried, madly. At this instant his glance fell upon the\nfatal letter; \"Oh, God! I know it all--all! my son! my son!\" Turning\nupon Sterling, fiercely, he grasped him by the throat. \"Old man,\" he\ncried, \"you have murdered him! you, and that villain Travers!\" Then he\nrelaxed his gripe, and in an agony of tears, fell to supplication. \"It\ncannot be--it shall not be--oh! take me to him--what am I to do?\nSterling, my old friend, oh, forgive me--pity me--let us away.\" He\ntried to stand, but his limbs were paralyzed. \"The judgment has\nfallen--I feared it--I expected it, but not so suddenly--it may be that\nthere is still hope--hope, though ever so distant. Perhaps a quick\natonement may avert the final blow. Quick, Sterling--give me paper, and\npen.\" They were brought. \"Now write,\" he continued, his voice growing\nfainter and fainter: \"I give Travers all--all--if this late repentance\nmay be heard, and my son should live. I know I can rely on his\nbenevolence--quick, let me sign it, for my strength is failing fast.\"\n\nWith extreme difficulty, he appended his signature to the document\nSterling had drawn up at his desire. When it was done, the pen dropped\nfrom his nerveless grasp, his lips moved for an instant as though in\nprayer--the next--he was--nothing!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nSUNLIGHT.\n\n\nOur scene shifts back to Mrs. Grimgriskin's elegant establishment,\nwhere poor Travers' affairs are once more in a very dilapidated state,\nas may be inferred from the conversation now progressing.\n\n\"People as can't pay,\" said the now curt landlady, smoothing down an\nalready very smooth apron, \"needn't to have no objections, I think, to\nturn out in favor of them as can. I'm a woman of few words--very few\nindeed. I don't want to make myself at all disagreeable; but\nimpossibles is impossibles, and I can't provide without I have the\nmeans to do so with.\"\n\n\"My good lady,\" interposed Travers, \"do pray give me a little time; my\nfriend Sterling has again applied to Mr. Granite\"----\n\n\"Pooh! I'm sick of all such excuses; one word for all--get your trunks\nready. I'd rather lose what you owe me than let it get any bigger, when\nthere's not the remotest chance, as I can see, for its liquidation;\nand, dear me, how lucky--I declare there's the very truckman who came\nthe other day. I'll tell him to stop, for I don't mind giving you all\nthe assistance I can, conveniently with my own interest.\"\n\nSo saying, she hailed Tom Bobolink, who was indeed looking somewhat\nwistfully towards the house. He was just cogitating within his mind\nwhat excuse he could make to get into the place, and so rid himself of\nhis unfortunate good fortune at once.\n\n\"Yon trunks, I presume from appearance, won't take a long time to get\nready,\" said the delicate Grimgriskin. \"Here, my man; just come in\nhere,\" she continued, as Tom, in a state of considerable trepidation,\nentered the room; \"this young man will have a job for you.\" The poor\nwife now joined Travers, and on inquiring the cause of the slight\ntumult, was told by Henry that she must prepare to seek an asylum away\nfrom the hospitable mansion which had recently afforded them a shelter.\n\n\"Come, my love,\" said he, with a tolerable effort at cheerfulness, \"let\nus at once leave this mercenary woman's roof.\"\n\n\"Mercenary, indeed!\" the landlady shrieked after them, as they entered\ntheir own room. \"Because a person won't suffer themselves to be robbed\nwith their eyes open, they're mercenary. The sooner my house is cleared\nof such rubbish, the better. Mercenary, indeed!\" and with an indignant\ntoss of her false curls, she flounced out of the room.\n\n\"Now for it!\" cried Tom; \"the coast is clear; what the deuce shall I do\nwith it? I dare not give it openly; suppose I say I found it under the\nsophia. Egad, that will do famously; here goes.\" So saying, he plunged\nhis hand into his bosom, and to his horror and consternation it was not\nthere; his blood froze in his veins for an instant, then deluged him\nwith a perfect thaw of perspiration. \"Oh, miserable, miserable wretch,\nI've lost it, I've lost it; what is to become of me!\" In vain he\nsearched and searched; it was clean gone. \"Oh, how can I face Polly\nagain?\" he groaned. \"My life is made unhappy for ever; cursed, cursed\nluck. That ever my eyes fell upon the thing at all: ha!\" a shadowy hope\nflitted across him, that he might have left it at home. \"Could I have\nbeen so drunken a fool as to leave it behind me? if so, where is it\nnow? At all events, I must go back as fast as I can, for if I cannot\nrecover it, my God! I shall go mad.\" With a few big jumps he reached\nthe street, and hastily mounting his truck, drove rapidly home,\nunmindful of the public observation his demented look and unusual haste\nproduced.\n\nA short time after Tom's sudden departure, which was a perfect mystery\nto Mrs. Grimgriskin, and also to Henry and his wife, a timid ring was\nheard at the hall-door, and soon Travers, to whom every sound brought\nincrease of apprehension, trembled as he became aware of an altercation\nbetween his irate landlady and the new comers, whoever they were.\n\n\"I tell you I must see 44, the man that had the thrunks, goin' away a\nfew days agone,\" said an unmistakably Irish voice, rich and round.\n\n\"Oh, if you please, ma'am,\" placidly continued a small, silvery one.\n\nThe dispute, however, was very suddenly cut short by the owner of the\nloud voice exclaiming, \"Arrah, get out o' the road, you cantankerus\nwitch of Endher,\" and O'Bryan and Polly rushed up the stairs without\nfurther ceremony. The door of Travers' room was flung open. \"Ha! ha!\"\ncried O'Bryan, \"there he is, every inch of him; that's 44; long life to\nyou; and it's glad I am I've found you, and glad you'll be yourself,\nI'm thinkin', if a trifle o' money will do yez any good.\"\n\n\"What's the matter with you, my friend, what do you seek from me?\"\ndemanded Travers.\n\n\"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon for breaking in upon you so suddenly,\" said\nPolly, \"but have you lost any money!\"\n\n\"I have, indeed,\" replied Henry, \"a large sum; do you know anything\nabout it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" cried Polly, with a radiant flash of her eye. \"Here it is;\"\nhanding over the wallet, with its contents, with a sigh of the greatest\npossible relief. \"Tell me one thing, sir,\" she hesitatingly went on,\n\"was it--was it--taken from you?\"\n\n\"No, my good woman, it was lost by an old friend of mine, dropped, he\nbelieves, in the street.\"\n\n\"It was, sir, just as you say, thank Heaven for it. Yes, sir; my\nhusband found it. Is it all there, sir? oh, pray relieve me by saying\nit is.\"\n\n\"Yes, every penny.\"\n\n\"Then, sir, whatever joy you may feel at its restoration cannot equal\nwhat I feel at this moment,\" said Polly, while the tears gushed forth\nunrestrainedly from her eyes.\n\n\"Here, my good woman, you must take a portion and give it to your\nhonest husband,\" said Henry, handing to her a liberal amount of the\nsum.\n\n\"Not a shilling, sir, not a shilling,\" Polly firmly repeated. \"I hate\nto look at it.\"\n\n\"Then would you, my friend, take some reward,\" continued he, addressing\nO'Bryan.\n\n\"Is it me? not av you were me father, I wouldn't,\" said the Irishman,\nwith a look of horror. \"I know where it came from; bedad I know the\nvery soil it sprouted out of. I'll tell you how it was, sir. You see I\nwas sittin' by myself, and, like an ungrateful blaggard as I am,\ninstead of thankin' the blessed Heavens for the good luck that had fell\na-top o' me, what should I do but wish I had a bit o' money, for to\ndress up my ugly anatomy, when all at once that swadge of temptation\ndropped on the floor before my very face.\"\n\n\"Don't heed him, sir, he knows not what he talks about,\" said Polly.\n\"It is all as I told you, sir. My husband\"----\n\nShe was interrupted by O'Bryan, who cried, \"Here he comes. May I niver\nstir if he doesn't, skelpin' along the street in a state of\ndisthractitude; by me sowl it's here he's coming, too.\"\n\n\"Yes, I know,\" said Henry, \"he is employed, I believe, by our worthy\nlandlady, to remove our things.\"\n\nAt this moment Tom burst into the room, but on seeing Polly and O'Bryan\nhe stopped short, as if arrested by a lightning stroke. \"You here,\nPolly? have you heard of my crime,\" he said, wildly: but she restrained\nhim by gently laying her hand upon his arm.\n\n\"Yes, Tom,\" she said, quietly, \"I know all about it, and so does this\ngentleman. I have restored the money.\"\n\n\"What?\" exclaimed Bobolink, while a thrill of joy went through his\nframe; \"is this true?\"\n\n\"Hush! husband, dear, hush!\" she continued; \"I did as you told me, you\nknow. I have brought and given back the lost money to its owner. You\nknow you left it at home for me to take.\"\n\n\"Ah, Polly, I wish I could tell this fellow that,\" said Tom, laying his\nhand upon his heart; \"but I did intend to give it back. I did, by all\nmy hopes of happiness.\"\n\n\"I know you did, my dear Tom,\" replied Polly, earnestly. \"Your true\nheart could not harbor a bad thought long.\"\n\n\"My good friend,\" said Travers, approaching the truckman. \"Your wife\nhas refused any reward for this honest act.\"\n\n\"She's right, sir, she's right,\" interrupted the other.\n\n\"At least you'll let me shake you by the hand, and proffer you my\nfriendship?\"\n\n\"I can't, Poll, I can't,\" said Tom, aside, to his wife. \"I'm\nafraid--I'm half a scoundrel yet--I know I am; but I've learned a\nwholesome lesson, and while I have life I'll strive to profit by it.\"\n\nUrged to it by Polly, he did, however, shake hands with Travers and his\nwife, just as old Sterling, his face shrouded in gloom, and Mrs.\nGrimgriskin, stiff and tigerish, entered the room.\n\n\"Ah, Sterling, my good old friend, rejoice with us--this honest fellow\nhas found, and restored the money lost,\" said Travers, gaily; \"but, how\nis this? you don't join in our gladness. Has that old rascal\"----\n\n\"Hold!\" interrupted the old clerk, in an earnest voice, and impressive\nmanner; \"Heaven has avenged your wrongs in a sudden and fearful manner.\nMr. Granite is dead.\"\n\n\"Dead!\" exclaimed Henry, in a subdued tone; \"with him let his misdeeds\nbe buried. His son will perhaps be more merciful; he will inherit\"----\n\n\"He has inherited--his father's fate,\" solemnly replied the old clerk.\n\"Justice may slumber for a while, but retribution must come at last.\nYou are now, by the merchant's will, his sole heir.\"\n\n\"Ho, ho!\" thought Mrs. Grimgriskin, who had been an attentive listener,\n\"I'm a woman of few words, but if I had been a woman of less, perhaps\nit would be more to my interest; but sudden millionaires are usually\ngenerous;\" and so, smoothing her feline demeanor into quietude, she\napproached Travers.\n\n\"Allow me most sincerely to congratulate you upon your good fortune,\"\nshe simpered. \"Apropos, the first floor is somewhat in arrear; lovely\napartments, new carpet, bath, hot water.\"\n\n\"Plenty of that, I'll be bail,\" remarked O'Bryan; \"arrah, howld yer\nprate, Mrs. Woman-of-few-words--don't you see there's one too many\nhere?\"\n\n\"Then why don't you go, you ignorant animal,\" sharply suggested the\nother.\n\n\"Because I'm not the _one_.\"\n\nSuffice it to say, Henry, with his young wife, and dear old Sterling,\nwere soon installed in a house of their own, and, to their credit,\nnever lost sight of the interest of Tom Bobolink and Polly, who from\nthat day increased in content and prosperity.\n\nAs for O'Bryan, the last intimation we had of his well-doing, was the\nappearance of sundry gigantic street-bills, which contained the\nfollowing announcement:\n\n    +------------------------+\n    |       VOTE FOR         |\n    |  THE PEOPLES' FRIEND.  |\n    |       O'BRYAN,         |\n    |    FOR ALDERMAN.       |\n    +------------------------+\n\n\n\n\nTHE TIPPERARY VENUS.\n\n\nAmongst a people so simple-hearted and enthusiastic as the Irish, it is\nnot at all surprising that a firm and implicit belief in supernal\nagency should be almost universal. To vivid imaginations, ever on the\nstretch for the romantic, yearning ever for something beyond the dull\nrealities of commonplace existence, there is something extremely\nfascinating in the brain revellings of Fairy Land.\n\nNow the Irish fairies are very numerous, and all as well classified,\nand their varied occupations defined and described by supernaturalists,\nas though they really were amongst the things that be. The \"learned\npundits\" in such matters declare that the economy of human nature is\nentirely carried on through their agency. Philosophers have\ndemonstrated the atomic vitality of the universe, and the believer in\nfairies simply allots them their respective places and duties in the\ngeneral distribution. They tell you that every breath of air, every\ndrop of water, every leaf and flower, teems with actual life. Myriads\nof tiny atomies, they say, are employed carrying on the business of\nexistence, animal, vegetable, and atmospheric. Here are crowds of\nindustrious little chemists, extracting dew from moonbeams, which they\ndeliver over to relays of fairy laborers, by them to be applied to the\nlanguishing grass. The noxious exhalations of the earth are, by a\nsimilar process, gathered from decaying vegetation, and dispersed or\ncondensed into refreshing rain. The warm sunbeams are by them brought\ndown and scattered through the fields; it is the beautiful ministry of\none class to breathe upon, and gently force open, the budding blossoms,\nwhile, another seduously warms and nurtures the ripening corn, and\ntends the luscious fruits. Mischievous fellows there also are, whose\ndelight it is to try and frustrate the exertions of the workers. They\ntravel from place to place, loaded with malign influences; blight and\nmildew, and all the destructive agents that blast the hopes of the\nagriculturist are under their control; and, with an industry nearly\nequal to their opponents, they employ their time in training\ncaterpillars and other devouring insects to assist them in the work of\ndesolation.\n\nMany are the battles, we are informed, that occur between the two\nopposing classes, and it depends upon which side has the best of the\ncontest what the result may be to the defeated object; whether they\ncontend for the life of some delicate flower, or whether the poor\nfarmer's toils were to be rewarded or rendered hopeless by the safety\nor the destruction of his entire crops.\n\nBut to leave this fanciful, and, it must be admitted, poetical theory,\nour business now is with an individual of a highly responsible class in\nthe world of Fairydom--_The Leprechaun_. A most important personage he\nis; being the custodian of all hidden treasure, it is he who fabricates\nthe gold within the rock-encircled laboratory. The precious gems, the\ndiamond, sapphire, ruby, amethyst, emerald, and all the world-coveted\njewels, are in the safe guardianship of the Leprechaun; and fatal it is\nto him when aught is discovered and torn from his grasp--for his fairy\nexistence, his immortal essence, is lost with it; he can no longer\nsport through the air, invisible to mortal ken, but is compelled to\ntake a tangible form, and to work at a degrading occupation--that of\nmaking and mending the shoes of his former fairy companions.\n\nThe experiences of the writer of this sketch in fairy lore and\nanecdote, were mostly gathered from a wild, Tipperary sort of cousin,\nsome dozens of times removed, one Roderick O'Callaghan--familiarly\nRory--or as, by an easy corruption, he was known \"the country round,\"\nRoarin' O'Callaghan, who, in his time, had gathered them from the\nwilder henchmen and followers by whom he was surrounded, when, a\ndevil-may-care gossoon, he wandered among the _Galtie mountains_,\nthe especial pet and persecutor of the entire neighborhood.\n\nMany and many were the mischievous pranks recorded of young Rory. I\nalmost wish that I had begun with the determination of recounting a few\nof them; but, as I have set myself another task, I must defer that\nintention until a future opportunity. I am not at all certain still,\nbut that my erratic nib--for I write \"_currente calamo_,\" and without\nmuch especial method--may diverge from the grand current of narrative,\nand, in spite of myself, imperceptibly stray into the now interdicted\nby-way.\n\nIt was from Rory that I heard the strange tale I am now about to\nrelate. Desperate boy-rivals were we, at that time, I must tell you,\nfor the affectionate regards of a young beauty who played old Harry\nwith the juvenile susceptibilities of the whole vicinage. Ah! now that\nmy memory has reverted to that epoch, digression is inevitable. Lovely\nPolly O'Connor!--bless my soul; a sigh, even at this distant period;\nhow very tenacious these boy-attachments are. I see her as plainly now,\nmentally pictured, as though in very deed she stood before me.\n\nBoth Rory and I endeavored, in the ardent enthusiasm of our fledgling\npassion, to give vent to the burning thoughts that flamed within us,\nthrough the lover's peculiar channel--poetry. My own extraordinary\neffusion I remember--his I have preserved, and although, at the time, I\nknew well which was best entitled to the world's consideration, I\nsubmit both productions now without a remark. They will at least serve\nfor a description, however insufficient, of our inspiratress.\n\nI had an immense advantage over my competitor in one instance; for,\nhaving an acquaintance in the editorial department of the local\nnewspaper, my lucubration lent a lustre to the poets' corner, while, I\nam ashamed to confess, I exerted, successfully, the same influence to\nkeep Rory's out; it was ungenerous, I own, unpardonable; but what won't\na boy-rival do to clear the onward path before the impetuosity of a\nfirst love.\n\nBut here is the affair, just as it appeared in the Tipperary Gazette,\nheaded, as I thought, with becoming modesty:\n\n\nLINES TO A YOUNG LADY.\n\n    I will not venture to compare\n        Those flashing eyes\n        To sunny skies;\n    To threads of gold thy wealth of hair;\n      Thy cheek unto the rose's glow;\n        Thy polished brow,\n    To lilies glancing in the light,\n        Or Parian white;\n      Thy bosom to the virgin snow--\n            For these\n    Are weak and well-worn similes.\n\n    Thine eyes are like--like--let me see;\n        The violet's hue,\n        Reflected through\n        A drop of dew;\n        No, that won't do.\n        No semblance true\n    In ample nature can there be\n    To equal their intensity--\n        Their heavenly blue.\n    T'were just as vain to seek,\n    Through every flower to match thy glowing cheek.\n        No gold could shed\n    Such radiant glory as ensaints thy head.\n      Besides, I now remember,\n    Your golden tresses are but flattered red,\n      And thine are living amber,\n    As, when 'tis ripest through the waving corn,\n    The sunbeams glance upon a harvest morn.\n\n    To the pale lustre of thy brow,\n    The lily's self perforce must bow--\n        The marbles cold,\n        And very old;\n    Thy bosom as the new-fallen snow\n            Is quite\n            As white,\n    And melts as soon with Love's warm glow.\n            But then,\n    While that receives an early stain,\n    Thy purer bosom doth still pure remain.\n\n        Since, to my mind,\n        I cannot find\n      A simile of any kind,\n        I argue hence\n        Thou art the sense\n      And spirit of all excellence;\n    The charm-bestowing fount, from whence\n        Fate doth dispense\n    Its varied bounties to the fair,\n    The loveliest of whom but share\n    A portion of the gifts thou well canst spare.\n\nIt will scarcely be credited, that after that brilliant compliment to\nPolly's charms, the little jilt, her well-fortified heart not being\nassailable by Parnassian pellets, looked still colder upon the\nsuffering perpetrator. However, the persevering nature of my\npassion--and, indeed, it was then a real one--was not to be set aside\nby rebuffs. Again and again I returned to the attack, and, pen in hand,\nracked my unfortunate brains through all the strategy of acrostics,\nbirth-day odes, and sonnets. It was not until some time afterwards that\nI discovered the real reason of my ill-success. The writing of the\n\"Lines\" was, perhaps, a pardonable liberty, but printing them was\natrocious; so that, in fact, my unworthy suppression of Rory's\nconcoctions brought its own punishment--not that he was a bit more\nsuccessful than I, for, as we soon became sensibly aware, the charming,\nbut conscienceless little coquette had even more strings to her bow\nthan she could conveniently fiddle with; indeed, that there wasn't a\ndecent-looking boy in the academy that she didn't encourage, or seem to\nencourage, so generalizing was her flirtation system.\n\nAnd, after all, to _decline_ upon foxy Tom Gallagher, the more than\nmiddle-aged Dispensary doctor, a long, straggling, splay-footed\ndisciple of \u00c6sculapius, with a head of hair like a door-mat--that she\nhas time and again watched and laughed her little ribs sore at, as he\nshuffled along the street. Ah! Polly O'Connor!\n\nBut, allow me to present to your notice Rory's poetical offering at her\ninexorable feet. It is, as you may perceive, ambitious, and, however I\nmight have underrated its merits at one time, I _now_ think it smacks\nsomewhat of the old Elizabethan relish.\n\nJudge for yourself:\n\n    Upon some sly affair\n      Connubially dishonest--\n    Vide Lempriere--\n      Jupiter was _non est_.\n    And dame Juno thought\n      Scandal and \u00e9cart\u00e9\n    Consolation brought,\n      So gave a little party.\n\n    Soon the Graces three\n      Came, in evening dresses,\n    Very fond of tea\n      They were, with water-cresses.\n    Venus came, and son,\n      Who richly did deserve a\n    Birching for the fun\n      He made of Miss Minerva.\n\n    Soon an earthly guest\n      Came by invitation,\n    And, among the rest,\n      Created a sensation.\n    My Polly 'twas, and she\n      Perfection so resembled,\n    For her sov'reignty\n      The Queen of Beauty trembled.\n\n    After tea there came\n      A gambling speculation,\n    Bringing with the game,\n      Celestial perturbation.\n    For my Polly, then,\n      Playing with discretion,\n    From each goddess won\n      All her rich possession.\n\n    Pallas lost her mind,\n      With wit and wisdom glowing;\n    Aphrodite pined\n      To see her beauty going.\n    Juno speedily\n      Lost her regal presence;\n    And the Graces three,\n      Lost their very essence.\n\n    On this earthly ball\n      My Polly thus alighted,\n    With the gifts of all\n      The goddesses united.\n    Is it strange that she,\n      Without much endeavor,\n    Quickly won from me\n      Heart and soul for ever?\n\nThese fiery manifestations, however, had not the slightest effect upon\nthe arctic nature of the frigid Polly. To be sure, her smile was still\n\"kindly, but frosty,\" to reverse the Shakespearean aphorism, and as it\nwas dispensed with due impartiality amongst the entire school of her\nadmirers, none were driven to immediate despair, but each flattered\nhimself at the time being that he was the favored one. Our limited\nsupply of pocket-money was transmuted into rings and brooches, for\nPolly had an inordinate, or rather, the usual predilection of her sex,\nfor _bijouterie_, and as the rings on trees denote the number of\nyears that have rolled over their leafy heads, so the corresponding\ntrophies upon Polly's taper fingers, denoted the amount of her victims.\n\nThe majority of her swains began, however, to slacken in their\nattentions, finally dropping off one by one, until the course was left\nto Rory and me--praiseworthy examples of a constancy of many months,\nalthough as yet not fully known to each other. It was about this time\nthat rumors began to reach us that old Tom Gallagher, the red-headed,\nrusty-jointed medico, was a constant, and it was hinted, not unwelcome\nvisitor at Polly's father's house--by the way, I forgot to mention that\nthe O'Connor, _p\u00e8re_, was the master of a Charter-house school in the\ntown, and as very a character as such individuals almost invariably\nare. He had originally been a soldier, so rough, unpolished, and\nuncouth, that it was a serious question in the neighborhood, if pretty\nPolly could by any possibility be an offshoot from such a crabbed\nstock.\n\nAt the time of which I write, availability for the particular post\nassigned to favorites at court, was the last thing thought of, and the\nO'Connor having rendered some questionable service to the then\ngovernment, either in making rebels or ensnaring them, he was rewarded\nwith the position he occupied, although he did not possess a single\nrequisite for that responsible situation.\n\nIgnorant of the first principles of education, he delegated his task to\nsubordinates, whose capacity he was incompetent to judge of. His\nmilitary antecedents made him a harsh, unbending disciplinarian, and as\nit was in a routine of which he knew nothing whatever, he felt it\nincumbent upon him to make up in severity and bluster for his lack of\nknowledge.\n\nBut to return to Polly. When the certainty of her prodigious perfidy\nreached me, I imagined myself a kind of master of Ravenswood, and took\nto melancholy and light food for some days. Reflection and strong\nphysic, however, soon restored me to something like equanimity, and,\nbecoming a little better reconciled to the annoyance of life, I rushed\nfor consolation and revenge to the poet's corner of the Tipperary\nGazette. It was then and there that I produced the following solemn\nwarning to Polly O'Connor, and all others of her sex, who, when love\nand a full purse are weighed together, get into the scale on the lucre\nside, making poor, shivering Cupid \"kick the beam.\" It was near the\n14th of February, so, in the savage expectation of crushing her heart\nbeneath the satirical avalanche, I designated my contribution--\n\n    A VALENTINE\n\n    FOR HER WHO WILL UNDERSTAND IT.\n\n    As Plutus one day, in his chariot of gold,\n      Was languidly taking the air,\n    Looking, spite of his riches, distressingly old,\n      Although dressed with remarkable care;\n    He met with young Cupid, who, stayed in his flight\n      By the wealthy god's dazzling array,\n    Hovered joyously round on his pinions of light,\n      Highly pleased with the tempting display.\n    \"Ride with me,\" said Plutus, \"all this you may share;\n      Ride with me, and garments of gold you may wear.\"\n\n    Quite delighted, the urchin stepped into the car,\n      Little deeming the roads were so rough;\n    But, repenting his rashness, before he went far\n      He cried, \"Stop! I've been jolted enough.\n    Pray excuse me, friend Plutus, though rich be the prize\n      You obligingly offer to me,\n    Your realm is the gloomy earth, mine the bright skies,\n      'Tis not likely that we should agree.\n    Farewell,\" said the boy, as he mounted in air,\n      \"The heart that Gold worships, Love never can share.\"\n\nHaving boldly appended my own initials to this scarifying outburst, I\nwaited patiently to watch its effect upon the false one. In a few days\nI saw her--she looked sad. Ha! she is touched, thought I; and, alas for\nthe ferocity of human nature, I rejoiced in her apparent affliction. In\na few moments, the sadness deepened on her brow; her lovely lashes\nbecame burdened with her pearly tears; resolution, revenge, injured\nfeelings, all dissolved into nothing before the cruel shower. I'm not\nquite certain what immediately followed. I believe I flung myself\nenthusiastically on the carpet, before the Tipperary Niobe--beseeching\nher to repose her sorrows in my sympathizing bosom. At all events, I\nsucceeded in calming her agitation, and after a delicious interview,\nwherein she thrilled my soul to its centre by the avowal that, however\nappearances might convict her of vacillation, I was, ever had been, and\never should be, the sole lord of her affections.\n\nIn that moment of blinding delirium, of course, all that had hitherto\noccurred was blotted from my memory as thoroughly as a damp sponge\nobliterates the records on a tablet of ass-skin. With the unreserved\nconfidence of a relieved heart, she rested her cheek in dangerous\nproximity to my eager lips, but I had not sufficient courage to take\nadvantage of the position. Her wonderful eyes looked sincerity and love\neven into the very depths of my soul. I was\nfascinated--bewildered--doubled up and done for, most effectually. \"The\nevenings were now beautiful,\" she hinted, together with remote\nallusions to \"soft twilight's balmy hour,\" setting suns, and such like\ndelectations, until I actually summoned up courage sufficient to make\nan appointment to meet her\n\n    \"By moonlight alone.\"\n\nNor had she any reserve while naming the particular grove where our\ntrysting was to take place.\n\nIt was with the proud port of a conqueror that I deigned to tread the\nvulgar pavement after my never-to-be-forgotten interview with the\nCircean Polly; victory swelled within my expanding chest, like too much\nsoup. Polly was mine; what a triumph I had achieved. I do verily\nbelieve, if, at this juncture, it were at all essential, or even could\nbe remotely conducive to Polly's tranquillity, that I should go through\nthe then popular amusement of hanging, I would have gone to the halter\nwith nearly as much cheerfulness as though it were the altar; but,\nfortunately, I was not called upon to testify the loyalty of my\ndevotion by asphyxiation.\n\nRory and I met as usual that afternoon, and I remarked that a sort of\nill-concealed joy was working like an undercurrent through his\nfeatures--now he would sing vociferously; anon, suddenly subside into\nquiet--it was very curious--I determined, however, to discover, if\npossible, the cause of his self-satisfaction.\n\n\"Rory,\" said I.\n\n\"Hallo!\"\n\n\"What makes you so silent?\"\n\n\"Am I silent?\" he replied, bursting instantly into a merry song.\n\n\"There's something on your mind, at all events; that I know.\"\n\n\"May-be there is; but do you know that's exactly what I was going to\nsay to you?\"\n\n\"Is it possible?\" I rejoined, as demurely as I could, but my stinging\ncheek betrayed me.\n\n\"Why, how you blush,\" he went on. \"Ha! have I found you out?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said I, in an instant changed from convict to\ncriminal.\n\n\"You have a sweetheart.\"\n\n\"And so have you,\" I retorted, as severely as I could.\n\n\"I don't deny it,\" said he, laughing like mad.\n\n\"Neither do I, if it comes to that.\"\n\nNow, be it understood, we had neither of us, as yet, confessed to the\nother the reality of the attachment we had each conceived for the\ndivine Polly.\n\n\"You are really in love, then, Rory?\"\n\n\"Oh! don't mention it,\" replied he. \"Ocean deep, my boy; fathomless;\nout of soundings one instant; the next, floating nautilus-like upon the\nwarm, tranquil bosom of an oriental lake; now, lifted upon the very top\nwave of lunacy, to clutch at stars; and sunk in the hollow depths of\ndark despair.\" Rory was curiously ornate in his amatory outbreaks.\n\"What do you think?\" he went on, with a dash of his hitherto\nconfidence. \"I have been at the Heliconian again.\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Upon my life! deep draughts! inspiration. Her eyes--oh! such eyes.\nYou've seen them; small heavens, with a sun in each; saw her\nto-day--all fixed, my boy; she loves me--said so, and yet my pulse\ndidn't overflow and choke me; heart in my mouth, to be sure--but gulped\nit down again with a ponderous effort; going to meet her to-night, by\nappointment; what do you think of that, my boy? what do you think of\nthat?\"\n\nCurious coincidence, thought I, but said nothing.\n\n\"Shall I read you what I have been doing?\" said Rory, with a slightly\napologetic gesture.\n\n\"Only too happy, of course,\" said I, mentally anathematizing him for an\ninjudicious bore, thus to parade his flaming productions before--ahem!\na writer for the press; but here is Rory's effusion; he gave me a copy.\n\n\"You must know,\" he premised, \"that I had some misgivings about a\ncertain elderly codger, whom I frequently discovered in tantalizing\ncompanionship with my beloved; hence my Valentine is a little\nsuggestive.\"\n\nMore curious coincidences, said something within me, striking upon the\near of my heart rather alarmingly; but the great pacificator, conceit,\nsoon quelled the emotion, and I was all absorbed in self love and\ndelicious anticipations, when Rory cleared his throat, and read\n\n    AN ALLEGORY.\n\n    As Cupid one day, with his quiver well stored,\n      Fluttered round, upon wickedness bent,\n    Right and left, his insidious love-messengers poured,\n    And hearts by the hundred were shamefully scored,\n      To the mischievous archer's content.\n    'Till at last he encountered King Death on his way,\n      Whose arrows more fatally flew.\n    In vain did the emulous urchin display\n    All his arts, his companion still carried the day,\n      For his shafts were, as destiny, true.\n\n    Boy Cupid, annoyed at the other's success,\n      Invoked cousin Mercury's aid,\n    Who, having for mischief a talent no less,\n    Changed their quivers, so featly that neither could guess,\n      Such complete transposition were made.\n    The result, up to this very hour you may see,\n      For when very old folk feel love's smart,\n    Cupid's arrow by Death surely missioned must be;\n    But when youth in its loveliness sinks to decay,\n      Death's quiver doth furnish the dart.\n\nHere was a startling resemblance, with a vengeance; in spite of my\nnew-fledged confidence, and the unmistakably excellent opinion I\nentertained of number one, I began to feel somewhat nervous.\n\n\"How do you like it?\" said Rory, evidently nettled at my inattention.\n\n\"I don't like it all.\"\n\n\"Eh!\"\n\n\"I don't mean that; I mean--the poetry is superb--lovely--but\"----\n\n\"But what? you are laboring to give vent to something, evidently--out\nwith it, man,\" Rory continued, moodily.\n\n\"Well, then, since you press me,\" said I, \"I certainly have my\nmisgivings.\"\n\n\"And what about, pray?\"\n\n\"May I venture to ask who the elderly person is, at whom your allegory\nis directed?\"\n\n\"I have no objection at all,\" Rory replied, \"if you give me your word\nyou won't mention it again.\"\n\n\"Honor bright.\"\n\n\"Well, then, it's old Tom Gallagher, the saw-bones.\"\n\nOh! my internal machinery ceased working, for an instant; had I a\ngirl's privilege, I should have fainted outright; it was a shock; a\nstunning one, and no mistake.\n\n\"What's the matter with you?\" inquired Rory, seeing me gasp like a\nfresh-caught perch.\n\n\"Oh! Rory,\" I cried, grasping his hand with the sudden affection that\nsimilarity of misfortune always instigates. \"Rory, my friend, did you\nsee my Valentine in the _Tipperary Gazette_?\"\n\n\"Yes, and liked it,\" said he, in a tone of sincerity; \"but who was\nPlutus?\"\n\n\"By all that's excruciating, old Tom Gallagher.\"\n\nRory turned as pale as a turnip.\n\n\"And the confounded little coquette who bamboozled you to day,\" I\ncontinued, courageously, despite of Rory's dark frown, \"and who\nconglomerated my reasoning faculties in the same way, was Miss Polly\nO'Connor.\"\n\nIt was now Rory's turn to have his mechanism bothered.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he whispered, tremblingly.\n\n\"I mean,\" said I, \"that this very morning, Miss Polly O'Conner swore as\nbinding an oath as ever flashed out of a pair of eyes, or was sealed\nupon a pair of lips, that I was to have the fee simple of her heart for\nlife, and to settle the affair, we are to meet this evening, at eight\no'clock, in Duffy's borieen, at the little stile leading into Murphy's\nlane.\"\n\n\"Just the spot, and just the time, by Jove, that I was to be there for\nthe same purpose,\" cried Rory, gnashing his teeth in a biting rage.\n\nFor a few moments, we stood silently regarding each other, and at last,\nbroke into a violent fit of laughter; it was what old Tom himself,\nconfound his coppery heart, would call \"the crisis;\" we were cured--not\nimmediately, however--the dangerous point was passed--time and low diet\ndid the rest.\n\nThe inhuman little savage confessed, shortly after, that she had\nadopted that nefarious plan, in order that, by meeting together, we\nmight--how, she didn't care--come to some explanation with regard to\nthe duality of our attachment, and the double duplicity of our\nTipperary Venus.\n\nAnd now to return--it's a long way back, but never mind. I'm riding an\nold hack; few that's used to such journeys. To my first intention; that\nis, to illustrate the position in Fairydom of the _Leprechaun_.\n\nIt is one Rory's wild tales, and, as it mightily interested me--to be\nsure, I was young at the time--I trust, gentle reader, it may not prove\nentirely devoid of attraction for you.\n\nIn the little village of Templeneiry, situated at the base of one of\nthe Galtee mountains, whose summit looks down upon the diminutive\nhamlet from the altitude of two thousand feet, there dwelt a very\ncelebrated and greatly-sought-after individual, one Terry Magra, the\nPiper; there wasn't a _pathern_, fair, wake, wedding, or merriment\nof any description, for miles round, in which he and his dhrones were\nnot called into requisition: there wasn't a performer on that noisy,\nbut much-loved instrument, that could at all compare with Terry; it was\nsolemnly asserted, indeed, that his superiority was the result of fairy\nagency; a belief which he was not unwilling to foster and encourage,\ninasmuch, as it gave him a wonderful importance among the superstitious\npeasantry.\n\nNow, with grief it must be recorded, Terry was too much addicted to the\nalmost national failing, that of intoxication. Whisky was to him the\nuniversal panacea; did his sweetheart, and he had plenty of them, frown\nupon his tender suit, whisky banished the mortification; was his rent\nin arrear, and no sign of anything turning up, whisky wiped off the\naccount, instanter; did all the ill-omened birds that flock around the\nhead of poverty, assail him, he fired a stiff tumbler of whisky punch\nat them, and they dispersed.\n\nOn the whole, it was a jolly vagabond, reckless, and variegated life,\nthat of Terry Magra; his supernatural reputation, together with the\ngeneral belief in the positive existence of fairies, entertained by the\ncommunity in which he exercised his pleasant vocation, rendering him a\nfit subject to receive any spiritual impression, howsoever removed from\nthe common course of events.\n\nIt was one moonlight night that Terry, after having attended a grand\nfestival in the neighborhood, brought up, as was his usual custom, at a\nSheebieen house, where a few seasoned old casks, like himself,\ninvariably \"topped off\" with a round of throat-raspers; here he was the\nSir Oracle; the lord of the soil himself--did they ever see him, which\nwas not at all probable, for, upon the means wrung by his agents from\nthe poor wretches, by Providence delegated to his care--those same\nagents, by the way, managing to squeeze out a comfortable per-centage\nfor themselves--he lives in London. The lord of the soil, as I said,\ncould not be served with readier obedience, or listened to with more\nprofound attention.\n\nThe roaring song, and joke, and fun abounded upon this occasion, and\nTerry improvised so wild and inspiriting a strain upon his famous\npipes, that it was generally conceded, with enthusiasm tinctured with\nawe, that no mortal hand could have produced such astounding music.\n\nAt length, the sleepy proprietor of the place put a sudden end to the\njollification, by stopping the supplies, the only way in which the\nWidow Brady--for I'm sorry to say it was a woman, and a decent-looking\none too, who presided over this Pandora's box, where Hope forever lies\nimprisoned--could break up the party.\n\nTerry, after vainly endeavoring to mollify the widow, gathered up his\nmagic pipes, and sallied forth. Adieus were exchanged; friendly hugs,\nand protestations of eternal friendship passed between the stammering,\nroaring crowd, to be ratified hereafter, it might be, by a crack on the\nskull from a tough _alpieen_. At last they separated, each to find, as\nhe could, his way home by the devious light of a clouded moon.\n\nNow, Terry lived a smart way up the mountain, and so, with, as he said,\n\"the sense fairly bilin' in him everywhere but his murdherin' legs,\"\nthat persisted in carrying him in the opposite direction to that which\nhis intention pointed, the contest between his will and his locomotive\npowers making his course somewhat irregular--our bold piper proceeded\non his way, humming snatches of songs, and every now and then, by way\nof diversion, waking the echoes by a fierce blast from his \"chanter.\"\n\nWhether Terry resorted to these means for the purpose of keeping his\ncourage from slumbering within his breast, I know not; but, inasmuch as\nthe ground he was traversing had a general fairy repute, I think it\nmore than likely that, notwithstanding the whisky-valor with which he\nhad armed himself, it was not without considerable trepidation he\nendeavored to make his way through the enchanted precincts.\n\nThere was one isolated mound, which tradition had positively marked as\na favorite resort of the \"good people,\" and as Terry neared it,\napprehension smote against his heart lustily. For the first time, he\nfaltered. The moon, which had hitherto seemed to light him famously,\nshot suddenly behind a dense, black cloud, and Terry thought that\nblindness had fallen upon him, so black did everything appear. At the\nsame moment, a gust of wind shook the crisp leaves of the aspen trees,\nwith a noise like the rattling of dry bones, that sunk into his very\nsoul. He was frightened--he couldn't go a step further. Down on his\nknees he fell, in the middle of the road, and, as a last resource,\ntried to collect himself sufficiently to mutter through the form of\nexorcisement used by the peasantry in similar emergencies. To his\nhorror he discovered that he couldn't remember a syllable of the\nmatter. He resorted to his prayers, but his traitor-memory deserted him\nthere also.\n\nNow his perturbation and dismay increased, for he knew by those signs\nthat he was \"fairy-struck.\" There was nothing left him but to run for\nit; but, to his yet greater terror, on endeavoring to rise from his\nknees, he found himself rooted to the ground like a tree; not a muscle\ncould he move. Then--as he described it--\n\n\"The fairy bells rung like mad inside of me skull. The very brains of\nme was twisted about, as a washerwoman twists a wet rag; somethin' hit\nme a bat on the head, an' down I dropped, as dead as a herrin'.\"\n\nWhen Terry came to himself again, the darkness had vanished, and the\nwhole scene was glowing with the mellow softness of an eastern morning.\nThe atmosphere was imbued with a delicious warmth, while a subdued\ncrimson haze hung between earth and sky. The common road-stones looked\nlike lumps of heated amber. The very dew-drops on the grass glittered\nlike rubies, while the noisy little mountain-fall, where it broke white\nagainst the rocks, flashed and sparkled in the rosy light, like jets of\nliquid gold, filling the air with living gems.\n\n\"Be jabers, an' this is Fairy-land, sure enough,\" said Terry; \"an' if\nthe little blaggards has got anything agin' me, it's in a murdherin'\nbad box I am, the divil a doubt of it. I've nothin' for it, anyway, but\nto take it aisy.\" So he sat upon a large stone on the wayside, and\ngazed with intense admiration on the lovely scene before him, inly\nwondering what kind of demonstration the inhabitants of this enchanted\nspot would make when they discerned his audacious intrusion.\n\nSeveral minutes had elapsed, and Terry heard nothing but a small,\nmusical hum, barely discernible by the sense, which every warm current\nof air caused to rise and fall upon his charmed ear, in undulations of\ndreamy melody. Suddenly, however, his attention was directed towards a\nfallen leaf, which some vagrant breeze appeared to toss to and fro in\nmerry play. For a long time he watched its eccentric movements, until\nat last a gust of wind lifted it up, and whirling it round and round in\ncircling eddies, dropped it on the piece of rock where he was sitting.\n\nNow Terry perceived a multitude of tiny creatures, ant-like, busied\naround the still fluttering leaf, and on stooping to examine them\nclosely, his heart leaped like a living thing within his bosom, his\nbreath came short and gasping, and his tongue clove to his palate.\n\n\"There they are, an' no mistake,\" thought he; \"an' my time is come. May\nthe blessed saints stand betune me an harm.\"\n\nThe crowds of atomies which he had supposed to be ants, were beings of\nthe most exquisite human form; anon, the air grew thick with them.\nSome, winged like butterflies, disported around his head, and alighted\nupon his garments, pluming their bejewelled pinions and then darting\noff again.\n\n\"It's mighty quare that they don't give me a hint that I'm out of me\nelement,\" thought Terry, as, emboldened by their passiveness, he gently\ntook the leaf up in his hand, on which were dozens of them yet\nclustered; he held the fairy-laden leaf up to his eyes; still they kept\ngambolling about it; they overrun his fingers, and clambered up his\nsleeve, but no intimation did they give that Terry was of other\nmaterial than one of the rocks by which they were surrounded; they\ninvaded his face, examined his mouth, and peered into his eyes, yet\nthere was no indication that his presence was acknowledged.\n\nResolving to test the matter at once, with an effort of courage, he\nrose up gradually, and looked around him; all was quiet.\n\n\"If any thing will make them spake, the pipes will,\" said he, bravely,\nand so, filling his chanter, he gave one preliminary blast, and finding\nthat it met with no response, save from the distant echoes, that sent\nit sweeping back in multiplied reverberations, he commenced to play one\nof his most lauded planxtys; never had he satisfied himself better, but\nnever had he exerted himself before a more unappreciative assembly; the\nuniversal fun and frolic went on as before.\n\nHis artistic self-love was sadly wounded. \"The divil such a lot of\nstupid fairies did I ever hear tell of,\" said he, throwing down his\npipes in disgust. \"An' bad luck attend the grunt more yez'll get out o'\nme; such elegant music as I've been threaten yez wid, an' the never an\near cocked among the lot of yez.\"\n\n\"A thin, Misther Terry Magra,\" said the smallest possible kind of a\nvoice, but which thrilled through the piper as though it were\nthunder-loud. \"Shure, an' you're not goin' to concate that it's music\nyou've been tearin' out ov them tree-stumps of yours; be the powers of\nwar, it's a tom-cat I thought you wor squeezin' undher yer arms.\"\n\n\"Thank you, kindly, yer honor, for the compliment, whoever you are,\"\nreplied Terry, when, on turning round to the quarter from whence the\nvoice proceeded, he saw, sitting on the branch of a tree beside him, a\ndiminutive piper, in all respects a perfect resemblance to himself;\ndressed in similar garments, even to the dilapidated _caubieen_,\nwith an atom of a _dhudieen_ stuck in it; but what elicited his\nadmiration most of all, was the weeny set of pipes the swaggering\nlittle ruffian carried on his arm.\n\n\"Your soul to glory,\" cried Terry, his excitement completely mastering\nhis apprehension. \"An' if you can blow any music out of them, I'll give\nin soon an' suddent.\"\n\n\"Howld yer prate, you ugly man, an' bad Christian,\" cried the little\nfellow; \"sure, an' it's plinty of help I'll have;\" with that, he put\nthe bellows under his arm, and blew a blast that sounded like the\nwhistle of a tom-tit in distress; a signal which was quickly answered\nby similar sounds, issuing from all directions; and very soon Terry saw\ngroups of little pipers climbing up the tree until the branch was\nfairly alive with them, each one an exact counterpart of the first.\n\n\"May I never sin if the sowls of all the Terry Magras, past, present,\nan' to come, ain't to the fore, it's my belief, this minnit,\" said the\npiper, in an ecstasy of amazement.\n\n\"We must graize our elbows before we begin, boys,\" said Terry's friend,\nproducing a fairy bottle.\n\n\"Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra,\" says the little vagabond,\nwith a ghost of a laugh; and up went the bottle to his head.\n\n\"Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra,\" they all repeated, as the\nreal mountain dew went merrily round.\n\n\"Faix, an' it's glad enough I'd be to return thanks for the favor,\"\nsaid Terry, \"if it's a thing that I had a toothful of sperrits to join\nyez in; more, betoken, I'm as drouthy as a sand-bag this blessed hour.\"\n\n\"Never be it said that a dhry Christian should keep cotton in his\nmouth, while we can give him a dhrop to wash it out,\" said the little\npiper, throwing his bottle at Terry.\n\n\"Bedad, it's a _dhrop_, sure enough, that I'll be suckin' out of this,\"\nsaid Terry, as he regarded the tiny atom that rested in the palm of his\nhand. \"Bad 'cess to me, if a scooped-out duck-shot wouldn't howld more\nnourishment. I'm obleeged to you for your good intentions, any way, but\nI b'leeve I won't be robbin' you this time.\"\n\n\"Don't be refusin' your liquor, you fool,\" said the piping little chap,\nwith a wicked look out of his mites of eyes. \"I'll be bound that such\nliquor never tickled your throat before.\"\n\n\"Well, rather than appear onfriendly, I'll just go through the motions;\nso here's jolly good luck to yez all,\" said Terry, raising the\npellet-like material to his lips, when, to his intense satisfaction and\nwonder, his mouth instantly filled up, and run over, with a perfect\nflood of such whisky as he owned never yet had blessed his palate;\nagain and again he repeated the experiment, and with the like delicious\nresult.\n\n\"Hollo! there, give me back my bottle, you thief of the world; would\nyou ruin us, entirely?\" cried the little piper. \"If the blaggard\nwouldn't drink the say dhry, I'm not here.\"\n\n\"By the sowl of me mother,\" said Terry, with a loud smack of enjoyment,\n\"if the say was made of such stuff as that, may I never, if I wouldn't\nchange places wid a mermaid's husband, and flourish a fish's tail all\nthe days of my life.\"\n\n\"But this has nothin' to do concarnin' the music,\" says the fairy, \"so,\nhere goes to show you how much you know about humorin' the pipes.\" So\nsaying, the whole army of pipers set up a chant, so small, and yet so\nexquisitely sweet and harmonious, that Terry scarcely dared to breathe,\nfor fear of losing the slightest echo of such bewitching strains.\n\n\"What do you say to that?\" inquired the little fellow, when they had\nfinished.\n\n\"Say to it,\" cried Terry, flinging his hat upon the ground in an\necstasy of delight; \"what the mischief can I say? Bedad, there never\nwas a mortial had the concate so complately licked out o' him as it's\nbeen deludhed out o' me at this present writin, an' to make my words\ngood, av there was a bit of fire near, if I wouldn't make cindhers of\nthat murdherin' ould catherwauler ov mine, I'm a grasshopper.\"\n\n\"It does you credit to own up to it so readily, Terry Magra,\" said the\nhead fairy, pleased enough at the compliment. \"An', by the way of\nrewardin' you for that same, we'll give you a blast of another sort.\"\nWith that they turned to and executed a jig-tune, so swiftly-fingered,\nso lively and irresistibly _sole_-inspiring, that, with a wild scream\nof delight, Terry whipped off his great coat, and jumping on the level\nrock, went through the varied complications of the most intricate\ndescription of Irish dance.\n\n\"Murdher alive, av I only had a partner now,\" he cried. \"Such elegant\nmusic, an' only one to be enjoyin' it.\" Faster and faster played the\nfairy pipers, and yet more madly Terry beat time upon the stone, making\nthe mountains resound to his vociferous shouts, until exhausted at\nlast, he jumped off, and sunk panting on the ground.\n\n\"Oh! _tear an' aigers_!\" he cried, \"an' av yez have a grain of\ncompassion in thim insignificant tiniments of yours, fairies, darlin',\nwon't yez lend us the loan of a pull out of that same bit of a bottle,\nfor it's the seven senses that you've fairly batthered out o' me wid\nthat rattlin' leg-teazer of a chune.\"\n\n\"Wid a heart an' a half, my hayro!\" said the little piper, flinging\nTerry the fairy-bottle; \"it's you that has the parliaminthary unction\nfor the creather, if ever a sowl had. Don't be afeard of it, it won't\nhurt a feather of you, no more nor wather on a duck's back.\"\n\nThus encouraged, Terry lifted his elbow considerably, before he thought\nit prudent to desist, the fairy liquor appearing more delicious with\neach gulp, when, all at once--for Terry had a tolerable share of\nacuteness for a piper--the thought struck him that the little schemers\nmight have a motive in thus plying him with such potential stuff.\n\n\"If you're at all inclined for a nap, Terry, my boy,\" said the fairy,\nblandly, \"there's a lovely bank of moss fornent you, that'll beat the\nbest feather-bed at the Globe Inn, in the town of Clonmel. Stretch\nyourself on it, _aroon_, an' we'll keep watch over you as tindherly\nas av your own mother was hangin' over yer cradle.\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! is it there yez are, you sootherin' vagabonds,\" said Terry to\nhimself. \"It's off o' my guard you want to ketch me, eh?\" He was\ndetermined, however, to diplomatize, so he replied, with equal\npoliteness, \"It's thankful that I am to yer honors for the invite, but\nI wouldn't be makin' such a hole in my manners as to let a wink come on\nme in such iligant company.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, just as you like, Terry Magra,\" observed the fairy, with\njust enough of lemon in his tone to convince Terry that his surmise was\ncorrect. \"At all events, if you're not sleepy now, you soon will be,\"\nthe little fellow continued, \"so, when you are, you will lie down\nwithout fear. In the meantime, we must go and inform our king how\nfamously we've amused you, and what a fine fellow you are.\" So saying,\nwith a sharp little squeal of a laugh, that Terry thought carried with\nit a sufficiency of sarcasm, the little piper and his companions\nrapidly descended from their perch, and vanished from his sight.\n\nNo sooner had they departed when Terry's ears were saluted by a\nsingularly delightful buzzing noise, that, in spite of his endeavor to\nresist it, caused a growing drowsiness to steal over him. The declining\ndaylight deepened into a still more roseate hue. Once or twice his\neyelids drooped, but he recovered himself with a vigorous effort.\n\n\"By the ghost of Moll Kelly,\" he cried, \"I'm a lost mutton, as sure as\neggs is chickens, if the sleep masthers me; the pipes is my only\nchance.\" So saying, he shook off the slumberous sensation, and, seizing\nthe instrument, blazed out into a stormy attack upon \"Garryowen,\" and,\nsure enough, something like a distant groan, as of disappointment,\nreached him at the very first snore of the chanter.\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" he exclaimed, \"it isn't an omadhaun all out yez has to dale\nwid this time, you little rascals, as cunnin' as ye think yerselves.\nBedad, it won't do me any harm to make use of my eyes hereabouts; who\nknows but I may light atop of a fairy threasure, and drive the\nimptiness out of my pocket for ever and ever.\"\n\nWith this determination, the bold piper proceeded to investigate the\ncharacter of the ground in his immediate neighborhood. For a short time\nhe saw nothing remarkable except the circumstance of the whole\nsurroundings being alive with fairies, to whose presence he was\nbecoming more and more habituated; occasionally he would pause in his\nsearch to view with admiration the energetic way in which a group of\nworkers attended to their specific duties. Observing at one time a more\nthan usual commotion, he was led to give the affair particular\nscrutiny, when he discovered that it was the scene of a most animated\ncontest between two distinct bodies of supernaturals.\n\nAn infant lily-of-the-valley was just raising its head above the\nyielding earth, softened and broken to assist its upward progress, by\nscores of busy atomies. Numbers showered its tender leaf with\nrefreshing dew--procured, as Terry observed, by plunging into the\nhollow cup of some sturdy neighboring flower, then flying back to their\ncharge, and shaking the nutritious drops from their wings--others, with\nmechanical ingenuity, held glasses by which they could concentrate the\npassing sunbeams upon the spot, when necessary; while others drove\nthere with their united pinions the stray breezes, whose invigorating\nbreath was needed.\n\nWhile Terry was rapt in the delightful contemplation of this curious\nscene, all at once he saw that there was something of uncommon interest\ngoing on amongst the crowd. He observed, in the first instance, that\nalthough the labor was not for a moment suspended, yet a solid phalanx\nof armed fairies had formed about the immediate workers. The reason was\nsoon obvious, for, careering round and round, or darting to and fro in\nzigzag courses almost as swiftly as the lightning itself, was an\nenormous dragon-fly, carrying on its glistening back a diminutive form\nof a brilliant green color, that flashed in the glancing light like\nliving emerald. Wherever there was a tender young plant there its\nfierce attack was directed, and in all cases repelled by the brave\nlittle guardians.\n\nThis terrible monster--as it appeared even in Terry's eyes, when\ncompared with the tiny creatures that surrounded him--seemed to have\nsingled out the fragile lily-of-the-valley for its especial ferocity,\nfor again and again it darted furiously against the unyielding\ndefenders, only, however, to be repulsed at each charge, writhing and\ntwisting its snaky body, punctured by the thorn-bayonets of the\nfairy-guard.\n\nThe indomitable courage and resolution of the defence at length\nprevailed, and after a last ineffectual effort to break through the\nchevaux-de-frise that protected the beleaguered flower, the dreadful\nenemy wheeled angrily two or three times around the spot, and at length\ndarted upwards rapidly, and disappeared, to the manifest delight of the\nfairies. Soon, however, a yet more formidable danger threatened, for in\nthe distance there approached a gigantic snail, dragging its noxious\nslime over every thing in its destructive path. Terry now observed\nevidences of the most intense solicitude and perturbation. The guard\naround the flower was trebled, scouts seemed to be called in from all\nquarters, hastening to a common rendezvous. Meantime the snail moved on\nin a direct line with the object of their care and anxiety.\n\n\"Now my fine fellows,\" said Terry, completely absorbed in the\ninteresting scene, \"how the mischief are yez goin' to manage that\ncustomer?\"\n\nNearer and nearer crawled the snail, and at every onward movement the\nlittle crowd grew more agitated, scampering here and there, and\noverrunning each other in a perfect agony of apprehension and\nexcitement, like a disturbed colony of ants. Multitudes of them cleared\nthe small stumps of decayed grass, and rolled off the pebbles from a\nside path, in the hope of diverting Mr. Snail's course; but their\nengineering skill was fruitless--still on he came, crushing every\ndelicate germ in his progress. He was now only about six inches away\nfrom the lily, and the trepidation of the fairies became so excessive,\nthat it smote upon Terry's heart. He forgot for a moment or two that he\nhimself was the arbiter of their fate.\n\n\"Mother o' Moses,\" said he; \"it's afeared I am that yez goin' to get\nthe worst of the fight, this time; heigh! at him agin, yer sowls,\" he\nshouted, clapping his hands by way of encouragement, as a crowd would\ntry to push the snail from the direct path.\n\n\"Where's yer sinse, you little blaggards? why don't yez all get\ntogether, and you'd soon tumble the murdherin' Turk over.\"\n\nDespair seemed to be spreading through the fairy ranks, when it\nsuddenly occurred to Terry that it was in his own power to put an end\nto their fears at once, by removing the cause; another, and more\npersonal idea flashing across his mind at the same time.\n\n\"Why, then, bad 'cess to this thick skull o' mine,\" said he, as he\npicked up the snail and hurled it to a distance. \"It well becomes me to\nbe stickin' here, watchin' the antics of these little ragamuffins,\ninstead of mindin' my own business of threasure-huntin';\" so, without\nwaiting to see what effect his timely interference had upon the\nsupernals, he commenced vigorously to prosecute his search.\n\nFor some time he diligently explored the crevices and deep hollows on\nthe mountain's side, without finding the slightest indication to\nstimulate his exertions; one particular opening, however, he was loathe\nto penetrate; the insects were so numerous therein, and flew so\nspitefully against his face, that, although it evidently extended to\nsome distance into the heart of the mountain, again and again he was\ndriven from his purpose of ascertaining that fact by the pertinacity of\nthe annoying creatures; now, a prodigious horned beetle would bang\nsharply against his cheek; anon, he would be entirely surrounded by a\ncloud of wasps, through which he had to fight his way lustily.\n\nThrice had he entered the cavity, and having been ignominiously driven\nback each time, had determined to give up the effort to penetrate\nfurther. \"Faix, an' it's mighty quare, entirely,\" said he, \"that this\nis the only spot in the place that's so throubled with the varmint:\nit's my belief there's somethin' in that, too,\" he continued, a new\nlight seeming to break upon him; \"what should they be here for, more\nnor at any other openin', unless it was to keep strangers from\ninthrudin'? May I never, if I don't think that same hole in the rock is\nthe turnpike-gate to somethin' surprizin' in the way of a fairy road;\nhere goes to thry, anyway, in spite of the singin' and stingin'.\"\n\nOnce more, therefore, my bold Terry attempted to enter the cavern, and\nwas attacked as before, but with tenfold fury; legions of stinging\nflies, wasps, and hornets, raised a horrible din about his ears; but,\nsetting his resolution up to the fearless point, on he went, without\nregarding their unpleasant music; expecting, of course, to be stung\ndesperately; what was his astonishment and relief to discover that the\nnoise was the only thing by which he was at all distressed; not one of\nhis myriad of assailants even as much as touched him, and before he had\nproceeded many steps further into the cavity, every sound had ceased.\n\nHe now found his onward progress most uncomfortably impeded by a\nstubborn species of wild hedge-briar, whose sharp, thorny branches\ninterlaced through each other, forming a barrier, whose dangerous\nappearance was sufficient to deter the boldest from risking a\nlaceration. Not an opening large enough to admit his head, could Terry\nsee, and he was about again to give the attempt up as unattainable,\nwhen, by the merest accident, on turning round, his foot slipped, and\nwith that inward shudder with which one prepares for an inevitable\nhurt, he fell against the prickly wall; when, to his utter amazement,\nit divided on each side as though it were fashioned of smoke, and he\ntumbled through, somewhat roughly, to be sure, but altogether unharmed\nby the formidable-looking interposition.\n\n\"By the mortial of war,\" he cried, rubbing his dilapidated elbow, and\nlooking round to examine his position, \"I'm on the right side of that\nhedge, any way.\"\n\nNow, Terry perceived that the barrier he had just so successfully\npassed was slowly regaining its original appearance, and, to his\nmortification, as it gradually closed up the aperture of the cavern,\nthe light, hitherto quite sufficient for him distinctly to see every\nobject, faded away slowly, and finally left him in utter darkness.\n\n\"Bedad, an' a tindher-box an' a sulphur match would be about the\ngreatest threasure I could light on at this present,\" said Terry, as he\ngroped about cautiously, to find some kind of an elevation whereupon he\nmight sit and wait for luck.\n\nHe had not been many minutes, however, in the blackness, when his\nquickened sense became aware of a light, reddish spot, which faintly\nglowed at some distance. This was the first sign of an encouraging\nnature he had experienced, and with a beating heart he proceeded to\nfeel his way towards the bright indication.\n\nGetting gradually accustomed to the dimness that surrounded him he\nsuddenly discovered that he was opposed by a solid wall of rock, in the\nvery centre of which the pale red glimmer still shone, like a star seen\nthrough a summer mist.\n\n\"The divil a use in my thravellin' any longer in that direction,\" said\nTerry, turning sharply round to retrace his steps, when to his\namazement and consternation he encountered the same rocky barrier.\nWhichever way he looked all was alike, stern and impassable. He was\nenclosed within a stony wall, whose circumference was but little more\nthan an arm's length, but whose height was lost in the unsearchable\ndarkness.\n\n\"Musha, then, how the divil did I stumble into this man-thrap?\" cried\nTerry, in consternation. \"There's no way out that I can see, an' where\nthe mischief the top of it is, is beyant my comprehendin'. Bedad,\nthere's nothing for it but to thry an' climb up.\" So saying, Terry\nplaced his foot upon what he supposed, in the uncertain light, was a\nbold projection of the rock, when down he stepped through it, and\nbefore he could recover his perpendicular, his body was half buried in\nthe apparent wall.\n\n\"Be jabers, if it ain't more of their thricks--the never a rock's\nthere, no more nor the briars was; they may make fools of my eyes, but\nthey can't of my fingers, an' its thim I'll thrust to in future,\" said\nhe; and so, keeping the light in view, he boldly dashed through all the\nseeming obstacles, and soon found himself once more in an open space.\nIt was a kind of vaulted tunnel that he was now traversing, his onward\npath still in profound darkness, with the sole exception of the red\nlight, which Terry imagined grew larger and more distinct, each step he\ntook. A rush of warm air every now and then swept by him, and his tread\nechoed in the far distance, giving an idea of immense length.\n\nSomewhat assured by the impunity with which he had already explored the\nenchanted districts, he was beginning to pick his way with freer\nbreath, when his ears were smitten by a sound which sank his heart\nstill deeper. It was the loud and furious barking of a pack of\nevidently most ferocious dogs, which approached rapidly, right in his\npath. On came the savage animals, louder and louder grew their terrible\nbark, and Terry gave himself up for lost in good earnest. It was no use\nto turn about and run, although that was his first impulse; so,\nflinging himself down on the ground, he awaited the attack of his\nunseen foes. He could now hear the clatter of their enormous paws,\nwhile their growlings echoed through the cavern like thunder.\n\n\"Murdher an' nouns, there's a half a hundred of them, I know there is;\nan' it's mince-meat they'll make of me in less than no time,\" cried\nTerry, mumbling all the prayers he could remember, and in another\ninstant, with a tremendous roar, they were upon him, and, with stunning\nyells, swept over him as he lay; but not an atom did he feel, no more\nthan if a cloud had passed across.\n\n\"If they're not at it again, the blaggards,\" said he, getting up, and\nshaking himself; \"the divil a dog was there in the place at\nall--nothin' but mouth--but, by dad, there's enough of that to frighten\nthe sowl out of a narvous Christian;\" and once more the bold Piper\nstarted in pursuit of the coveted light. He had not proceeded very far,\nbefore he heard the distant bellowing of a bull; but, warned by his\npast experience, he shut his ears against the sound, and although it\nincreased fearfully, as though some mad herd were tearing down upon\nhim, he courageously kept on. To be sure, his breath stopped for a\nmoment, and his pulse ceased to beat, when the thing seemed to approach\nhis vicinity, but, as he anticipated, the terror fled by him as he\nstood up erect, with the sensation, only, of a passing breeze.\n\nTerry received no further molestation, but plodded along quietly until\nhe came right up to the place from whence the light proceeded which had\nhitherto guided him, and here a most gorgeous sight presented itself to\nhis enraptured gaze.\n\nWithin a luminous opening of the cave he saw groups of living atomies,\nall busied in the formation of the various gems for which the rich ones\nof the world hunger. In one compartment were the diamond-makers; in\nanother, those who, when finished, coated them over with the rough\nexterior which they hoped would prevent them from being distinguished\nfrom common pebbles. Here was a tiny multitude, fashioning emeralds of\nastonishing magnitude; there, a crowd of industrious elves, putting the\nlast sparkle into some magnificent rubies.\n\nWith staring eyes, and mouth all agape with wonder and delight, Terry\nwatched the curious process for a few moments, scarcely breathing\naudibly for fear of breaking the brilliant spell. What to do he did not\nknow. Heaps of the coveted jewels lay around within his very grasp, yet\nhow to possess himself, without danger, of a few handfuls, he couldn't\nimagine.\n\nAt last, resolving to make one final effort to enrich himself, he\nsuddenly plunged his hand into the glittering mass of diamonds,\npresuming they were the most valuable, and, clutching a quantity,\nthrust them into his pocket, intending to repeat the operation until he\nhad sufficient; but the instant that he did so, the entire cavern was\nrent asunder as with the force of an earthquake, the solid rock opened\nbeneath him with a deafening explosion, and he was shot upwards as from\nthe mouth of a cannon--up--up through the rifted cave, and miles high\ninto the air. Not a whit injured did he feel from the concussion,\nsaving a sense of lightness, as though he was as empty as a blown\nbladder. So high did he go in his aerial flight, that he plainly saw\nto-morrow's sun lighting up the lakes and fields of other latitudes. As\nsoon as he had reached an altitude commensurate with the power of the\nexplosive agency, he turned over and commenced his downward progress,\nand, to his great relief, found that his fall was by no means as rapid\nas he had anticipated--for his consciousness had not for a moment left\nhim; on the contrary, the buoyant air supported him without difficulty,\nand each random gust of wind tossed him about like a feather. Well, day\ncame, and shone, and vanished; so did the evening, and the starry\nnight, and early morning, before Terry had completed his easy descent;\nwhen at length he touched the earth, gently as a falling leaf, and\nfound himself lying beside the very stone from whence he had departed\non his late exploration. The marks of the recent terrible convulsion\nwere visible, however, for the vast mountain was gone, and in its place\na deep, round chasm, filled to over-flowing with a dark yellow liquid,\nthat hissed and bubbled into flame like a Tartarian lake. The rocks\naround him, that before had shone so resplendently, were now blackened\nand calcined--the lovely vegetation blasted--the paradise a desert.\n\n\"Athin, may-be, I haven't been kickin' up the divil's delights\nhereabouts,\" said Terry, as he looked round at the desolation. \"But\nnever a hair I care; haven't I got a pocket-full of big di'minds, an'\nwon't they set me up anyway?\" he continued, drawing forth the precious\ncontents of his pocket, and placing them on the rock by his side; when,\nto his infinite mortification, the entire collection turned out to be\nnothing but worthless pebbles.\n\n\"Musha! thin, may bad luck attend yez for a set of schemin' vagabones;\nan' afther all my throuble it's done again I am,\" he cried, in a rage,\nemptying his pocket, and flinging away its contents in thorough\ndisgust. \"Hollo! what's this?\" he cried, with a start, as he drew forth\nthe last handful; \"may I never ate bread if I haven't tuk one of the\nchaps prisoner, an' if it isn't a Leprechaun I'm not alive;\" and sure\nenough there, lying in the palm of his hand, was as queer a looking\nspecimen of fairyhood as ever the eye looked upon.\n\nThe little bit of a creature had the appearance of an old man, with\nwrinkled skin and withered features. It was dressed, too, in the\ncostume of a by-gone age. A mite of a velvet coat covered its morsel of\na back; a pair of velvet breeches, together with white silk stockings,\nand little red-heeled shoes, adorned its diminutive legs, which looked\nas if they might have belonged to a rather fat spider, and a stiff\nwhite wig, duly pomatumed and powdered, surmounted by a three-cornered\nhat, bedecked its head.\n\nThe leprechaun seemed to be in a state of insensibility, as Terry\nexamined minutely its old-fashioned appearance. \"It's just as I've\nheard tell of 'em,\" he cried, in glee; \"cocked hat, an' breeches, an'\nbuckles, an' all. Hurroo! I'm a made man if he ever comes to.\" With\nthat, Terry breathed gently on the little fellow as he lay in his hand,\nas one would to resuscitate a drowned fly.\n\n\"I wondher if he'd have any relish for wather--here goes to thry,\" said\nTerry, plucking a buttercup flower, in whose cavity a drop of dew had\nrested, and holding it to the lips of the leprechaun, \"Oh, murdher! if\nI only had a taste of whisky to qualify it; if that wouldn't bring the\nlife into an Irish fairy, nothing would. Ha! he's openin' his bit of an\neye, by dad; here, suck this, yer sowl to glory,\" Terry continued, and\nwas soon gratified by seeing the leprechaun begin to imbibe the\ncontents of the buttercup with intense avidity.\n\n\"I hope you're betther, sir,\" said Terry, politely.\n\n\"Not the betther for you, Mr. Terry Magra,\" replied the fairy, \"though\nI'm obleeged to you for the drop o' drink.\"\n\n\"Indeed, an' yer welcome, sir,\" Terry went on, \"an' more betoken, it's\nmighty sorry I am to have gev you any oneasiness.\"\n\n\"That's the last lie you towld, Mr. Terry, and you know it,\" the\nleprechaun answered, tartly, \"when your heart is fairly leapin' in your\nbody because you've had the luck to lay a howld of me.\"\n\n\"Well, an' can't a fella be glad at his own luck, an' yet sorry if\nanybody else is hurted by it,\" said Terry, apologetically.\n\n\"You can't humbug me, you covetious blaggard,\" the fairy went on. \"But\nI'll thry you, anyway--now listen to me. The fairies that you have just\nbeen so wicked as to inthrude your unwelcome presence upon, were all\nleprechauns like myself--immortal essences, whose duty it was to make\nand guard the treasures, that you saw in spite of all the terrors that\nwe employed to frighten you away. So long as they were unobserved by\nmortal eyes, our existence was a bright and glorious one; but, once\nseen, we are obliged to abandon our fairy life and shape, take this\ndegrading form, and work at a degrading occupation, subject to the\nailments and mishaps of frail humanity, and forced to live in constant\nfear of your insatiate species. Now, the only chance I have to regain\nthe blissful immortality I have lost, is for you to be magnanimous\nenough to relinquish the good fortune you anticipate from my capture.\nSet me unconditionally free, and I can revel once more in my forfeited\nfairy existence--persevere in your ungenerous advantage, and I am\ncondemned to wander a wretched out-cast through the world--now, what is\nyour determination?\"\n\nTerry's better feelings prompted him at first to let the little\ncreature go, but love of lucre got the upper hand, and after a slight\npause of irresolution, he replied:\n\n\"Indeed, an' it's heart sick that I am to act so conthrary, but I'll\nleave it to yerself if it ain't agin nature for a man to fling away his\nluck. Shoemakin' is an iligant amusement, an' profitable; you'll soon\nget mighty fond of it; so, I'm afeard I'll have to throuble you to do\nsomethin' for me.\"\n\n\"I thought how it would be; you're all alike,\" said the fairy, sadly;\n\"selfish to the heart's core. Well, what do you want? I'm in your\npower, and must fulfill your desire.\"\n\n\"Long life to you; now ye talk sense,\" cried Terry, elated. \"Sure I\nwon't be hard on you--a thrifle of money is all I wish for in the\nworld, for everything else will follow that.\"\n\n\"More, perhaps, than you imagine--cares and anxieties,\" said the\nleprechaun.\n\n\"I'll risk all them,\" replied Terry; \"come, now, I'll tell you what you\nmay do for me. Let me find a shillin' in my pocket every time I put my\nfist into it, an' I'll be satisfied.\"\n\n\"Enough! it's a bargain; and now that you have made your wish, all your\npower over me is gone,\" said the leprechaun, springing out of his hand\nlike a grasshopper, and lighting on the branch beside him; \"it's a\npurty sort of a fool you are,\" it continued, with a chuckle, \"when the\nthreasures of the universe were yours for the desire, to be contented\nwith a pitiful pocket-full of shillin's! ho! ho!\" and the little thing\nlaughed like a cornkrake at the discomfited Terry.\n\n\"Musha! then, may bad cess to me if I don't crush the fun out of your\ncattherpillar of a carcass if I ketch a howlt of you,\" said Terry,\nsavagely griping at the fairy; but, with another spring, it jumped into\nthe brushwood, and disappeared.\n\nTerry's first impulse was to dive his hand into his pocket to see if\nthe leprechaun had kept his word, and to his great delight, there he\nfound, sure enough, a fine bright new shilling. At this discovery his\njoy knew no bounds. He jumped and hallooed aloud, amusing himself\nflinging away shilling after shilling, merely on purpose to test the\ncontinuance of the supply. He was satisfied. It was inexhaustible, and\nbright dreams of a splendid future flitted before his excited\nimagination.\n\nWith a heart full of happiness, Terry now wended his way homeward,\nbusying himself, as he went along, in conveying shilling after shilling\nfrom one pocket into the other, until he filled it up to the\nbutton-hole. On arriving at the village, he met a few of his old\ncompanions, but so altered that he could scarcely recognize them, while\nthey stared at him as though he were a spectre.\n\n\"Keep us from harm,\" said one, \"if here ain't Terry Magra come back.\"\n\n\"Back,\" cried Terry, with a merry laugh, \"why, man alive, I've never\nbeen away.\"\n\n\"Never away, indeed, and the hair of you as white as the dhriven snow,\nthat was as brown as a beetle's back, whin you left,\" said the other.\n\nIt then struck Terry that his friends in their turn had aged\nconsiderably. The youngest that he remembered had become bent and\nwrinkled. \"The saints be good to us,\" he cried, \"but this is mighty\nquare entirely. How long is it sence I've seen yez, boys?\" he inquired\neagerly.\n\n\"How long is it? why, a matther of twenty years or so,\" said one of the\nbystanders; \"don't you know it is?\"\n\n\"Faith, an' I didn't until this blessed minute,\" said Terry. \"Have I\ngrown ould onbeknownst to myself, I wondher?\"\n\n\"Bedad, an' it's an easy time you must have had sence you've been\naway,\" said another; \"not all as one as some of us.\"\n\n\"Well, won't you come an' taste a sup, for gra' we met?\" said Terry,\nbeginning to feel rather uneasy at the singular turn things had taken;\nbut they shook their heads, and, without any other observation, passed\non, leaving him standing alone.\n\n\"Stop!\" he cried, \"wait a bit; it's lashin's of money that I\nhave--here--look;\" and he drew forth a handful of the silver. It was no\nuse, however. All their old cordiality and love of fun were gone; off\nthey went, without even a glance behind them.\n\n\"Twenty years,\" said Terry to himself. \"Oh, they're makin' fun of me. I\ndon't feel a bit oulder nor I was yestherday. I'll soon be easy on that\npoint, anyway.\" So he proceeded towards the old drinking-place, that he\nhad so often spent the night in, but not an atom of it could he find.\nIn the place where he expected to see it, there was a bran new house.\nHe entered it, however, and going straight up to a looking-glass which\nstood in the room, was amazed on seeing reflected therein an apparition\nhe could not recognize, so withered and wrinkled did it appear, and so\naltogether unlike what he anticipated, that he turned sharply around in\nthe hope of finding some aged individual looking over his shoulder; but\nhe was entirely alone--it was his own reflection, and no mistake at all\nabout it.\n\n\"By the powers of war, but my journey into the mountains hasn't\nimproved my personal appearance,\" said he. \"It's easy to see that; but,\nnever mind, I've got the money, an' that'll comfort me;\" and he jingled\nthe shillings in his pocket as if he could never weary of the sound.\n\nIn a short time the fame of Terry's wealth spread abroad, and as it may\nreadily be imagined, he didn't long want companions. The gay and the\ndissolute flocked round him, and as he had a welcome smile and a\nliberal hand for everybody, the hours flew by, carrying uproarious\njollity on their wings, and notwithstanding his infirmities of body,\nTerry was as happy as the days were long.\n\nNow, while he had only to provide for his own immediate wants, and\nsettle the whisky scores of his riotous friends, he had easy work of\nit. It was only to keep putting his hand into his pocket two or three\ndozen times a day, and there was more than sufficient. But this kind of\nexistence soon began to grow monotonous, and Terry sighed for the more\nenviable pleasures of a domestic life, and inasmuch as it was now well\nunderstood that Terry was an \"eligible party,\" he had no great\ndifficulty in making a selection. Many of the \"down hill\" spinsters\ngave evident indications that they would be nothing loth to take him\nfor better or for worse; and--I'm sorry to have to record the fact--not\na few even of the more youthful maidens set their curls at the quondam\npiper. Neither his age, nor the doubtful source of his revenue,\nrendering him an unmarketable commodity in the shambles of Hymen.\n\nIn process of time, Terry wooed and won a demure-looking little\n_collieen_, and after having shut himself up for two or three\ndays, accumulating money enough for the interesting and expensive\nceremony, was duly bound to her for life. Now, it was that his\ninexhaustible pocket began to be overhauled continuously, and Terry\ncursed his imprudence in not asking for guineas instead of shillings.\nMrs. Terry Magra possessed a somewhat ambitious desire to outvie her\nneighbors. Silk dresses were in demand and shawls and bonnets by the\ncart-load. The constant employment gave Terry the rheumatism in his\nmuscles, until at last it was with the greatest difficulty he could\nforce his hand into his pocket.\n\nBefore many months had elapsed, Terry was prostrated upon a sick bed,\nhis side--the pocket-side--completely paralyzed, and as he was not one\nof those who lay by for a rainy day, his inability to apply to his\nfairy exchequer caused him to suffer the greatest privation--and where\nwere the boon companions of his joyous hours, now? Vanished--not one of\nthem to be seen--but haply fluttering around some new favorite of\nfortune, to be in his turn fooled, flattered, and when the dark day\ncame--deserted.\n\nWhen Terry grew better in health, which he did very slowly, there was a\nconsiderable back-way to make up, and the best part of his time was\noccupied in the mere mechanical labor of bringing out his shillings.\nMrs. Magra also became more and more exacting, and the care-worn piper\nbegan to acknowledge to himself that, his good fortune was not at all\ncomparable with the anxiety and annoyance it had produced. Again and\nagain he deplored the chance which had placed the temptation in his\nway, and most especially blamed his own selfish greed, which prevented\nhim from behaving with proper generosity toward the captured\nleprechaun.\n\n\"He towld me plain enough what would come of it,\" cried he, one day,\nas, utterly exhausted, he threw himself on the floor, after many hours\napplication to the indispensable pocket; \"he towld me that it would\nbring care and misery, an' yet I wasn't satisfied to profit by the\nwarning. Here am I, without a single hour of comfort, everybody\ndhraggin' at me for money, money! an' the very sinews of me fairly wore\nout wid divin' for it. This sort of life ain't worth livin' for.\"\n\nBefore long, Terry's necessities increased to such a degree, that out\nof the twenty-four hours of the day and night, more than two-thirds\nwere taken up with the now terrible drudgery by which they were to be\nsupplied. No time had he left for relaxation--hardly for sleep. The\nthought of to-morrow's toil weighed on his heart, and kept him from\nrest. He was thoroughly miserable. It was in vain that he called upon\ndeath to put an end to him and his wretchedness together; there was no\nescape for him, even, by that dark road; the fear of a worse hereafter,\nmade imminent by the consciousness of an ill-spent life, kept him from\nopening the eternal gate himself, to which he was often sorely tempted.\n\nTo this great despondency succeeded a course of reckless dissipation\nand drunkenness. Homeless at last, he wandered from one drinking-shop\nto another, caring nothing for the lamentable destitution in which his\nfamily was steeped; for, as is usually the case, the poorer he became\nthe more his family increased. His deserted wife and starving little\nones were forced to obtain a scanty subsistence through the degrading\nmeans of beggary. He himself never applied to his fairy resource unless\nto furnish sufficient of the scorching liquor as would completely drown\nall sense of circumstance. The slightest approach to sobriety only\nbrought with it reflection, and reflection was madness. So, the very\nworst amongst the worst, in rags and filth, he staggered about the\nvillage, a mark of scorn and contempt to every passer-by, or else prone\nupon some congenial heap of garbage, slept off the fierceness of his\nintoxication, to be again renewed the instant consciousness returned.\n\nWith that extraordinary tenacity of life indicative of an originally\nfine constitution, which, added to a naturally powerful frame of body,\nmight have prolonged his years even beyond the allotted space, Terry\ncrept on in this worse than brutal state of existence for many months,\nuntil at last, one morning, after a drinking bout of more than usual\nexcess, he was found lying in a stable to which he had crawled for\nshelter, insensible, and seemingly dead. Perceiving, however, some\nslight signs of animation yet remaining, his discoverers carried him to\nthe public hospital, for home he had none, and his own misdeeds had\nestranged the affections, and closed the heart against him of her whose\ninclination as well as duty would have brought her quickly to his side,\nhad he but regarded and cherished the great God-gift to man--a woman's\nlove, and not cast it aside as a worthless thing.\n\nTended and cared for, however, although by stranger hands, Terry\nhovered a long time betwixt life and death, until at length skill and\nattention triumphed over the assailant, and he was restored to\ncomparative health.\n\nIt was then, during the long solitary hours of his convalescence, when\nthe mind was restored to thorough consciousness, but the frame yet too\nweak for him to quit his bed, that the recollection of his wasted\nexistence stood spectre-like before his mental vision. Home destroyed,\nwife and children abandoned, friendships sundered, and himself brought\nto the brink of a dreaded eternity, and all through the means he had so\neagerly coveted, and by which he had expected to revel in all the\nworld's joys.\n\nHe prayed, in the earnest sincerity of awakened repentance; he prayed\nfor Heaven's assistance to enable him to return to the straight path.\n\n\"Oh! if I once get out of this,\" he cried, while drops of agony bedewed\nhis face, \"I'll make amends during the brief time yet left me--I will,\nI will. Come what may, never again will I be beholdin' to that fearful\ngift. I now find to my great cost that wealth, not properly come by, is\na curse and not a blessing. I'll work, with the help of the good God\nand his bright angels, an' may-be peace will once more visit my\ntortured heart.\"\n\nIt was some time before he was able to leave his bed, but when at last\nhe was pronounced convalescent, he quitted the hospital, with the firm\ndetermination never again, under any circumstance whatsoever, even to\nplace his hand within the pocket from whence he had hitherto drawn his\nresources. As a further security against the probability of temptation,\nhe took a strong needle and thread, and sewed up the opening tightly.\n\n\"There,\" he cried, with an accent of relief, \"bad luck to the toe of me\ncan get in there now. Oh! how I wish to gracious it had always been so,\nand I wouldn't be the miserable, homeless, houseless, wife and\nchildless vagabone that I am at this minnit.\"\n\nAs he was debating in his own mind what he should turn to in order to\nobtain a living--for so great a disgust had he taken to the pipes, to\nwhich he attributed all his wretchedness, that he had determined to\ngive up his productive but precarious profession of piper, and\nabandoning the dissolute crowd who rejoiced in his performances, betake\nhimself to some more useful and reputable employment--it suddenly\noccurred to him to visit the scene of his fairy adventure, in the hope\nthat he might get rid of the dangerous gift his cupidity had obtained\nfor him.\n\nNo sooner had he conceived the idea than he instantly set forward to\nput it in execution. The night was favorable for his purpose, and he\narrived at the identical place in the mountain, without the slightest\ninterruption or accident. He found it just as he had left it, a scene\nof the wildest desolation. No sound fell on his ear save the mournful\nshrieking of the wind as it tore itself against the harsh branches of\nthe dead pine trees. He climbed the rugged side of the hill and looked\ninto the black lake that filled the dark chasm at its summit. It seemed\nto be as solid as a sheet of lead. He flung a pebble into the gulf; it\nwas eagerly sucked up, and sunk without a ripple, as though dropped\ninto a mass of burning pitch. One heavy bubble swelled to the surface,\nbroke into a sullen flame that flashed lazily for an instant, and then\nwent out. A small, but intensely black puff of smoke rose above the\nspot; so dense was the diminutive cloud that it was rejected by the\nshadowy atmosphere, which refused to receive it within its bosom.\nReluctantly it seemed to hang upon the surface of the lake, then slowly\nmounted, careering backwards and forwards with each passing breeze.\n\nThe singular phenomenon attracted Terry's attention, and he watched,\nwith increasing interest, the gyrations of the cloud, until at length\nit took a steady direction towards the spot where he stood. It was not\nlong before it floated up to him, and he stepped aside to let it pass\nby, but as he moved, so did the ball of smoke. He stooped, and it\nfollowed his movement; he turned and ran--just as swiftly it sped with\nhim. He now saw there was something supernatural in it, and his heart\nbeat with apprehension.\n\n\"There's no use in kickin' agin fate,\" he said, \"so, with a blessin',\nI'll just stop where I am, an' see what will come of it; worse off I\ncan't be, an' that's a comfort any way.\"\n\nSo saying, Terry stood still, and patiently waited the result. To his\ngreat surprise the cloud of smoke, after making the circuit of his head\ntwo or three times, settled on his right shoulder, and on casting his\neye round, he perceived that it had changed into a living form, but\nstill as black as a coal.\n\n\"Bedad I'm among them agin, sure enough,\" said Terry, now much more\neasy in his mind; \"I wondher who this little divil is that's roostin'\nso comfortably on my showldher.\"\n\n\"Wondher no longer, Misther Terry Magra,\" grunted a frog-like voice\ninto his ear; \"by what magic means, oh! presumptuous mortal, did you\ndiscover the charmed stone which compelled the spirit of yonder\nsulphurous lake to quit his warm quarters, thus to shiver in the\nuncongenial air? Of all the myriad pebbles that are scattered around,\nthat was the only one which possessed the power to call me forth.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' it was a lucky chance that made me stumble on it, sir,\" said\nTerry.\n\n\"That's as it may turn out,\" replied the spirit. \"Do you know who and\nwhat I am? but why should you, ignorant creature as you are? Listen,\nand be enlightened. I am the chief guardian of yon bituminous prison,\nwithin whose murky depths lie groaning all of fairy kind, who have by\ntheir imprudence forfeited their brilliant station.\n\n\"You don't tell me that, sir? By goxty, an' I wouldn't like to change\nplaces with them,\" said Terry, with a great effort at familiarity.\n\n\"There's no knowing when you may share their fate,\" replied the spirit.\n\"The soul of many an unhappy mortal, who has abused a fairy-gift, lies\nthere, as well.\"\n\nTerry shivered to his very marrow as he heard those words, for full\nwell he knew, that amongst all such, none deserved punishment more than\nhe; he was only wondering how his immortal part could be extracted from\nits living tenement, when, as though the spirit knew his very thoughts,\nit uttered:\n\n\"I have but to breathe within your ear a word of power, and with that\nword the current of your life would cease.\"\n\nTerry instinctively stretched his neck to its fullest extent, as he\nsaid to himself, \"I'll keep my lug out of your reach if I can, my boy.\"\nBut the spirit either knew his thought or guessed it from the movement.\n\n\"Foolish piper,\" it said, \"I could reach it did I so incline, were it\nas high as Cashel Tower.\" And to prove that the assertion was not a\nmere boast, the little fellow made a jump, and perched upon the bridge\nof Terry's nose, and sat there astride; and as it was of the\n_retrouss\u00e9_ order, a very comfortable seat it had; light as a\nfeather, it rested there, peering alternately into each of Terry's\neyes, who squinted at the intruder, brimful of awe and amazement.\n\n\"I give in,\" said he. \"It's less nor nothin' that I am in your hands;\nbut if it's just as convainient for you, I'd be much obliged to you if\nyou'd lave that, for its fairly tearin' the eyes out of me head that\nyou are, while I'm thryin' to look straight at you.\"\n\n\"It's all the same to me entirely,\" replied the spirit; \"and now that\nyou have come to a full sense of my power, I'll take up my position at\na more agreeable distance.\"\n\nSo saying, the spirit bounded off of Terry's nose, and alighted on a\nbranch of the same tree on which the legion of little pipers had before\nassembled, while Terry wiped his relieved eyes with the sleeve of his\ncoat, and sat upon the piece of rock that stood beside.\n\n\"And now, Masther Magra,\" said the spirit, \"we'll proceed to business.\nHad you picked up any other stone but the one you did, or had you\nrefrained from obstructing the lake in any way, your soul would have\nbeen mine for ever. You see what a small chance you had. But inasmuch\nas your good luck pointed out the talismanic pebble, you have yet the\nprivilege of making another wish which I must gratify whatsoever it may\nbe; think well, however, ere you ask it; let no scruples bound your\ndesires. The wealth of the world is in my distribution.\"\n\nTerry's nerves thrilled again, as his mind conjured up images of\npurchased delights. But for an instant only did he hesitate what course\nhe should pursue.\n\n\"The temptation is wonderful,\" said he. \"But no: I've endured enough of\nmisery from what I've had already.\"\n\n\"What can I do for you?\" said the spirit, sharply. \"Don't keep a poor\ndevil all night in the cold.\"\n\n\"Well, then, sir, I'll tell you,\" replied the other. \"I suppose you\nknow already--for you seem to be mighty knowledgeable--that some years\nback I kotch a leprechaun on this very spot; and though he towld me\nthat it would be the desthroyin' of him out an' out, I meanly chose to\nmake myself rich, as I thought, by taking a fairy-gift from him, rather\nthan lettin' him go free an' unharmed. It was a dirty an' selfish\nthransaction on my part, an' it's with salt tears that I've repinted of\nthat same. Now, if that leprechaun is sufferin' on my account, and you\ncan give the creather any comfort, it's my wish that you'll manage it\nfor me--ay, even though I was to bear his punishment myself.\"\n\n\"You have spoken well and wisely,\" said the spirit; \"and your reward\nwill be beyond your hope.\"\n\nSimultaneously with those words, Terry was still more astonished at\nbeholding a gradual but complete change taking place in the\nneighborhood: the blasted trees shot forth fresh branches, the\nbranches, in their turn, pushed out new leaves, thick verdure\noverspread the rugged sides of the mountain; while gushing joyously\nfrom an adjacent hollow, a little rill danced merrily through the\nshining pebbles, singing its song of gratitude, as though exulting in\nthe new-found liberty; unnumbered birds began to fill the air with\ntheir delicious melody, the rifted and calcined rocks concealed their\ncharred fronts beneath festoons of flowering parasites, the murky lake\nsank slowly into the abyss, while in its place a tufted, daisy-spangled\nfield appeared, to which the meadow-lark descended lovingly, and\nfluttering a short space amidst the dewy grass, sprang up again, with\nloud, reverberating note.\n\nThe primeval change, when the beautiful new world emerged from chaos,\nwas not more glorious than was the aspect now presented to the rapt\nbeholder. He felt within himself the exhilarating effect of all this\nvast and unexpected wonder, the free, fresh blood cast off its\nsluggishness, and once more bounded through his veins, the flush of\nvigor and excitement bedewed his brow, the flaccid muscles hardened\ninto renewed strength, elasticity and suppleness pervaded every limb,\nstiffened and racked ere-while with keen rheumatic pains; it was not,\nhowever, until attracted by the pure limpid stream that filtered into a\nsandy hollow near him, he stooped down to carry the refreshing draught\nup to his lips, that he was aware of the greatest change of all; for,\ninstead of the sunken cheeks and wrinkled brow, the bloodshot eyes and\nthin, grey hairs that he had brought with him, the ruddy,\nhealth-embrowned and joy-lit features of years long gone, laughed up at\nhim from the glassy surface.\n\nAnd now a merry little chuckle tinkled in his ear, and on looking\naround, he discovered that the black spirit had vanished, and in its\nplace sat the identical leprechaun, about whose melancholy fate he was\nso concerned.\n\n\"By the piper that played before Moses, but it's glad I am to see you\nonce more, my haro; have they let you out?\" inquired Terry, with\nconsiderable anxiety.\n\n\"I have never been imprisoned,\" replied the little fellow, gaily.\n\n\"Why, then, _tear an nounthers_,\" said Terry. \"You haven't been\ngostherin' me all the time, an' the heart of me fairly burstin' wid the\nthought of them weeshee gams of yours strikin' out among the pitch that\nwas beyant.\"\n\n\"It was that very feeling of humanity, which I knew yet lingered in\nyour heart, that saved you,\" replied the leprechaun.\n\n\"As how, sir, might I ax?\"\n\n\"How long is it since you saw me before?\"\n\n\"Don't mention it,\" cried Terry, with an abashed look, \"a weary\nlife-time a'most has passed since then.\"\n\n\"And _what_ a life-time,\" observed the leprechaun, reproachfully.\n\n\"Indeed, an' you may say that,\" replied the other. \"There's no one\nknows betther nor I do how sinfully that life was wasted, how useless\nit has been to me an' to every one else, how foolishly I flung away the\nmeans that might have comforted those who looked up to me, among\nheartless, conscienceless vagabones, who laughed at me while I fed\ntheir brutish appetites, and fled from me as though I were infectious\nwhen ill-health and poverty fell upon my head.\"\n\n\"Then the fairy gift did not bring you happiness?\"\n\n\"Happiness!\" replied Terry, with a groan, \"it changed me from a man\ninto a beast, it brought distress and misery upon those nearest and\ndearest to me, it made my whole worldly existence one continued\nreproach, and God help me, I'm afeared it has shut the gates of heaven\nagainst my sowl hereafter.\"\n\n\"Then I suppose you have the grace to be sorry this time that you\ndidn't behave more generously in my case,\" said the fairy.\n\n\"True darlin'; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here now,\" replied Terry. \"It\nwas to thry and find you out that I took this journey, an' a sore one\nit is to a man wid the weight of years that's on my back.\"\n\n\"Oh, I forgot that you were such an ould creather intirely,\" said the\nlittle fellow, with a merry whistle, \"but what the mischief makes you\nbend your back into an _apperciand_, and hide your ears on your\nshowlders, as if the cowld was bitin' them.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' it's just because I'm afeered to sthraighten myself out,\nthat murdherin thief rheumatism has screwed the muscles of my back so\ntight.\"\n\n\"You can't stand up then, eh Terry?\"\n\n\"Not for this many a long day, sir, more is the pity,\" replied the\nother, with a heavy sigh.\n\n\"You don't tell me that,\" said the leprechaun, with a queer expression\nof sympathy. \"There could be no harm thryin', any way.\"\n\n\"If I thought there would be any use in it, it's only too glad that I'd\nbe,\" said Terry.\n\n\"There's no knowin' what a man can do, until he makes the effort.\"\n\nEncouraged by these words, Terry commenced very gingerly to lift his\nhead from its long sunken position; to his infinite delight he found\nthe movement unaccompanied by the slightest twinge, and so, with a\nheart brim full of overflowing joy, he drew himself up to his full\nheight without an ache or a pain; tall, muscular, and as straight as a\ntailor's yard.\n\nThe hurroo! that Terry sent forth from his invigorated lungs, when he\nfelt the entire consciousness of his return to youth and its attendant\nfreshness and strength, startled the echoes of the mountain, like the\nscream of a grey eagle.\n\n\"And now, Misther Terry Magra,\" said the leprechaun, \"I may as well\ntell you the exact period of time that has transpired since I first had\nthe pleasure of a conversation with you; it is now exactly, by my\nwatch,\" and he pulled out a mite of a time-keeper from his\nfob--\"there's nothing like being particular in matters of\nchronology--jist fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, or to be more\nexplicit, in another minute it will be precisely a quarter of an hour.\"\n\n\"Oh, murdher alive, only to think!\" cried Terry, gasping for breath.\n\"An' the wife an' childher, and the drunkenness and misery I scattered\naround me.\"\n\n\"Served but to show you, as in a vision, the sure consequences which\nwould have resulted had you really been in possession of the coveted\ngift you merely dreamed that you had obtained; the life of wretchedness\nwhich you passed through, in so short a space of time, is but one of\nmany equally unfortunate, some leading even to a more terrible close.\nThere are a few, however, I am bound to say, on whom earthly joys\n_appear_ to shed a constant ray; but we, to whom their inmost thoughts\nare open as the gates of morning to the sun, know that those very\nthoughts are black as everlasting night.\"\n\n\"What say you now, Terry? Will you generously give up your power over\nme, and by leading a life of industry and temperance, insure for you\nand yours contentment, happiness, and comfort, or will you, to the\nquelling of my fairy existence and its boundless joys, risk the\npossession of so dangerous though dazzling a gift as I am compelled to\nbestow upon you, should you insist on my compliance with such a wish?\"\n\nIt must be confessed that Terry's heart swelled again at the renewed\nprospect of sudden wealth, and inasmuch as he exhibited, by the puzzled\nexpression of his countenance, the hidden thoughts that swayed,\nalternately, his good and evil impulses, the leprechaun continued--\n\n\"Take time to consider--do nothing rashly; but weigh well the\nconsequences of each line of conduct, before you decide irrevocably and\nfor ever.\"\n\n\"More power to you for givin' me that chance, any way,\" said Terry. \"It\nwouldn't take me long to make my mind up, if it wasn't for what I've\ngone through; but, 'the burnt child,' you know, 'keeps away from the\nfire.' Might I ax, sir, how far you could go in the way of money? for,\nav I incline that way at all, bedad it won't be a peddlin' shillin'\nthat I'll be satisfied with.\"\n\n\"Do you know Squire Moriarty?\" said the fairy.\n\n\"Is it Black Pether? who doesn't know the dirty thief of the world?\nWhy, ould Bluebeard was a suckin' babby compared to him, in the regard\nof cruelty.\"\n\n\"How rich is he?\"\n\n\"Be gorra, an' they say there's no countin' it, it's so thremendous.\nIsn't he the gripinest an' most stony-hearted landlord in the barony,\nas many a poor farmer knows, when rent day's to the fore?\" said Terry.\n\n\"And how did he get his money?\" inquired the leprechaun.\n\n\"Indeed, an' I b'lieve there's no tellin' exactly. Some says this way,\nan' others that. I've heard say that he was a slave marchint early in\nlife, or a pirate, or something aiqually ginteel an' profitable,\"\nreplied Terry.\n\n\"They lie, all of them,\" the little fellow went on. \"He got it as you\ndid yours, by a fairy gift, and see what it has made of him. In his\nearly days, there was not a finer-hearted fellow to be found anywhere;\neverybody liked, courted, and loved him.\"\n\n\"That's thrue enough,\" said Terry, \"and now there ain't a dog on his\nestates will wag a tail at him.\"\n\n\"Well, you may be as rich as he is, if you like, Terry,\" said the\nfairy.\n\n\"May I?\" cried Terry, his eyes flashing fire at the idea.\n\n\"He turned his poor old mother out of doors, the other day,\" observed\nthe leprechaun, quietly.\n\nTerry's bright thoughts vanished in an instant, and indignation took\ntheir place; for filial reverence is the first of Irish virtues. \"The\nmurdherin' Turk!\" he exclaimed, angrily, \"if I had a howld of him now,\nI'd squeeze the sowl out of his vagabone carcass, for disgracin' the\ncounthry that's cursed with such an unnatural reprobate.\"\n\n\"It was the money that made him do it,\" said the fairy.\n\n\"You don't tell me that, sir!\"\n\n\"Indeed but I do, Terry. When the love of _that_ takes possession\nof a man's heart, there's no room there for any other thought. The\nnearest and dearest ties of blood, of friendship, and of kin, are\nloosed and cast away as worthless things. You have a mother, Terry?\"\n\n\"I have, I have; may all good angels guard and keep her out of harm's\nway,\" cried Terry, earnestly, while the large tears gushed forth from\nhis eyes. \"Don't say another word,\" he went on, rapidly; \"if it was\ngoold mines that you could plant under every step I took, or that you\ncould rain dimonds into my hat, an' there was the smallest chance of my\nheart's love sthrayin' from her, even the length of a fly's shadow,\nit's to the divil I'd pitch the whole bilin', soon an' suddent. So you\ncan keep your grand gifts, an' yer fairy liberty, an' take my blessin'\ninto the bargain, for showin' me the right road.\"\n\n\"You're right, Terry,\" said the leprechaun, joyously, \"an' I'd be proud\nto shake hands with you if my fist was big enough. You have withstood\ntemptation manfully, and sufficiently proved the kindliness of your\ndisposition. I know that this night's experience will not be lost on\nyou, but that you will henceforth abandon the wild companionship in the\nmidst of which you have hitherto wasted time and energy, forgetful of\nthe great record yet to come, when each misused moment will stand\nregistered against you.\"\n\n\"And now, Terry,\" he continued, \"I'll leave you to take a little rest;\nafter all you have gone through you must sorely need it.\" So saying,\nthe leprechaun waved a slip of osier across Terry's eyelids, when they\ninstantly closed with a snap, down he dropped all of a heap upon the\nspringy moss, and slept as solid as a toad in a rock.\n\nWhen Terry awoke, the morning was far advanced, and the sun was shining\nfull in his face, so that the first impression that filled his mind\nwas, that he was gazing upon a world of fire. He soon mastered that\nthought, however, and then, sitting down upon the famous stone, began\nto collect his somewhat entangled faculties into an intelligible focus.\nSlowly the events of the night passed before him; the locality of each\nphase in his adventures was plainly distinguishable from where he sat.\nThere, close to him, was the identical branch on which had perched the\nlegion of little pipers; a short distance from him was the mazy hollow\nthrough which he had so singularly forced his way; half hoping to find\nsome evidence of the apparently vivid facts that he had witnessed, he\nput his hand into his breeches pocket, but only fished out a piece of\npig-tail tobacco.\n\nAs he ran over every well-remembered circumstance, he became still more\npuzzled. It was clear enough that he had been asleep, as he had but\njust woke up; but then he was equally certain that he was wide awake\nwhen the leprechaun touched his eyelids with the osier. Indeed, he\nlooked round in the expectation of seeing it lying somewhere about; but\nthere was no trace of such a thing.\n\nThe conclusion he came to was a characteristic one. \"By the mortial,\"\nsaid he, as, taking up his pipes, he sauntered down the mountain-road,\n\"there's somethin' quare in it, sure enough; but it's beyant my\ncomprehendin'. The divil a use is there in botherin' my brains about\nit; all I know is, that there's a mighty extensive hive o' bees singin'\nsongs inside of my hat this blessed mornin'. I must put some whisky in\nan' drownd out the noisy varmints.\"\n\nThe chronicler of this veracious history regrets exceedingly that he\ncannot, with any regard to the strict truth, bring it to a conclusion\nin the usual moral-pointing style, except in its general tendency,\nwhich he humbly considers to be wholesome and suggestive; but the hero\nof the tale--the good-for-nothing, wild roysterer, Terry, who ought, of\ncourse, to have profited by the lesson he had received and to have\nbecome a sober, steady, useful, somewhat bilious, but in every way\nrespectable, member of society, dressed in solemn black, and petted\nreligiously by extatical elderly ladies, did not assist the\nconventional denouement in the remotest degree. With grief I am\ncompelled to record the humiliating fact, that Terry waxed wilder than\never, drank deeper, frolicked longer, and kicked up more promiscuous\nshindies than before, and invariably wound up the account of his fairy\nadventures, which in process of time he believed in most implicitly, by\nexclaiming:\n\n\"What a murdherin' fool I was not to take the money.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\n_RACY!!_\n\nA Basket of Chips.\n\nBY JOHN BROUGHAM.\n\nILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY McLENAN.\n\n_One 12mo. volume, 408 pages. Price $1 25._\n\nA collection of Mr. Brougham's brilliant and characteristic\nproductions. It is admitted to be one of the most delightful books\nof the year. It is marked by Mr. Brougham's boundless humor, happy\nfancy, and the peculiar freshness of his style.\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n    Some Passages in the Life of a Dog.\n\n    The Opera of \"La Fille du Regiment,\"--done into English.\n\n    Love and Loyalty--an Episode in English History.\n\n    Pauline.\n\n    O'Dearmid's Ride.\n\n    The Coming of Kossuth.\n\n    The Fairies' Warning.\n\n    The Killing of the Shark.\n\n    Every-day Drama.--The Pigeon and the Hawks.\n\n    Kitt Cobb, the Cabman.--A Story of London Life.\n\n    The Phantom Light.--A Tale of Boston.\n\n    Revolt of the Harem.--Simplified.\n\n    Fatality.--A Condensed Novel.\n\n    Dramas of the Day.--Revenge; or, the Medium.\n\n    Ned Geraghty's Luck.\n\n    The Eagle and her Talons.--An Eastern Apologue.\n\n    Peace and War.\n\n    Summer Friends.\n\n    Love's Mission.\n\n    Evenings at our Club.\n\n    Romance and Reality.\n\n    Jasper Leech.--The Man who never had Enough.\n\n    Nightmares:--I. The Lamp Fiend.\n                II. Political Ambition.\n               III. Murder.\n\n    THE BUNSBY PAPERS.--The Opinions and Observations of Jack Bunsby,\n    Skipper, and of Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner.\n\n  BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS.\n  126 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.\n\n\n\n\n\"The best new novel before the public.\"--_New York Express_.\n\nBlanche Dearwood:\n\nA NEW ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LIFE.\n\n_One Vol. 12mo., Cloth, $1; Paper, 75 Cents._\n\n\n\"BLANCHE DEARWOOD is a work of genuine Vigor, full of Passion, of Life\nand Character, and especially a reflection of these, as developed in\nour midst. It possesses a distinction from our other local novels--that\nof a sustained and dignified tone, which if it does not aim at a\nuniform ideality, reaches an elegance and beauty in its materials and\nfinish quite equal to the best English novels. From the first page to\nthe end, the interest is graduated with accelerating intensity, and as\na delicious Love Story, or as a well-knit Intrigue, skillfully managed\nwith an intensity of interest, happy conclusion, pleasant description\nand incident, we are prepared to accord it our vote and sanction, _as\nthe best new novel before the public_.\"--_New York Express._\n\n\"The best American novel of the season as far as we have yet seen.\nThe story is full of interest, and the characters are marked with\nindividuality.\"--_New York Daily Times._\n\n\"It has the gentleness and delicacy of perception peculiar to the\nfemale mind, and yet the masculine strength of expression, and vigor of\nimagination peculiar to men.\"--_Sunday Courier._\n\n\"There are few modern tales the perusal of which has given us more\npleasure.\"--_New York Herald._\n\n  BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS,\n  196 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.","title":"The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":73335}