CHAPTER IX.

SUNLIGHT.

Our scene shifts back to Mrs. Grimgriskin's elegant establishment,

where poor Travers' affairs are once more in a very dilapidated state,

as may be inferred from the conversation now progressing.

"People as can't pay," said the now curt landlady, smoothing down an

already very smooth apron, "needn't to have no objections, I think, to

turn out in favor of them as can. I'm a woman of few words--very few

indeed. I don't want to make myself at all disagreeable; but

impossibles is impossibles, and I can't provide without I have the

means to do so with."

"My good lady," interposed Travers, "do pray give me a little time; my

friend Sterling has again applied to Mr. Granite"----

"Pooh! I'm sick of all such excuses; one word for all--get your trunks

ready. I'd rather lose what you owe me than let it get any bigger, when

there's not the remotest chance, as I can see, for its liquidation;

and, dear me, how lucky--I declare there's the very truckman who came

the other day. I'll tell him to stop, for I don't mind giving you all

the assistance I can, conveniently with my own interest."

So saying, she hailed Tom Bobolink, who was indeed looking somewhat

wistfully towards the house. He was just cogitating within his mind

what excuse he could make to get into the place, and so rid himself of

his unfortunate good fortune at once.

"Yon trunks, I presume from appearance, won't take a long time to get

ready," said the delicate Grimgriskin. "Here, my man; just come in

here," she continued, as Tom, in a state of considerable trepidation,

entered the room; "this young man will have a job for you." The poor

wife now joined Travers, and on inquiring the cause of the slight

tumult, was told by Henry that she must prepare to seek an asylum away

from the hospitable mansion which had recently afforded them a shelter.

"Come, my love," said he, with a tolerable effort at cheerfulness, "let

us at once leave this mercenary woman's roof."

"Mercenary, indeed!" the landlady shrieked after them, as they entered

their own room. "Because a person won't suffer themselves to be robbed

with their eyes open, they're mercenary. The sooner my house is cleared

of such rubbish, the better. Mercenary, indeed!" and with an indignant

toss of her false curls, she flounced out of the room.

"Now for it!" cried Tom; "the coast is clear; what the deuce shall I do

with it? I dare not give it openly; suppose I say I found it under the

sophia. Egad, that will do famously; here goes." So saying, he plunged

his hand into his bosom, and to his horror and consternation it was not

there; his blood froze in his veins for an instant, then deluged him

with a perfect thaw of perspiration. "Oh, miserable, miserable wretch,

I've lost it, I've lost it; what is to become of me!" In vain he

searched and searched; it was clean gone. "Oh, how can I face Polly

again?" he groaned. "My life is made unhappy for ever; cursed, cursed

luck. That ever my eyes fell upon the thing at all: ha!" a shadowy hope

flitted across him, that he might have left it at home. "Could I have

been so drunken a fool as to leave it behind me? if so, where is it

now? At all events, I must go back as fast as I can, for if I cannot

recover it, my God! I shall go mad." With a few big jumps he reached

the street, and hastily mounting his truck, drove rapidly home,

unmindful of the public observation his demented look and unusual haste

produced.

A short time after Tom's sudden departure, which was a perfect mystery

to Mrs. Grimgriskin, and also to Henry and his wife, a timid ring was

heard at the hall-door, and soon Travers, to whom every sound brought

increase of apprehension, trembled as he became aware of an altercation

between his irate landlady and the new comers, whoever they were.

"I tell you I must see 44, the man that had the thrunks, goin' away a

few days agone," said an unmistakably Irish voice, rich and round.

"Oh, if you please, ma'am," placidly continued a small, silvery one.

The dispute, however, was very suddenly cut short by the owner of the

loud voice exclaiming, "Arrah, get out o' the road, you cantankerus

witch of Endher," and O'Bryan and Polly rushed up the stairs without

further ceremony. The door of Travers' room was flung open. "Ha! ha!"

cried O'Bryan, "there he is, every inch of him; that's 44; long life to

you; and it's glad I am I've found you, and glad you'll be yourself,

I'm thinkin', if a trifle o' money will do yez any good."

"What's the matter with you, my friend, what do you seek from me?"

demanded Travers.

"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon for breaking in upon you so suddenly," said

Polly, "but have you lost any money!"

"I have, indeed," replied Henry, "a large sum; do you know anything

about it?"

"Yes, sir," cried Polly, with a radiant flash of her eye. "Here it is;"

handing over the wallet, with its contents, with a sigh of the greatest

possible relief. "Tell me one thing, sir," she hesitatingly went on,

"was it--was it--taken from you?"

"No, my good woman, it was lost by an old friend of mine, dropped, he

believes, in the street."

"It was, sir, just as you say, thank Heaven for it. Yes, sir; my

husband found it. Is it all there, sir? oh, pray relieve me by saying

it is."

"Yes, every penny."

"Then, sir, whatever joy you may feel at its restoration cannot equal

what I feel at this moment," said Polly, while the tears gushed forth

unrestrainedly from her eyes.

"Here, my good woman, you must take a portion and give it to your

honest husband," said Henry, handing to her a liberal amount of the

sum.

"Not a shilling, sir, not a shilling," Polly firmly repeated. "I hate

to look at it."

"Then would you, my friend, take some reward," continued he, addressing

O'Bryan.

"Is it me? not av you were me father, I wouldn't," said the Irishman,

with a look of horror. "I know where it came from; bedad I know the

very soil it sprouted out of. I'll tell you how it was, sir. You see I

was sittin' by myself, and, like an ungrateful blaggard as I am,

instead of thankin' the blessed Heavens for the good luck that had fell

a-top o' me, what should I do but wish I had a bit o' money, for to

dress up my ugly anatomy, when all at once that swadge of temptation

dropped on the floor before my very face."

"Don't heed him, sir, he knows not what he talks about," said Polly.

"It is all as I told you, sir. My husband"----

She was interrupted by O'Bryan, who cried, "Here he comes. May I niver

stir if he doesn't, skelpin' along the street in a state of

disthractitude; by me sowl it's here he's coming, too."

"Yes, I know," said Henry, "he is employed, I believe, by our worthy

landlady, to remove our things."

At this moment Tom burst into the room, but on seeing Polly and O'Bryan

he stopped short, as if arrested by a lightning stroke. "You here,

Polly? have you heard of my crime," he said, wildly: but she restrained

him by gently laying her hand upon his arm.

"Yes, Tom," she said, quietly, "I know all about it, and so does this

gentleman. I have restored the money."

"What?" exclaimed Bobolink, while a thrill of joy went through his

frame; "is this true?"

"Hush! husband, dear, hush!" she continued; "I did as you told me, you

know. I have brought and given back the lost money to its owner. You

know you left it at home for me to take."

"Ah, Polly, I wish I could tell this fellow that," said Tom, laying his

hand upon his heart; "but I did intend to give it back. I did, by all

my hopes of happiness."

"I know you did, my dear Tom," replied Polly, earnestly. "Your true

heart could not harbor a bad thought long."

"My good friend," said Travers, approaching the truckman. "Your wife

has refused any reward for this honest act."

"She's right, sir, she's right," interrupted the other.

"At least you'll let me shake you by the hand, and proffer you my

friendship?"

"I can't, Poll, I can't," said Tom, aside, to his wife. "I'm

afraid--I'm half a scoundrel yet--I know I am; but I've learned a

wholesome lesson, and while I have life I'll strive to profit by it."

Urged to it by Polly, he did, however, shake hands with Travers and his

wife, just as old Sterling, his face shrouded in gloom, and Mrs.

Grimgriskin, stiff and tigerish, entered the room.

"Ah, Sterling, my good old friend, rejoice with us--this honest fellow

has found, and restored the money lost," said Travers, gaily; "but, how

is this? you don't join in our gladness. Has that old rascal"----

"Hold!" interrupted the old clerk, in an earnest voice, and impressive

manner; "Heaven has avenged your wrongs in a sudden and fearful manner.

Mr. Granite is dead."

"Dead!" exclaimed Henry, in a subdued tone; "with him let his misdeeds

be buried. His son will perhaps be more merciful; he will inherit"----

"He has inherited--his father's fate," solemnly replied the old clerk.

"Justice may slumber for a while, but retribution must come at last.

You are now, by the merchant's will, his sole heir."

"Ho, ho!" thought Mrs. Grimgriskin, who had been an attentive listener,

"I'm a woman of few words, but if I had been a woman of less, perhaps

it would be more to my interest; but sudden millionaires are usually

generous;" and so, smoothing her feline demeanor into quietude, she

approached Travers.

"Allow me most sincerely to congratulate you upon your good fortune,"

she simpered. "Apropos, the first floor is somewhat in arrear; lovely

apartments, new carpet, bath, hot water."

"Plenty of that, I'll be bail," remarked O'Bryan; "arrah, howld yer

prate, Mrs. Woman-of-few-words--don't you see there's one too many

here?"

"Then why don't you go, you ignorant animal," sharply suggested the

other.

"Because I'm not the _one_."

Suffice it to say, Henry, with his young wife, and dear old Sterling,

were soon installed in a house of their own, and, to their credit,

never lost sight of the interest of Tom Bobolink and Polly, who from

that day increased in content and prosperity.

As for O'Bryan, the last intimation we had of his well-doing, was the

appearance of sundry gigantic street-bills, which contained the

following announcement:

+------------------------+

| VOTE FOR |

| THE PEOPLES' FRIEND. |

| O'BRYAN, |

| FOR ALDERMAN. |

+------------------------+

THE TIPPERARY VENUS.

Amongst a people so simple-hearted and enthusiastic as the Irish, it is

not at all surprising that a firm and implicit belief in supernal

agency should be almost universal. To vivid imaginations, ever on the

stretch for the romantic, yearning ever for something beyond the dull

realities of commonplace existence, there is something extremely

fascinating in the brain revellings of Fairy Land.

Now the Irish fairies are very numerous, and all as well classified,

and their varied occupations defined and described by supernaturalists,

as though they really were amongst the things that be. The "learned

pundits" in such matters declare that the economy of human nature is

entirely carried on through their agency. Philosophers have

demonstrated the atomic vitality of the universe, and the believer in

fairies simply allots them their respective places and duties in the

general distribution. They tell you that every breath of air, every

drop of water, every leaf and flower, teems with actual life. Myriads

of tiny atomies, they say, are employed carrying on the business of

existence, animal, vegetable, and atmospheric. Here are crowds of

industrious little chemists, extracting dew from moonbeams, which they

deliver over to relays of fairy laborers, by them to be applied to the

languishing grass. The noxious exhalations of the earth are, by a

similar process, gathered from decaying vegetation, and dispersed or

condensed into refreshing rain. The warm sunbeams are by them brought

down and scattered through the fields; it is the beautiful ministry of

one class to breathe upon, and gently force open, the budding blossoms,

while, another seduously warms and nurtures the ripening corn, and

tends the luscious fruits. Mischievous fellows there also are, whose

delight it is to try and frustrate the exertions of the workers. They

travel from place to place, loaded with malign influences; blight and

mildew, and all the destructive agents that blast the hopes of the

agriculturist are under their control; and, with an industry nearly

equal to their opponents, they employ their time in training

caterpillars and other devouring insects to assist them in the work of

desolation.

Many are the battles, we are informed, that occur between the two

opposing classes, and it depends upon which side has the best of the

contest what the result may be to the defeated object; whether they

contend for the life of some delicate flower, or whether the poor

farmer's toils were to be rewarded or rendered hopeless by the safety

or the destruction of his entire crops.

But to leave this fanciful, and, it must be admitted, poetical theory,

our business now is with an individual of a highly responsible class in

the world of Fairydom--_The Leprechaun_. A most important personage he

is; being the custodian of all hidden treasure, it is he who fabricates

the gold within the rock-encircled laboratory. The precious gems, the

diamond, sapphire, ruby, amethyst, emerald, and all the world-coveted

jewels, are in the safe guardianship of the Leprechaun; and fatal it is

to him when aught is discovered and torn from his grasp--for his fairy

existence, his immortal essence, is lost with it; he can no longer

sport through the air, invisible to mortal ken, but is compelled to

take a tangible form, and to work at a degrading occupation--that of

making and mending the shoes of his former fairy companions.

The experiences of the writer of this sketch in fairy lore and

anecdote, were mostly gathered from a wild, Tipperary sort of cousin,

some dozens of times removed, one Roderick O'Callaghan--familiarly

Rory--or as, by an easy corruption, he was known "the country round,"

Roarin' O'Callaghan, who, in his time, had gathered them from the

wilder henchmen and followers by whom he was surrounded, when, a

devil-may-care gossoon, he wandered among the _Galtie mountains_,

the especial pet and persecutor of the entire neighborhood.

Many and many were the mischievous pranks recorded of young Rory. I

almost wish that I had begun with the determination of recounting a few

of them; but, as I have set myself another task, I must defer that

intention until a future opportunity. I am not at all certain still,

but that my erratic nib--for I write "_currente calamo_," and without

much especial method--may diverge from the grand current of narrative,

and, in spite of myself, imperceptibly stray into the now interdicted

by-way.

It was from Rory that I heard the strange tale I am now about to

relate. Desperate boy-rivals were we, at that time, I must tell you,

for the affectionate regards of a young beauty who played old Harry

with the juvenile susceptibilities of the whole vicinage. Ah! now that

my memory has reverted to that epoch, digression is inevitable. Lovely

Polly O'Connor!--bless my soul; a sigh, even at this distant period;

how very tenacious these boy-attachments are. I see her as plainly now,

mentally pictured, as though in very deed she stood before me.

Both Rory and I endeavored, in the ardent enthusiasm of our fledgling

passion, to give vent to the burning thoughts that flamed within us,

through the lover's peculiar channel--poetry. My own extraordinary

effusion I remember--his I have preserved, and although, at the time, I

knew well which was best entitled to the world's consideration, I

submit both productions now without a remark. They will at least serve

for a description, however insufficient, of our inspiratress.

I had an immense advantage over my competitor in one instance; for,

having an acquaintance in the editorial department of the local

newspaper, my lucubration lent a lustre to the poets' corner, while, I

am ashamed to confess, I exerted, successfully, the same influence to

keep Rory's out; it was ungenerous, I own, unpardonable; but what won't

a boy-rival do to clear the onward path before the impetuosity of a

first love.

But here is the affair, just as it appeared in the Tipperary Gazette,

headed, as I thought, with becoming modesty:

LINES TO A YOUNG LADY.

I will not venture to compare

Those flashing eyes

To sunny skies;

To threads of gold thy wealth of hair;

Thy cheek unto the rose's glow;

Thy polished brow,

To lilies glancing in the light,

Or Parian white;

Thy bosom to the virgin snow--

For these

Are weak and well-worn similes.

Thine eyes are like--like--let me see;

The violet's hue,

Reflected through

A drop of dew;

No, that won't do.

No semblance true

In ample nature can there be

To equal their intensity--

Their heavenly blue.

T'were just as vain to seek,

Through every flower to match thy glowing cheek.

No gold could shed

Such radiant glory as ensaints thy head.

Besides, I now remember,

Your golden tresses are but flattered red,

And thine are living amber,

As, when 'tis ripest through the waving corn,

The sunbeams glance upon a harvest morn.

To the pale lustre of thy brow,

The lily's self perforce must bow--

The marbles cold,

And very old;

Thy bosom as the new-fallen snow

Is quite

As white,

And melts as soon with Love's warm glow.

But then,

While that receives an early stain,

Thy purer bosom doth still pure remain.

Since, to my mind,

I cannot find

A simile of any kind,

I argue hence

Thou art the sense

And spirit of all excellence;

The charm-bestowing fount, from whence

Fate doth dispense

Its varied bounties to the fair,

The loveliest of whom but share

A portion of the gifts thou well canst spare.

It will scarcely be credited, that after that brilliant compliment to

Polly's charms, the little jilt, her well-fortified heart not being

assailable by Parnassian pellets, looked still colder upon the

suffering perpetrator. However, the persevering nature of my

passion--and, indeed, it was then a real one--was not to be set aside

by rebuffs. Again and again I returned to the attack, and, pen in hand,

racked my unfortunate brains through all the strategy of acrostics,

birth-day odes, and sonnets. It was not until some time afterwards that

I discovered the real reason of my ill-success. The writing of the

"Lines" was, perhaps, a pardonable liberty, but printing them was

atrocious; so that, in fact, my unworthy suppression of Rory's

concoctions brought its own punishment--not that he was a bit more

successful than I, for, as we soon became sensibly aware, the charming,

but conscienceless little coquette had even more strings to her bow

than she could conveniently fiddle with; indeed, that there wasn't a

decent-looking boy in the academy that she didn't encourage, or seem to

encourage, so generalizing was her flirtation system.

And, after all, to _decline_ upon foxy Tom Gallagher, the more than

middle-aged Dispensary doctor, a long, straggling, splay-footed

disciple of Æsculapius, with a head of hair like a door-mat--that she

has time and again watched and laughed her little ribs sore at, as he

shuffled along the street. Ah! Polly O'Connor!

But, allow me to present to your notice Rory's poetical offering at her

inexorable feet. It is, as you may perceive, ambitious, and, however I

might have underrated its merits at one time, I _now_ think it smacks

somewhat of the old Elizabethan relish.

Judge for yourself:

Upon some sly affair

Connubially dishonest--

Vide Lempriere--

Jupiter was _non est_.

And dame Juno thought

Scandal and écarté

Consolation brought,

So gave a little party.

Soon the Graces three

Came, in evening dresses,

Very fond of tea

They were, with water-cresses.

Venus came, and son,

Who richly did deserve a

Birching for the fun

He made of Miss Minerva.

Soon an earthly guest

Came by invitation,

And, among the rest,

Created a sensation.

My Polly 'twas, and she

Perfection so resembled,

For her sov'reignty

The Queen of Beauty trembled.

After tea there came

A gambling speculation,

Bringing with the game,

Celestial perturbation.

For my Polly, then,

Playing with discretion,

From each goddess won

All her rich possession.

Pallas lost her mind,

With wit and wisdom glowing;

Aphrodite pined

To see her beauty going.

Juno speedily

Lost her regal presence;

And the Graces three,

Lost their very essence.

On this earthly ball

My Polly thus alighted,

With the gifts of all

The goddesses united.

Is it strange that she,

Without much endeavor,

Quickly won from me

Heart and soul for ever?

These fiery manifestations, however, had not the slightest effect upon

the arctic nature of the frigid Polly. To be sure, her smile was still

"kindly, but frosty," to reverse the Shakespearean aphorism, and as it

was dispensed with due impartiality amongst the entire school of her

admirers, none were driven to immediate despair, but each flattered

himself at the time being that he was the favored one. Our limited

supply of pocket-money was transmuted into rings and brooches, for

Polly had an inordinate, or rather, the usual predilection of her sex,

for _bijouterie_, and as the rings on trees denote the number of

years that have rolled over their leafy heads, so the corresponding

trophies upon Polly's taper fingers, denoted the amount of her victims.

The majority of her swains began, however, to slacken in their

attentions, finally dropping off one by one, until the course was left

to Rory and me--praiseworthy examples of a constancy of many months,

although as yet not fully known to each other. It was about this time

that rumors began to reach us that old Tom Gallagher, the red-headed,

rusty-jointed medico, was a constant, and it was hinted, not unwelcome

visitor at Polly's father's house--by the way, I forgot to mention that

the O'Connor, _père_, was the master of a Charter-house school in the

town, and as very a character as such individuals almost invariably

are. He had originally been a soldier, so rough, unpolished, and

uncouth, that it was a serious question in the neighborhood, if pretty

Polly could by any possibility be an offshoot from such a crabbed

stock.

At the time of which I write, availability for the particular post

assigned to favorites at court, was the last thing thought of, and the

O'Connor having rendered some questionable service to the then

government, either in making rebels or ensnaring them, he was rewarded

with the position he occupied, although he did not possess a single

requisite for that responsible situation.

Ignorant of the first principles of education, he delegated his task to

subordinates, whose capacity he was incompetent to judge of. His

military antecedents made him a harsh, unbending disciplinarian, and as

it was in a routine of which he knew nothing whatever, he felt it

incumbent upon him to make up in severity and bluster for his lack of

knowledge.

But to return to Polly. When the certainty of her prodigious perfidy

reached me, I imagined myself a kind of master of Ravenswood, and took

to melancholy and light food for some days. Reflection and strong

physic, however, soon restored me to something like equanimity, and,

becoming a little better reconciled to the annoyance of life, I rushed

for consolation and revenge to the poet's corner of the Tipperary

Gazette. It was then and there that I produced the following solemn

warning to Polly O'Connor, and all others of her sex, who, when love

and a full purse are weighed together, get into the scale on the lucre

side, making poor, shivering Cupid "kick the beam." It was near the

14th of February, so, in the savage expectation of crushing her heart

beneath the satirical avalanche, I designated my contribution--

A VALENTINE

FOR HER WHO WILL UNDERSTAND IT.

As Plutus one day, in his chariot of gold,

Was languidly taking the air,

Looking, spite of his riches, distressingly old,

Although dressed with remarkable care;

He met with young Cupid, who, stayed in his flight

By the wealthy god's dazzling array,

Hovered joyously round on his pinions of light,

Highly pleased with the tempting display.

"Ride with me," said Plutus, "all this you may share;

Ride with me, and garments of gold you may wear."

Quite delighted, the urchin stepped into the car,

Little deeming the roads were so rough;

But, repenting his rashness, before he went far

He cried, "Stop! I've been jolted enough.

Pray excuse me, friend Plutus, though rich be the prize

You obligingly offer to me,

Your realm is the gloomy earth, mine the bright skies,

'Tis not likely that we should agree.

Farewell," said the boy, as he mounted in air,

"The heart that Gold worships, Love never can share."

Having boldly appended my own initials to this scarifying outburst, I

waited patiently to watch its effect upon the false one. In a few days

I saw her--she looked sad. Ha! she is touched, thought I; and, alas for

the ferocity of human nature, I rejoiced in her apparent affliction. In

a few moments, the sadness deepened on her brow; her lovely lashes

became burdened with her pearly tears; resolution, revenge, injured

feelings, all dissolved into nothing before the cruel shower. I'm not

quite certain what immediately followed. I believe I flung myself

enthusiastically on the carpet, before the Tipperary Niobe--beseeching

her to repose her sorrows in my sympathizing bosom. At all events, I

succeeded in calming her agitation, and after a delicious interview,

wherein she thrilled my soul to its centre by the avowal that, however

appearances might convict her of vacillation, I was, ever had been, and

ever should be, the sole lord of her affections.

In that moment of blinding delirium, of course, all that had hitherto

occurred was blotted from my memory as thoroughly as a damp sponge

obliterates the records on a tablet of ass-skin. With the unreserved

confidence of a relieved heart, she rested her cheek in dangerous

proximity to my eager lips, but I had not sufficient courage to take

advantage of the position. Her wonderful eyes looked sincerity and love

even into the very depths of my soul. I was

fascinated--bewildered--doubled up and done for, most effectually. "The

evenings were now beautiful," she hinted, together with remote

allusions to "soft twilight's balmy hour," setting suns, and such like

delectations, until I actually summoned up courage sufficient to make

an appointment to meet her

"By moonlight alone."

Nor had she any reserve while naming the particular grove where our

trysting was to take place.

It was with the proud port of a conqueror that I deigned to tread the

vulgar pavement after my never-to-be-forgotten interview with the

Circean Polly; victory swelled within my expanding chest, like too much

soup. Polly was mine; what a triumph I had achieved. I do verily

believe, if, at this juncture, it were at all essential, or even could

be remotely conducive to Polly's tranquillity, that I should go through

the then popular amusement of hanging, I would have gone to the halter

with nearly as much cheerfulness as though it were the altar; but,

fortunately, I was not called upon to testify the loyalty of my

devotion by asphyxiation.

Rory and I met as usual that afternoon, and I remarked that a sort of

ill-concealed joy was working like an undercurrent through his

features--now he would sing vociferously; anon, suddenly subside into

quiet--it was very curious--I determined, however, to discover, if

possible, the cause of his self-satisfaction.

"Rory," said I.

"Hallo!"

"What makes you so silent?"

"Am I silent?" he replied, bursting instantly into a merry song.

"There's something on your mind, at all events; that I know."

"May-be there is; but do you know that's exactly what I was going to

say to you?"

"Is it possible?" I rejoined, as demurely as I could, but my stinging

cheek betrayed me.

"Why, how you blush," he went on. "Ha! have I found you out?"

"What do you mean?" said I, in an instant changed from convict to

criminal.

"You have a sweetheart."

"And so have you," I retorted, as severely as I could.

"I don't deny it," said he, laughing like mad.

"Neither do I, if it comes to that."

Now, be it understood, we had neither of us, as yet, confessed to the

other the reality of the attachment we had each conceived for the

divine Polly.

"You are really in love, then, Rory?"

"Oh! don't mention it," replied he. "Ocean deep, my boy; fathomless;

out of soundings one instant; the next, floating nautilus-like upon the

warm, tranquil bosom of an oriental lake; now, lifted upon the very top

wave of lunacy, to clutch at stars; and sunk in the hollow depths of

dark despair." Rory was curiously ornate in his amatory outbreaks.

"What do you think?" he went on, with a dash of his hitherto

confidence. "I have been at the Heliconian again."

"No!"

"Upon my life! deep draughts! inspiration. Her eyes--oh! such eyes.

You've seen them; small heavens, with a sun in each; saw her

to-day--all fixed, my boy; she loves me--said so, and yet my pulse

didn't overflow and choke me; heart in my mouth, to be sure--but gulped

it down again with a ponderous effort; going to meet her to-night, by

appointment; what do you think of that, my boy? what do you think of

that?"

Curious coincidence, thought I, but said nothing.

"Shall I read you what I have been doing?" said Rory, with a slightly

apologetic gesture.

"Only too happy, of course," said I, mentally anathematizing him for an

injudicious bore, thus to parade his flaming productions before--ahem!

a writer for the press; but here is Rory's effusion; he gave me a copy.

"You must know," he premised, "that I had some misgivings about a

certain elderly codger, whom I frequently discovered in tantalizing

companionship with my beloved; hence my Valentine is a little

suggestive."

More curious coincidences, said something within me, striking upon the

ear of my heart rather alarmingly; but the great pacificator, conceit,

soon quelled the emotion, and I was all absorbed in self love and

delicious anticipations, when Rory cleared his throat, and read

AN ALLEGORY.

As Cupid one day, with his quiver well stored,

Fluttered round, upon wickedness bent,

Right and left, his insidious love-messengers poured,

And hearts by the hundred were shamefully scored,

To the mischievous archer's content.

'Till at last he encountered King Death on his way,

Whose arrows more fatally flew.

In vain did the emulous urchin display

All his arts, his companion still carried the day,

For his shafts were, as destiny, true.

Boy Cupid, annoyed at the other's success,

Invoked cousin Mercury's aid,

Who, having for mischief a talent no less,

Changed their quivers, so featly that neither could guess,

Such complete transposition were made.

The result, up to this very hour you may see,

For when very old folk feel love's smart,

Cupid's arrow by Death surely missioned must be;

But when youth in its loveliness sinks to decay,

Death's quiver doth furnish the dart.

Here was a startling resemblance, with a vengeance; in spite of my

new-fledged confidence, and the unmistakably excellent opinion I

entertained of number one, I began to feel somewhat nervous.

"How do you like it?" said Rory, evidently nettled at my inattention.

"I don't like it all."

"Eh!"

"I don't mean that; I mean--the poetry is superb--lovely--but"----

"But what? you are laboring to give vent to something, evidently--out

with it, man," Rory continued, moodily.

"Well, then, since you press me," said I, "I certainly have my

misgivings."

"And what about, pray?"

"May I venture to ask who the elderly person is, at whom your allegory

is directed?"

"I have no objection at all," Rory replied, "if you give me your word

you won't mention it again."

"Honor bright."

"Well, then, it's old Tom Gallagher, the saw-bones."

Oh! my internal machinery ceased working, for an instant; had I a

girl's privilege, I should have fainted outright; it was a shock; a

stunning one, and no mistake.

"What's the matter with you?" inquired Rory, seeing me gasp like a

fresh-caught perch.

"Oh! Rory," I cried, grasping his hand with the sudden affection that

similarity of misfortune always instigates. "Rory, my friend, did you

see my Valentine in the _Tipperary Gazette_?"

"Yes, and liked it," said he, in a tone of sincerity; "but who was

Plutus?"

"By all that's excruciating, old Tom Gallagher."

Rory turned as pale as a turnip.

"And the confounded little coquette who bamboozled you to day," I

continued, courageously, despite of Rory's dark frown, "and who

conglomerated my reasoning faculties in the same way, was Miss Polly

O'Connor."

It was now Rory's turn to have his mechanism bothered.

"What do you mean?" he whispered, tremblingly.

"I mean," said I, "that this very morning, Miss Polly O'Conner swore as

binding an oath as ever flashed out of a pair of eyes, or was sealed

upon a pair of lips, that I was to have the fee simple of her heart for

life, and to settle the affair, we are to meet this evening, at eight

o'clock, in Duffy's borieen, at the little stile leading into Murphy's

lane."

"Just the spot, and just the time, by Jove, that I was to be there for

the same purpose," cried Rory, gnashing his teeth in a biting rage.

For a few moments, we stood silently regarding each other, and at last,

broke into a violent fit of laughter; it was what old Tom himself,

confound his coppery heart, would call "the crisis;" we were cured--not

immediately, however--the dangerous point was passed--time and low diet

did the rest.

The inhuman little savage confessed, shortly after, that she had

adopted that nefarious plan, in order that, by meeting together, we

might--how, she didn't care--come to some explanation with regard to

the duality of our attachment, and the double duplicity of our

Tipperary Venus.

And now to return--it's a long way back, but never mind. I'm riding an

old hack; few that's used to such journeys. To my first intention; that

is, to illustrate the position in Fairydom of the _Leprechaun_.

It is one Rory's wild tales, and, as it mightily interested me--to be

sure, I was young at the time--I trust, gentle reader, it may not prove

entirely devoid of attraction for you.

In the little village of Templeneiry, situated at the base of one of

the Galtee mountains, whose summit looks down upon the diminutive

hamlet from the altitude of two thousand feet, there dwelt a very

celebrated and greatly-sought-after individual, one Terry Magra, the

Piper; there wasn't a _pathern_, fair, wake, wedding, or merriment

of any description, for miles round, in which he and his dhrones were

not called into requisition: there wasn't a performer on that noisy,

but much-loved instrument, that could at all compare with Terry; it was

solemnly asserted, indeed, that his superiority was the result of fairy

agency; a belief which he was not unwilling to foster and encourage,

inasmuch, as it gave him a wonderful importance among the superstitious

peasantry.

Now, with grief it must be recorded, Terry was too much addicted to the

almost national failing, that of intoxication. Whisky was to him the

universal panacea; did his sweetheart, and he had plenty of them, frown

upon his tender suit, whisky banished the mortification; was his rent

in arrear, and no sign of anything turning up, whisky wiped off the

account, instanter; did all the ill-omened birds that flock around the

head of poverty, assail him, he fired a stiff tumbler of whisky punch

at them, and they dispersed.

On the whole, it was a jolly vagabond, reckless, and variegated life,

that of Terry Magra; his supernatural reputation, together with the

general belief in the positive existence of fairies, entertained by the

community in which he exercised his pleasant vocation, rendering him a

fit subject to receive any spiritual impression, howsoever removed from

the common course of events.

It was one moonlight night that Terry, after having attended a grand

festival in the neighborhood, brought up, as was his usual custom, at a

Sheebieen house, where a few seasoned old casks, like himself,

invariably "topped off" with a round of throat-raspers; here he was the

Sir Oracle; the lord of the soil himself--did they ever see him, which

was not at all probable, for, upon the means wrung by his agents from

the poor wretches, by Providence delegated to his care--those same

agents, by the way, managing to squeeze out a comfortable per-centage

for themselves--he lives in London. The lord of the soil, as I said,

could not be served with readier obedience, or listened to with more

profound attention.

The roaring song, and joke, and fun abounded upon this occasion, and

Terry improvised so wild and inspiriting a strain upon his famous

pipes, that it was generally conceded, with enthusiasm tinctured with

awe, that no mortal hand could have produced such astounding music.

At length, the sleepy proprietor of the place put a sudden end to the

jollification, by stopping the supplies, the only way in which the

Widow Brady--for I'm sorry to say it was a woman, and a decent-looking

one too, who presided over this Pandora's box, where Hope forever lies

imprisoned--could break up the party.

Terry, after vainly endeavoring to mollify the widow, gathered up his

magic pipes, and sallied forth. Adieus were exchanged; friendly hugs,

and protestations of eternal friendship passed between the stammering,

roaring crowd, to be ratified hereafter, it might be, by a crack on the

skull from a tough _alpieen_. At last they separated, each to find, as

he could, his way home by the devious light of a clouded moon.

Now, Terry lived a smart way up the mountain, and so, with, as he said,

"the sense fairly bilin' in him everywhere but his murdherin' legs,"

that persisted in carrying him in the opposite direction to that which

his intention pointed, the contest between his will and his locomotive

powers making his course somewhat irregular--our bold piper proceeded

on his way, humming snatches of songs, and every now and then, by way

of diversion, waking the echoes by a fierce blast from his "chanter."

Whether Terry resorted to these means for the purpose of keeping his

courage from slumbering within his breast, I know not; but, inasmuch as

the ground he was traversing had a general fairy repute, I think it

more than likely that, notwithstanding the whisky-valor with which he

had armed himself, it was not without considerable trepidation he

endeavored to make his way through the enchanted precincts.

There was one isolated mound, which tradition had positively marked as

a favorite resort of the "good people," and as Terry neared it,

apprehension smote against his heart lustily. For the first time, he

faltered. The moon, which had hitherto seemed to light him famously,

shot suddenly behind a dense, black cloud, and Terry thought that

blindness had fallen upon him, so black did everything appear. At the

same moment, a gust of wind shook the crisp leaves of the aspen trees,

with a noise like the rattling of dry bones, that sunk into his very

soul. He was frightened--he couldn't go a step further. Down on his

knees he fell, in the middle of the road, and, as a last resource,

tried to collect himself sufficiently to mutter through the form of

exorcisement used by the peasantry in similar emergencies. To his

horror he discovered that he couldn't remember a syllable of the

matter. He resorted to his prayers, but his traitor-memory deserted him

there also.

Now his perturbation and dismay increased, for he knew by those signs

that he was "fairy-struck." There was nothing left him but to run for

it; but, to his yet greater terror, on endeavoring to rise from his

knees, he found himself rooted to the ground like a tree; not a muscle

could he move. Then--as he described it--

"The fairy bells rung like mad inside of me skull. The very brains of

me was twisted about, as a washerwoman twists a wet rag; somethin' hit

me a bat on the head, an' down I dropped, as dead as a herrin'."

When Terry came to himself again, the darkness had vanished, and the

whole scene was glowing with the mellow softness of an eastern morning.

The atmosphere was imbued with a delicious warmth, while a subdued

crimson haze hung between earth and sky. The common road-stones looked

like lumps of heated amber. The very dew-drops on the grass glittered

like rubies, while the noisy little mountain-fall, where it broke white

against the rocks, flashed and sparkled in the rosy light, like jets of

liquid gold, filling the air with living gems.

"Be jabers, an' this is Fairy-land, sure enough," said Terry; "an' if

the little blaggards has got anything agin' me, it's in a murdherin'

bad box I am, the divil a doubt of it. I've nothin' for it, anyway, but

to take it aisy." So he sat upon a large stone on the wayside, and

gazed with intense admiration on the lovely scene before him, inly

wondering what kind of demonstration the inhabitants of this enchanted

spot would make when they discerned his audacious intrusion.

Several minutes had elapsed, and Terry heard nothing but a small,

musical hum, barely discernible by the sense, which every warm current

of air caused to rise and fall upon his charmed ear, in undulations of

dreamy melody. Suddenly, however, his attention was directed towards a

fallen leaf, which some vagrant breeze appeared to toss to and fro in

merry play. For a long time he watched its eccentric movements, until

at last a gust of wind lifted it up, and whirling it round and round in

circling eddies, dropped it on the piece of rock where he was sitting.

Now Terry perceived a multitude of tiny creatures, ant-like, busied

around the still fluttering leaf, and on stooping to examine them

closely, his heart leaped like a living thing within his bosom, his

breath came short and gasping, and his tongue clove to his palate.

"There they are, an' no mistake," thought he; "an' my time is come. May

the blessed saints stand betune me an harm."

The crowds of atomies which he had supposed to be ants, were beings of

the most exquisite human form; anon, the air grew thick with them.

Some, winged like butterflies, disported around his head, and alighted

upon his garments, pluming their bejewelled pinions and then darting

off again.

"It's mighty quare that they don't give me a hint that I'm out of me

element," thought Terry, as, emboldened by their passiveness, he gently

took the leaf up in his hand, on which were dozens of them yet

clustered; he held the fairy-laden leaf up to his eyes; still they kept

gambolling about it; they overrun his fingers, and clambered up his

sleeve, but no intimation did they give that Terry was of other

material than one of the rocks by which they were surrounded; they

invaded his face, examined his mouth, and peered into his eyes, yet

there was no indication that his presence was acknowledged.

Resolving to test the matter at once, with an effort of courage, he

rose up gradually, and looked around him; all was quiet.

"If any thing will make them spake, the pipes will," said he, bravely,

and so, filling his chanter, he gave one preliminary blast, and finding

that it met with no response, save from the distant echoes, that sent

it sweeping back in multiplied reverberations, he commenced to play one

of his most lauded planxtys; never had he satisfied himself better, but

never had he exerted himself before a more unappreciative assembly; the

universal fun and frolic went on as before.

His artistic self-love was sadly wounded. "The divil such a lot of

stupid fairies did I ever hear tell of," said he, throwing down his

pipes in disgust. "An' bad luck attend the grunt more yez'll get out o'

me; such elegant music as I've been threaten yez wid, an' the never an

ear cocked among the lot of yez."

"A thin, Misther Terry Magra," said the smallest possible kind of a

voice, but which thrilled through the piper as though it were

thunder-loud. "Shure, an' you're not goin' to concate that it's music

you've been tearin' out ov them tree-stumps of yours; be the powers of

war, it's a tom-cat I thought you wor squeezin' undher yer arms."

"Thank you, kindly, yer honor, for the compliment, whoever you are,"

replied Terry, when, on turning round to the quarter from whence the

voice proceeded, he saw, sitting on the branch of a tree beside him, a

diminutive piper, in all respects a perfect resemblance to himself;

dressed in similar garments, even to the dilapidated _caubieen_,

with an atom of a _dhudieen_ stuck in it; but what elicited his

admiration most of all, was the weeny set of pipes the swaggering

little ruffian carried on his arm.

"Your soul to glory," cried Terry, his excitement completely mastering

his apprehension. "An' if you can blow any music out of them, I'll give

in soon an' suddent."

"Howld yer prate, you ugly man, an' bad Christian," cried the little

fellow; "sure, an' it's plinty of help I'll have;" with that, he put

the bellows under his arm, and blew a blast that sounded like the

whistle of a tom-tit in distress; a signal which was quickly answered

by similar sounds, issuing from all directions; and very soon Terry saw

groups of little pipers climbing up the tree until the branch was

fairly alive with them, each one an exact counterpart of the first.

"May I never sin if the sowls of all the Terry Magras, past, present,

an' to come, ain't to the fore, it's my belief, this minnit," said the

piper, in an ecstasy of amazement.

"We must graize our elbows before we begin, boys," said Terry's friend,

producing a fairy bottle.

"Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra," says the little vagabond,

with a ghost of a laugh; and up went the bottle to his head.

"Here's your health, Misther Terry Magra," they all repeated, as the

real mountain dew went merrily round.

"Faix, an' it's glad enough I'd be to return thanks for the favor,"

said Terry, "if it's a thing that I had a toothful of sperrits to join

yez in; more, betoken, I'm as drouthy as a sand-bag this blessed hour."

"Never be it said that a dhry Christian should keep cotton in his

mouth, while we can give him a dhrop to wash it out," said the little

piper, throwing his bottle at Terry.

"Bedad, it's a _dhrop_, sure enough, that I'll be suckin' out of this,"

said Terry, as he regarded the tiny atom that rested in the palm of his

hand. "Bad 'cess to me, if a scooped-out duck-shot wouldn't howld more

nourishment. I'm obleeged to you for your good intentions, any way, but

I b'leeve I won't be robbin' you this time."

"Don't be refusin' your liquor, you fool," said the piping little chap,

with a wicked look out of his mites of eyes. "I'll be bound that such

liquor never tickled your throat before."

"Well, rather than appear onfriendly, I'll just go through the motions;

so here's jolly good luck to yez all," said Terry, raising the

pellet-like material to his lips, when, to his intense satisfaction and

wonder, his mouth instantly filled up, and run over, with a perfect

flood of such whisky as he owned never yet had blessed his palate;

again and again he repeated the experiment, and with the like delicious

result.

"Hollo! there, give me back my bottle, you thief of the world; would

you ruin us, entirely?" cried the little piper. "If the blaggard

wouldn't drink the say dhry, I'm not here."

"By the sowl of me mother," said Terry, with a loud smack of enjoyment,

"if the say was made of such stuff as that, may I never, if I wouldn't

change places wid a mermaid's husband, and flourish a fish's tail all

the days of my life."

"But this has nothin' to do concarnin' the music," says the fairy, "so,

here goes to show you how much you know about humorin' the pipes." So

saying, the whole army of pipers set up a chant, so small, and yet so

exquisitely sweet and harmonious, that Terry scarcely dared to breathe,

for fear of losing the slightest echo of such bewitching strains.

"What do you say to that?" inquired the little fellow, when they had

finished.

"Say to it," cried Terry, flinging his hat upon the ground in an

ecstasy of delight; "what the mischief can I say? Bedad, there never

was a mortial had the concate so complately licked out o' him as it's

been deludhed out o' me at this present writin, an' to make my words

good, av there was a bit of fire near, if I wouldn't make cindhers of

that murdherin' ould catherwauler ov mine, I'm a grasshopper."

"It does you credit to own up to it so readily, Terry Magra," said the

head fairy, pleased enough at the compliment. "An', by the way of

rewardin' you for that same, we'll give you a blast of another sort."

With that they turned to and executed a jig-tune, so swiftly-fingered,

so lively and irresistibly _sole_-inspiring, that, with a wild scream

of delight, Terry whipped off his great coat, and jumping on the level

rock, went through the varied complications of the most intricate

description of Irish dance.

"Murdher alive, av I only had a partner now," he cried. "Such elegant

music, an' only one to be enjoyin' it." Faster and faster played the

fairy pipers, and yet more madly Terry beat time upon the stone, making

the mountains resound to his vociferous shouts, until exhausted at

last, he jumped off, and sunk panting on the ground.

"Oh! _tear an' aigers_!" he cried, "an' av yez have a grain of

compassion in thim insignificant tiniments of yours, fairies, darlin',

won't yez lend us the loan of a pull out of that same bit of a bottle,

for it's the seven senses that you've fairly batthered out o' me wid

that rattlin' leg-teazer of a chune."

"Wid a heart an' a half, my hayro!" said the little piper, flinging

Terry the fairy-bottle; "it's you that has the parliaminthary unction

for the creather, if ever a sowl had. Don't be afeard of it, it won't

hurt a feather of you, no more nor wather on a duck's back."

Thus encouraged, Terry lifted his elbow considerably, before he thought

it prudent to desist, the fairy liquor appearing more delicious with

each gulp, when, all at once--for Terry had a tolerable share of

acuteness for a piper--the thought struck him that the little schemers

might have a motive in thus plying him with such potential stuff.

"If you're at all inclined for a nap, Terry, my boy," said the fairy,

blandly, "there's a lovely bank of moss fornent you, that'll beat the

best feather-bed at the Globe Inn, in the town of Clonmel. Stretch

yourself on it, _aroon_, an' we'll keep watch over you as tindherly

as av your own mother was hangin' over yer cradle."

"Ho! ho! is it there yez are, you sootherin' vagabonds," said Terry to

himself. "It's off o' my guard you want to ketch me, eh?" He was

determined, however, to diplomatize, so he replied, with equal

politeness, "It's thankful that I am to yer honors for the invite, but

I wouldn't be makin' such a hole in my manners as to let a wink come on

me in such iligant company."

"Oh, well, just as you like, Terry Magra," observed the fairy, with

just enough of lemon in his tone to convince Terry that his surmise was

correct. "At all events, if you're not sleepy now, you soon will be,"

the little fellow continued, "so, when you are, you will lie down

without fear. In the meantime, we must go and inform our king how

famously we've amused you, and what a fine fellow you are." So saying,

with a sharp little squeal of a laugh, that Terry thought carried with

it a sufficiency of sarcasm, the little piper and his companions

rapidly descended from their perch, and vanished from his sight.

No sooner had they departed when Terry's ears were saluted by a

singularly delightful buzzing noise, that, in spite of his endeavor to

resist it, caused a growing drowsiness to steal over him. The declining

daylight deepened into a still more roseate hue. Once or twice his

eyelids drooped, but he recovered himself with a vigorous effort.

"By the ghost of Moll Kelly," he cried, "I'm a lost mutton, as sure as

eggs is chickens, if the sleep masthers me; the pipes is my only

chance." So saying, he shook off the slumberous sensation, and, seizing

the instrument, blazed out into a stormy attack upon "Garryowen," and,

sure enough, something like a distant groan, as of disappointment,

reached him at the very first snore of the chanter.

"Ha! ha!" he exclaimed, "it isn't an omadhaun all out yez has to dale

wid this time, you little rascals, as cunnin' as ye think yerselves.

Bedad, it won't do me any harm to make use of my eyes hereabouts; who

knows but I may light atop of a fairy threasure, and drive the

imptiness out of my pocket for ever and ever."

With this determination, the bold piper proceeded to investigate the

character of the ground in his immediate neighborhood. For a short time

he saw nothing remarkable except the circumstance of the whole

surroundings being alive with fairies, to whose presence he was

becoming more and more habituated; occasionally he would pause in his

search to view with admiration the energetic way in which a group of

workers attended to their specific duties. Observing at one time a more

than usual commotion, he was led to give the affair particular

scrutiny, when he discovered that it was the scene of a most animated

contest between two distinct bodies of supernaturals.

An infant lily-of-the-valley was just raising its head above the

yielding earth, softened and broken to assist its upward progress, by

scores of busy atomies. Numbers showered its tender leaf with

refreshing dew--procured, as Terry observed, by plunging into the

hollow cup of some sturdy neighboring flower, then flying back to their

charge, and shaking the nutritious drops from their wings--others, with

mechanical ingenuity, held glasses by which they could concentrate the

passing sunbeams upon the spot, when necessary; while others drove

there with their united pinions the stray breezes, whose invigorating

breath was needed.

While Terry was rapt in the delightful contemplation of this curious

scene, all at once he saw that there was something of uncommon interest

going on amongst the crowd. He observed, in the first instance, that

although the labor was not for a moment suspended, yet a solid phalanx

of armed fairies had formed about the immediate workers. The reason was

soon obvious, for, careering round and round, or darting to and fro in

zigzag courses almost as swiftly as the lightning itself, was an

enormous dragon-fly, carrying on its glistening back a diminutive form

of a brilliant green color, that flashed in the glancing light like

living emerald. Wherever there was a tender young plant there its

fierce attack was directed, and in all cases repelled by the brave

little guardians.

This terrible monster--as it appeared even in Terry's eyes, when

compared with the tiny creatures that surrounded him--seemed to have

singled out the fragile lily-of-the-valley for its especial ferocity,

for again and again it darted furiously against the unyielding

defenders, only, however, to be repulsed at each charge, writhing and

twisting its snaky body, punctured by the thorn-bayonets of the

fairy-guard.

The indomitable courage and resolution of the defence at length

prevailed, and after a last ineffectual effort to break through the

chevaux-de-frise that protected the beleaguered flower, the dreadful

enemy wheeled angrily two or three times around the spot, and at length

darted upwards rapidly, and disappeared, to the manifest delight of the

fairies. Soon, however, a yet more formidable danger threatened, for in

the distance there approached a gigantic snail, dragging its noxious

slime over every thing in its destructive path. Terry now observed

evidences of the most intense solicitude and perturbation. The guard

around the flower was trebled, scouts seemed to be called in from all

quarters, hastening to a common rendezvous. Meantime the snail moved on

in a direct line with the object of their care and anxiety.

"Now my fine fellows," said Terry, completely absorbed in the

interesting scene, "how the mischief are yez goin' to manage that

customer?"

Nearer and nearer crawled the snail, and at every onward movement the

little crowd grew more agitated, scampering here and there, and

overrunning each other in a perfect agony of apprehension and

excitement, like a disturbed colony of ants. Multitudes of them cleared

the small stumps of decayed grass, and rolled off the pebbles from a

side path, in the hope of diverting Mr. Snail's course; but their

engineering skill was fruitless--still on he came, crushing every

delicate germ in his progress. He was now only about six inches away

from the lily, and the trepidation of the fairies became so excessive,

that it smote upon Terry's heart. He forgot for a moment or two that he

himself was the arbiter of their fate.

"Mother o' Moses," said he; "it's afeared I am that yez goin' to get

the worst of the fight, this time; heigh! at him agin, yer sowls," he

shouted, clapping his hands by way of encouragement, as a crowd would

try to push the snail from the direct path.

"Where's yer sinse, you little blaggards? why don't yez all get

together, and you'd soon tumble the murdherin' Turk over."

Despair seemed to be spreading through the fairy ranks, when it

suddenly occurred to Terry that it was in his own power to put an end

to their fears at once, by removing the cause; another, and more

personal idea flashing across his mind at the same time.

"Why, then, bad 'cess to this thick skull o' mine," said he, as he

picked up the snail and hurled it to a distance. "It well becomes me to

be stickin' here, watchin' the antics of these little ragamuffins,

instead of mindin' my own business of threasure-huntin';" so, without

waiting to see what effect his timely interference had upon the

supernals, he commenced vigorously to prosecute his search.

For some time he diligently explored the crevices and deep hollows on

the mountain's side, without finding the slightest indication to

stimulate his exertions; one particular opening, however, he was loathe

to penetrate; the insects were so numerous therein, and flew so

spitefully against his face, that, although it evidently extended to

some distance into the heart of the mountain, again and again he was

driven from his purpose of ascertaining that fact by the pertinacity of

the annoying creatures; now, a prodigious horned beetle would bang

sharply against his cheek; anon, he would be entirely surrounded by a

cloud of wasps, through which he had to fight his way lustily.

Thrice had he entered the cavity, and having been ignominiously driven

back each time, had determined to give up the effort to penetrate

further. "Faix, an' it's mighty quare, entirely," said he, "that this

is the only spot in the place that's so throubled with the varmint:

it's my belief there's somethin' in that, too," he continued, a new

light seeming to break upon him; "what should they be here for, more

nor at any other openin', unless it was to keep strangers from

inthrudin'? May I never, if I don't think that same hole in the rock is

the turnpike-gate to somethin' surprizin' in the way of a fairy road;

here goes to thry, anyway, in spite of the singin' and stingin'."

Once more, therefore, my bold Terry attempted to enter the cavern, and

was attacked as before, but with tenfold fury; legions of stinging

flies, wasps, and hornets, raised a horrible din about his ears; but,

setting his resolution up to the fearless point, on he went, without

regarding their unpleasant music; expecting, of course, to be stung

desperately; what was his astonishment and relief to discover that the

noise was the only thing by which he was at all distressed; not one of

his myriad of assailants even as much as touched him, and before he had

proceeded many steps further into the cavity, every sound had ceased.

He now found his onward progress most uncomfortably impeded by a

stubborn species of wild hedge-briar, whose sharp, thorny branches

interlaced through each other, forming a barrier, whose dangerous

appearance was sufficient to deter the boldest from risking a

laceration. Not an opening large enough to admit his head, could Terry

see, and he was about again to give the attempt up as unattainable,

when, by the merest accident, on turning round, his foot slipped, and

with that inward shudder with which one prepares for an inevitable

hurt, he fell against the prickly wall; when, to his utter amazement,

it divided on each side as though it were fashioned of smoke, and he

tumbled through, somewhat roughly, to be sure, but altogether unharmed

by the formidable-looking interposition.

"By the mortial of war," he cried, rubbing his dilapidated elbow, and

looking round to examine his position, "I'm on the right side of that

hedge, any way."

Now, Terry perceived that the barrier he had just so successfully

passed was slowly regaining its original appearance, and, to his

mortification, as it gradually closed up the aperture of the cavern,

the light, hitherto quite sufficient for him distinctly to see every

object, faded away slowly, and finally left him in utter darkness.

"Bedad, an' a tindher-box an' a sulphur match would be about the

greatest threasure I could light on at this present," said Terry, as he

groped about cautiously, to find some kind of an elevation whereupon he

might sit and wait for luck.

He had not been many minutes, however, in the blackness, when his

quickened sense became aware of a light, reddish spot, which faintly

glowed at some distance. This was the first sign of an encouraging

nature he had experienced, and with a beating heart he proceeded to

feel his way towards the bright indication.

Getting gradually accustomed to the dimness that surrounded him he

suddenly discovered that he was opposed by a solid wall of rock, in the

very centre of which the pale red glimmer still shone, like a star seen

through a summer mist.

"The divil a use in my thravellin' any longer in that direction," said

Terry, turning sharply round to retrace his steps, when to his

amazement and consternation he encountered the same rocky barrier.

Whichever way he looked all was alike, stern and impassable. He was

enclosed within a stony wall, whose circumference was but little more

than an arm's length, but whose height was lost in the unsearchable

darkness.

"Musha, then, how the divil did I stumble into this man-thrap?" cried

Terry, in consternation. "There's no way out that I can see, an' where

the mischief the top of it is, is beyant my comprehendin'. Bedad,

there's nothing for it but to thry an' climb up." So saying, Terry

placed his foot upon what he supposed, in the uncertain light, was a

bold projection of the rock, when down he stepped through it, and

before he could recover his perpendicular, his body was half buried in

the apparent wall.

"Be jabers, if it ain't more of their thricks--the never a rock's

there, no more nor the briars was; they may make fools of my eyes, but

they can't of my fingers, an' its thim I'll thrust to in future," said

he; and so, keeping the light in view, he boldly dashed through all the

seeming obstacles, and soon found himself once more in an open space.

It was a kind of vaulted tunnel that he was now traversing, his onward

path still in profound darkness, with the sole exception of the red

light, which Terry imagined grew larger and more distinct, each step he

took. A rush of warm air every now and then swept by him, and his tread

echoed in the far distance, giving an idea of immense length.

Somewhat assured by the impunity with which he had already explored the

enchanted districts, he was beginning to pick his way with freer

breath, when his ears were smitten by a sound which sank his heart

still deeper. It was the loud and furious barking of a pack of

evidently most ferocious dogs, which approached rapidly, right in his

path. On came the savage animals, louder and louder grew their terrible

bark, and Terry gave himself up for lost in good earnest. It was no use

to turn about and run, although that was his first impulse; so,

flinging himself down on the ground, he awaited the attack of his

unseen foes. He could now hear the clatter of their enormous paws,

while their growlings echoed through the cavern like thunder.

"Murdher an' nouns, there's a half a hundred of them, I know there is;

an' it's mince-meat they'll make of me in less than no time," cried

Terry, mumbling all the prayers he could remember, and in another

instant, with a tremendous roar, they were upon him, and, with stunning

yells, swept over him as he lay; but not an atom did he feel, no more

than if a cloud had passed across.

"If they're not at it again, the blaggards," said he, getting up, and

shaking himself; "the divil a dog was there in the place at

all--nothin' but mouth--but, by dad, there's enough of that to frighten

the sowl out of a narvous Christian;" and once more the bold Piper

started in pursuit of the coveted light. He had not proceeded very far,

before he heard the distant bellowing of a bull; but, warned by his

past experience, he shut his ears against the sound, and although it

increased fearfully, as though some mad herd were tearing down upon

him, he courageously kept on. To be sure, his breath stopped for a

moment, and his pulse ceased to beat, when the thing seemed to approach

his vicinity, but, as he anticipated, the terror fled by him as he

stood up erect, with the sensation, only, of a passing breeze.

Terry received no further molestation, but plodded along quietly until

he came right up to the place from whence the light proceeded which had

hitherto guided him, and here a most gorgeous sight presented itself to

his enraptured gaze.

Within a luminous opening of the cave he saw groups of living atomies,

all busied in the formation of the various gems for which the rich ones

of the world hunger. In one compartment were the diamond-makers; in

another, those who, when finished, coated them over with the rough

exterior which they hoped would prevent them from being distinguished

from common pebbles. Here was a tiny multitude, fashioning emeralds of

astonishing magnitude; there, a crowd of industrious elves, putting the

last sparkle into some magnificent rubies.

With staring eyes, and mouth all agape with wonder and delight, Terry

watched the curious process for a few moments, scarcely breathing

audibly for fear of breaking the brilliant spell. What to do he did not

know. Heaps of the coveted jewels lay around within his very grasp, yet

how to possess himself, without danger, of a few handfuls, he couldn't

imagine.

At last, resolving to make one final effort to enrich himself, he

suddenly plunged his hand into the glittering mass of diamonds,

presuming they were the most valuable, and, clutching a quantity,

thrust them into his pocket, intending to repeat the operation until he

had sufficient; but the instant that he did so, the entire cavern was

rent asunder as with the force of an earthquake, the solid rock opened

beneath him with a deafening explosion, and he was shot upwards as from

the mouth of a cannon--up--up through the rifted cave, and miles high

into the air. Not a whit injured did he feel from the concussion,

saving a sense of lightness, as though he was as empty as a blown

bladder. So high did he go in his aerial flight, that he plainly saw

to-morrow's sun lighting up the lakes and fields of other latitudes. As

soon as he had reached an altitude commensurate with the power of the

explosive agency, he turned over and commenced his downward progress,

and, to his great relief, found that his fall was by no means as rapid

as he had anticipated--for his consciousness had not for a moment left

him; on the contrary, the buoyant air supported him without difficulty,

and each random gust of wind tossed him about like a feather. Well, day

came, and shone, and vanished; so did the evening, and the starry

night, and early morning, before Terry had completed his easy descent;

when at length he touched the earth, gently as a falling leaf, and

found himself lying beside the very stone from whence he had departed

on his late exploration. The marks of the recent terrible convulsion

were visible, however, for the vast mountain was gone, and in its place

a deep, round chasm, filled to over-flowing with a dark yellow liquid,

that hissed and bubbled into flame like a Tartarian lake. The rocks

around him, that before had shone so resplendently, were now blackened

and calcined--the lovely vegetation blasted--the paradise a desert.

"Athin, may-be, I haven't been kickin' up the divil's delights

hereabouts," said Terry, as he looked round at the desolation. "But

never a hair I care; haven't I got a pocket-full of big di'minds, an'

won't they set me up anyway?" he continued, drawing forth the precious

contents of his pocket, and placing them on the rock by his side; when,

to his infinite mortification, the entire collection turned out to be

nothing but worthless pebbles.

"Musha! thin, may bad luck attend yez for a set of schemin' vagabones;

an' afther all my throuble it's done again I am," he cried, in a rage,

emptying his pocket, and flinging away its contents in thorough

disgust. "Hollo! what's this?" he cried, with a start, as he drew forth

the last handful; "may I never ate bread if I haven't tuk one of the

chaps prisoner, an' if it isn't a Leprechaun I'm not alive;" and sure

enough there, lying in the palm of his hand, was as queer a looking

specimen of fairyhood as ever the eye looked upon.

The little bit of a creature had the appearance of an old man, with

wrinkled skin and withered features. It was dressed, too, in the

costume of a by-gone age. A mite of a velvet coat covered its morsel of

a back; a pair of velvet breeches, together with white silk stockings,

and little red-heeled shoes, adorned its diminutive legs, which looked

as if they might have belonged to a rather fat spider, and a stiff

white wig, duly pomatumed and powdered, surmounted by a three-cornered

hat, bedecked its head.

The leprechaun seemed to be in a state of insensibility, as Terry

examined minutely its old-fashioned appearance. "It's just as I've

heard tell of 'em," he cried, in glee; "cocked hat, an' breeches, an'

buckles, an' all. Hurroo! I'm a made man if he ever comes to." With

that, Terry breathed gently on the little fellow as he lay in his hand,

as one would to resuscitate a drowned fly.

"I wondher if he'd have any relish for wather--here goes to thry," said

Terry, plucking a buttercup flower, in whose cavity a drop of dew had

rested, and holding it to the lips of the leprechaun, "Oh, murdher! if

I only had a taste of whisky to qualify it; if that wouldn't bring the

life into an Irish fairy, nothing would. Ha! he's openin' his bit of an

eye, by dad; here, suck this, yer sowl to glory," Terry continued, and

was soon gratified by seeing the leprechaun begin to imbibe the

contents of the buttercup with intense avidity.

"I hope you're betther, sir," said Terry, politely.

"Not the betther for you, Mr. Terry Magra," replied the fairy, "though

I'm obleeged to you for the drop o' drink."

"Indeed, an' yer welcome, sir," Terry went on, "an' more betoken, it's

mighty sorry I am to have gev you any oneasiness."

"That's the last lie you towld, Mr. Terry, and you know it," the

leprechaun answered, tartly, "when your heart is fairly leapin' in your

body because you've had the luck to lay a howld of me."

"Well, an' can't a fella be glad at his own luck, an' yet sorry if

anybody else is hurted by it," said Terry, apologetically.

"You can't humbug me, you covetious blaggard," the fairy went on. "But

I'll thry you, anyway--now listen to me. The fairies that you have just

been so wicked as to inthrude your unwelcome presence upon, were all

leprechauns like myself--immortal essences, whose duty it was to make

and guard the treasures, that you saw in spite of all the terrors that

we employed to frighten you away. So long as they were unobserved by

mortal eyes, our existence was a bright and glorious one; but, once

seen, we are obliged to abandon our fairy life and shape, take this

degrading form, and work at a degrading occupation, subject to the

ailments and mishaps of frail humanity, and forced to live in constant

fear of your insatiate species. Now, the only chance I have to regain

the blissful immortality I have lost, is for you to be magnanimous

enough to relinquish the good fortune you anticipate from my capture.

Set me unconditionally free, and I can revel once more in my forfeited

fairy existence--persevere in your ungenerous advantage, and I am

condemned to wander a wretched out-cast through the world--now, what is

your determination?"

Terry's better feelings prompted him at first to let the little

creature go, but love of lucre got the upper hand, and after a slight

pause of irresolution, he replied:

"Indeed, an' it's heart sick that I am to act so conthrary, but I'll

leave it to yerself if it ain't agin nature for a man to fling away his

luck. Shoemakin' is an iligant amusement, an' profitable; you'll soon

get mighty fond of it; so, I'm afeard I'll have to throuble you to do

somethin' for me."

"I thought how it would be; you're all alike," said the fairy, sadly;

"selfish to the heart's core. Well, what do you want? I'm in your

power, and must fulfill your desire."

"Long life to you; now ye talk sense," cried Terry, elated. "Sure I

won't be hard on you--a thrifle of money is all I wish for in the

world, for everything else will follow that."

"More, perhaps, than you imagine--cares and anxieties," said the

leprechaun.

"I'll risk all them," replied Terry; "come, now, I'll tell you what you

may do for me. Let me find a shillin' in my pocket every time I put my

fist into it, an' I'll be satisfied."

"Enough! it's a bargain; and now that you have made your wish, all your

power over me is gone," said the leprechaun, springing out of his hand

like a grasshopper, and lighting on the branch beside him; "it's a

purty sort of a fool you are," it continued, with a chuckle, "when the

threasures of the universe were yours for the desire, to be contented

with a pitiful pocket-full of shillin's! ho! ho!" and the little thing

laughed like a cornkrake at the discomfited Terry.

"Musha! then, may bad cess to me if I don't crush the fun out of your

cattherpillar of a carcass if I ketch a howlt of you," said Terry,

savagely griping at the fairy; but, with another spring, it jumped into

the brushwood, and disappeared.

Terry's first impulse was to dive his hand into his pocket to see if

the leprechaun had kept his word, and to his great delight, there he

found, sure enough, a fine bright new shilling. At this discovery his

joy knew no bounds. He jumped and hallooed aloud, amusing himself

flinging away shilling after shilling, merely on purpose to test the

continuance of the supply. He was satisfied. It was inexhaustible, and

bright dreams of a splendid future flitted before his excited

imagination.

With a heart full of happiness, Terry now wended his way homeward,

busying himself, as he went along, in conveying shilling after shilling

from one pocket into the other, until he filled it up to the

button-hole. On arriving at the village, he met a few of his old

companions, but so altered that he could scarcely recognize them, while

they stared at him as though he were a spectre.

"Keep us from harm," said one, "if here ain't Terry Magra come back."

"Back," cried Terry, with a merry laugh, "why, man alive, I've never

been away."

"Never away, indeed, and the hair of you as white as the dhriven snow,

that was as brown as a beetle's back, whin you left," said the other.

It then struck Terry that his friends in their turn had aged

considerably. The youngest that he remembered had become bent and

wrinkled. "The saints be good to us," he cried, "but this is mighty

quare entirely. How long is it sence I've seen yez, boys?" he inquired

eagerly.

"How long is it? why, a matther of twenty years or so," said one of the

bystanders; "don't you know it is?"

"Faith, an' I didn't until this blessed minute," said Terry. "Have I

grown ould onbeknownst to myself, I wondher?"

"Bedad, an' it's an easy time you must have had sence you've been

away," said another; "not all as one as some of us."

"Well, won't you come an' taste a sup, for gra' we met?" said Terry,

beginning to feel rather uneasy at the singular turn things had taken;

but they shook their heads, and, without any other observation, passed

on, leaving him standing alone.

"Stop!" he cried, "wait a bit; it's lashin's of money that I

have--here--look;" and he drew forth a handful of the silver. It was no

use, however. All their old cordiality and love of fun were gone; off

they went, without even a glance behind them.

"Twenty years," said Terry to himself. "Oh, they're makin' fun of me. I

don't feel a bit oulder nor I was yestherday. I'll soon be easy on that

point, anyway." So he proceeded towards the old drinking-place, that he

had so often spent the night in, but not an atom of it could he find.

In the place where he expected to see it, there was a bran new house.

He entered it, however, and going straight up to a looking-glass which

stood in the room, was amazed on seeing reflected therein an apparition

he could not recognize, so withered and wrinkled did it appear, and so

altogether unlike what he anticipated, that he turned sharply around in

the hope of finding some aged individual looking over his shoulder; but

he was entirely alone--it was his own reflection, and no mistake at all

about it.

"By the powers of war, but my journey into the mountains hasn't

improved my personal appearance," said he. "It's easy to see that; but,

never mind, I've got the money, an' that'll comfort me;" and he jingled

the shillings in his pocket as if he could never weary of the sound.

In a short time the fame of Terry's wealth spread abroad, and as it may

readily be imagined, he didn't long want companions. The gay and the

dissolute flocked round him, and as he had a welcome smile and a

liberal hand for everybody, the hours flew by, carrying uproarious

jollity on their wings, and notwithstanding his infirmities of body,

Terry was as happy as the days were long.

Now, while he had only to provide for his own immediate wants, and

settle the whisky scores of his riotous friends, he had easy work of

it. It was only to keep putting his hand into his pocket two or three

dozen times a day, and there was more than sufficient. But this kind of

existence soon began to grow monotonous, and Terry sighed for the more

enviable pleasures of a domestic life, and inasmuch as it was now well

understood that Terry was an "eligible party," he had no great

difficulty in making a selection. Many of the "down hill" spinsters

gave evident indications that they would be nothing loth to take him

for better or for worse; and--I'm sorry to have to record the fact--not

a few even of the more youthful maidens set their curls at the quondam

piper. Neither his age, nor the doubtful source of his revenue,

rendering him an unmarketable commodity in the shambles of Hymen.

In process of time, Terry wooed and won a demure-looking little

_collieen_, and after having shut himself up for two or three

days, accumulating money enough for the interesting and expensive

ceremony, was duly bound to her for life. Now, it was that his

inexhaustible pocket began to be overhauled continuously, and Terry

cursed his imprudence in not asking for guineas instead of shillings.

Mrs. Terry Magra possessed a somewhat ambitious desire to outvie her

neighbors. Silk dresses were in demand and shawls and bonnets by the

cart-load. The constant employment gave Terry the rheumatism in his

muscles, until at last it was with the greatest difficulty he could

force his hand into his pocket.

Before many months had elapsed, Terry was prostrated upon a sick bed,

his side--the pocket-side--completely paralyzed, and as he was not one

of those who lay by for a rainy day, his inability to apply to his

fairy exchequer caused him to suffer the greatest privation--and where

were the boon companions of his joyous hours, now? Vanished--not one of

them to be seen--but haply fluttering around some new favorite of

fortune, to be in his turn fooled, flattered, and when the dark day

came--deserted.

When Terry grew better in health, which he did very slowly, there was a

considerable back-way to make up, and the best part of his time was

occupied in the mere mechanical labor of bringing out his shillings.

Mrs. Magra also became more and more exacting, and the care-worn piper

began to acknowledge to himself that, his good fortune was not at all

comparable with the anxiety and annoyance it had produced. Again and

again he deplored the chance which had placed the temptation in his

way, and most especially blamed his own selfish greed, which prevented

him from behaving with proper generosity toward the captured

leprechaun.

"He towld me plain enough what would come of it," cried he, one day,

as, utterly exhausted, he threw himself on the floor, after many hours

application to the indispensable pocket; "he towld me that it would

bring care and misery, an' yet I wasn't satisfied to profit by the

warning. Here am I, without a single hour of comfort, everybody

dhraggin' at me for money, money! an' the very sinews of me fairly wore

out wid divin' for it. This sort of life ain't worth livin' for."

Before long, Terry's necessities increased to such a degree, that out

of the twenty-four hours of the day and night, more than two-thirds

were taken up with the now terrible drudgery by which they were to be

supplied. No time had he left for relaxation--hardly for sleep. The

thought of to-morrow's toil weighed on his heart, and kept him from

rest. He was thoroughly miserable. It was in vain that he called upon

death to put an end to him and his wretchedness together; there was no

escape for him, even, by that dark road; the fear of a worse hereafter,

made imminent by the consciousness of an ill-spent life, kept him from

opening the eternal gate himself, to which he was often sorely tempted.

To this great despondency succeeded a course of reckless dissipation

and drunkenness. Homeless at last, he wandered from one drinking-shop

to another, caring nothing for the lamentable destitution in which his

family was steeped; for, as is usually the case, the poorer he became

the more his family increased. His deserted wife and starving little

ones were forced to obtain a scanty subsistence through the degrading

means of beggary. He himself never applied to his fairy resource unless

to furnish sufficient of the scorching liquor as would completely drown

all sense of circumstance. The slightest approach to sobriety only

brought with it reflection, and reflection was madness. So, the very

worst amongst the worst, in rags and filth, he staggered about the

village, a mark of scorn and contempt to every passer-by, or else prone

upon some congenial heap of garbage, slept off the fierceness of his

intoxication, to be again renewed the instant consciousness returned.

With that extraordinary tenacity of life indicative of an originally

fine constitution, which, added to a naturally powerful frame of body,

might have prolonged his years even beyond the allotted space, Terry

crept on in this worse than brutal state of existence for many months,

until at last, one morning, after a drinking bout of more than usual

excess, he was found lying in a stable to which he had crawled for

shelter, insensible, and seemingly dead. Perceiving, however, some

slight signs of animation yet remaining, his discoverers carried him to

the public hospital, for home he had none, and his own misdeeds had

estranged the affections, and closed the heart against him of her whose

inclination as well as duty would have brought her quickly to his side,

had he but regarded and cherished the great God-gift to man--a woman's

love, and not cast it aside as a worthless thing.

Tended and cared for, however, although by stranger hands, Terry

hovered a long time betwixt life and death, until at length skill and

attention triumphed over the assailant, and he was restored to

comparative health.

It was then, during the long solitary hours of his convalescence, when

the mind was restored to thorough consciousness, but the frame yet too

weak for him to quit his bed, that the recollection of his wasted

existence stood spectre-like before his mental vision. Home destroyed,

wife and children abandoned, friendships sundered, and himself brought

to the brink of a dreaded eternity, and all through the means he had so

eagerly coveted, and by which he had expected to revel in all the

world's joys.

He prayed, in the earnest sincerity of awakened repentance; he prayed

for Heaven's assistance to enable him to return to the straight path.

"Oh! if I once get out of this," he cried, while drops of agony bedewed

his face, "I'll make amends during the brief time yet left me--I will,

I will. Come what may, never again will I be beholdin' to that fearful

gift. I now find to my great cost that wealth, not properly come by, is

a curse and not a blessing. I'll work, with the help of the good God

and his bright angels, an' may-be peace will once more visit my

tortured heart."

It was some time before he was able to leave his bed, but when at last

he was pronounced convalescent, he quitted the hospital, with the firm

determination never again, under any circumstance whatsoever, even to

place his hand within the pocket from whence he had hitherto drawn his

resources. As a further security against the probability of temptation,

he took a strong needle and thread, and sewed up the opening tightly.

"There," he cried, with an accent of relief, "bad luck to the toe of me

can get in there now. Oh! how I wish to gracious it had always been so,

and I wouldn't be the miserable, homeless, houseless, wife and

childless vagabone that I am at this minnit."

As he was debating in his own mind what he should turn to in order to

obtain a living--for so great a disgust had he taken to the pipes, to

which he attributed all his wretchedness, that he had determined to

give up his productive but precarious profession of piper, and

abandoning the dissolute crowd who rejoiced in his performances, betake

himself to some more useful and reputable employment--it suddenly

occurred to him to visit the scene of his fairy adventure, in the hope

that he might get rid of the dangerous gift his cupidity had obtained

for him.

No sooner had he conceived the idea than he instantly set forward to

put it in execution. The night was favorable for his purpose, and he

arrived at the identical place in the mountain, without the slightest

interruption or accident. He found it just as he had left it, a scene

of the wildest desolation. No sound fell on his ear save the mournful

shrieking of the wind as it tore itself against the harsh branches of

the dead pine trees. He climbed the rugged side of the hill and looked

into the black lake that filled the dark chasm at its summit. It seemed

to be as solid as a sheet of lead. He flung a pebble into the gulf; it

was eagerly sucked up, and sunk without a ripple, as though dropped

into a mass of burning pitch. One heavy bubble swelled to the surface,

broke into a sullen flame that flashed lazily for an instant, and then

went out. A small, but intensely black puff of smoke rose above the

spot; so dense was the diminutive cloud that it was rejected by the

shadowy atmosphere, which refused to receive it within its bosom.

Reluctantly it seemed to hang upon the surface of the lake, then slowly

mounted, careering backwards and forwards with each passing breeze.

The singular phenomenon attracted Terry's attention, and he watched,

with increasing interest, the gyrations of the cloud, until at length

it took a steady direction towards the spot where he stood. It was not

long before it floated up to him, and he stepped aside to let it pass

by, but as he moved, so did the ball of smoke. He stooped, and it

followed his movement; he turned and ran--just as swiftly it sped with

him. He now saw there was something supernatural in it, and his heart

beat with apprehension.

"There's no use in kickin' agin fate," he said, "so, with a blessin',

I'll just stop where I am, an' see what will come of it; worse off I

can't be, an' that's a comfort any way."

So saying, Terry stood still, and patiently waited the result. To his

great surprise the cloud of smoke, after making the circuit of his head

two or three times, settled on his right shoulder, and on casting his

eye round, he perceived that it had changed into a living form, but

still as black as a coal.

"Bedad I'm among them agin, sure enough," said Terry, now much more

easy in his mind; "I wondher who this little divil is that's roostin'

so comfortably on my showldher."

"Wondher no longer, Misther Terry Magra," grunted a frog-like voice

into his ear; "by what magic means, oh! presumptuous mortal, did you

discover the charmed stone which compelled the spirit of yonder

sulphurous lake to quit his warm quarters, thus to shiver in the

uncongenial air? Of all the myriad pebbles that are scattered around,

that was the only one which possessed the power to call me forth."

"Faix, an' it was a lucky chance that made me stumble on it, sir," said

Terry.

"That's as it may turn out," replied the spirit. "Do you know who and

what I am? but why should you, ignorant creature as you are? Listen,

and be enlightened. I am the chief guardian of yon bituminous prison,

within whose murky depths lie groaning all of fairy kind, who have by

their imprudence forfeited their brilliant station.

"You don't tell me that, sir? By goxty, an' I wouldn't like to change

places with them," said Terry, with a great effort at familiarity.

"There's no knowing when you may share their fate," replied the spirit.

"The soul of many an unhappy mortal, who has abused a fairy-gift, lies

there, as well."

Terry shivered to his very marrow as he heard those words, for full

well he knew, that amongst all such, none deserved punishment more than

he; he was only wondering how his immortal part could be extracted from

its living tenement, when, as though the spirit knew his very thoughts,

it uttered:

"I have but to breathe within your ear a word of power, and with that

word the current of your life would cease."

Terry instinctively stretched his neck to its fullest extent, as he

said to himself, "I'll keep my lug out of your reach if I can, my boy."

But the spirit either knew his thought or guessed it from the movement.

"Foolish piper," it said, "I could reach it did I so incline, were it

as high as Cashel Tower." And to prove that the assertion was not a

mere boast, the little fellow made a jump, and perched upon the bridge

of Terry's nose, and sat there astride; and as it was of the

_retroussé_ order, a very comfortable seat it had; light as a

feather, it rested there, peering alternately into each of Terry's

eyes, who squinted at the intruder, brimful of awe and amazement.

"I give in," said he. "It's less nor nothin' that I am in your hands;

but if it's just as convainient for you, I'd be much obliged to you if

you'd lave that, for its fairly tearin' the eyes out of me head that

you are, while I'm thryin' to look straight at you."

"It's all the same to me entirely," replied the spirit; "and now that

you have come to a full sense of my power, I'll take up my position at

a more agreeable distance."

So saying, the spirit bounded off of Terry's nose, and alighted on a

branch of the same tree on which the legion of little pipers had before

assembled, while Terry wiped his relieved eyes with the sleeve of his

coat, and sat upon the piece of rock that stood beside.

"And now, Masther Magra," said the spirit, "we'll proceed to business.

Had you picked up any other stone but the one you did, or had you

refrained from obstructing the lake in any way, your soul would have

been mine for ever. You see what a small chance you had. But inasmuch

as your good luck pointed out the talismanic pebble, you have yet the

privilege of making another wish which I must gratify whatsoever it may

be; think well, however, ere you ask it; let no scruples bound your

desires. The wealth of the world is in my distribution."

Terry's nerves thrilled again, as his mind conjured up images of

purchased delights. But for an instant only did he hesitate what course

he should pursue.

"The temptation is wonderful," said he. "But no: I've endured enough of

misery from what I've had already."

"What can I do for you?" said the spirit, sharply. "Don't keep a poor

devil all night in the cold."

"Well, then, sir, I'll tell you," replied the other. "I suppose you

know already--for you seem to be mighty knowledgeable--that some years

back I kotch a leprechaun on this very spot; and though he towld me

that it would be the desthroyin' of him out an' out, I meanly chose to

make myself rich, as I thought, by taking a fairy-gift from him, rather

than lettin' him go free an' unharmed. It was a dirty an' selfish

thransaction on my part, an' it's with salt tears that I've repinted of

that same. Now, if that leprechaun is sufferin' on my account, and you

can give the creather any comfort, it's my wish that you'll manage it

for me--ay, even though I was to bear his punishment myself."

"You have spoken well and wisely," said the spirit; "and your reward

will be beyond your hope."

Simultaneously with those words, Terry was still more astonished at

beholding a gradual but complete change taking place in the

neighborhood: the blasted trees shot forth fresh branches, the

branches, in their turn, pushed out new leaves, thick verdure

overspread the rugged sides of the mountain; while gushing joyously

from an adjacent hollow, a little rill danced merrily through the

shining pebbles, singing its song of gratitude, as though exulting in

the new-found liberty; unnumbered birds began to fill the air with

their delicious melody, the rifted and calcined rocks concealed their

charred fronts beneath festoons of flowering parasites, the murky lake

sank slowly into the abyss, while in its place a tufted, daisy-spangled

field appeared, to which the meadow-lark descended lovingly, and

fluttering a short space amidst the dewy grass, sprang up again, with

loud, reverberating note.

The primeval change, when the beautiful new world emerged from chaos,

was not more glorious than was the aspect now presented to the rapt

beholder. He felt within himself the exhilarating effect of all this

vast and unexpected wonder, the free, fresh blood cast off its

sluggishness, and once more bounded through his veins, the flush of

vigor and excitement bedewed his brow, the flaccid muscles hardened

into renewed strength, elasticity and suppleness pervaded every limb,

stiffened and racked ere-while with keen rheumatic pains; it was not,

however, until attracted by the pure limpid stream that filtered into a

sandy hollow near him, he stooped down to carry the refreshing draught

up to his lips, that he was aware of the greatest change of all; for,

instead of the sunken cheeks and wrinkled brow, the bloodshot eyes and

thin, grey hairs that he had brought with him, the ruddy,

health-embrowned and joy-lit features of years long gone, laughed up at

him from the glassy surface.

And now a merry little chuckle tinkled in his ear, and on looking

around, he discovered that the black spirit had vanished, and in its

place sat the identical leprechaun, about whose melancholy fate he was

so concerned.

"By the piper that played before Moses, but it's glad I am to see you

once more, my haro; have they let you out?" inquired Terry, with

considerable anxiety.

"I have never been imprisoned," replied the little fellow, gaily.

"Why, then, _tear an nounthers_," said Terry. "You haven't been

gostherin' me all the time, an' the heart of me fairly burstin' wid the

thought of them weeshee gams of yours strikin' out among the pitch that

was beyant."

"It was that very feeling of humanity, which I knew yet lingered in

your heart, that saved you," replied the leprechaun.

"As how, sir, might I ax?"

"How long is it since you saw me before?"

"Don't mention it," cried Terry, with an abashed look, "a weary

life-time a'most has passed since then."

"And _what_ a life-time," observed the leprechaun, reproachfully.

"Indeed, an' you may say that," replied the other. "There's no one

knows betther nor I do how sinfully that life was wasted, how useless

it has been to me an' to every one else, how foolishly I flung away the

means that might have comforted those who looked up to me, among

heartless, conscienceless vagabones, who laughed at me while I fed

their brutish appetites, and fled from me as though I were infectious

when ill-health and poverty fell upon my head."

"Then the fairy gift did not bring you happiness?"

"Happiness!" replied Terry, with a groan, "it changed me from a man

into a beast, it brought distress and misery upon those nearest and

dearest to me, it made my whole worldly existence one continued

reproach, and God help me, I'm afeared it has shut the gates of heaven

against my sowl hereafter."

"Then I suppose you have the grace to be sorry this time that you

didn't behave more generously in my case," said the fairy.

"True darlin'; if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here now," replied Terry. "It

was to thry and find you out that I took this journey, an' a sore one

it is to a man wid the weight of years that's on my back."

"Oh, I forgot that you were such an ould creather intirely," said the

little fellow, with a merry whistle, "but what the mischief makes you

bend your back into an _apperciand_, and hide your ears on your

showlders, as if the cowld was bitin' them."

"Faix, an' it's just because I'm afeered to sthraighten myself out,

that murdherin thief rheumatism has screwed the muscles of my back so

tight."

"You can't stand up then, eh Terry?"

"Not for this many a long day, sir, more is the pity," replied the

other, with a heavy sigh.

"You don't tell me that," said the leprechaun, with a queer expression

of sympathy. "There could be no harm thryin', any way."

"If I thought there would be any use in it, it's only too glad that I'd

be," said Terry.

"There's no knowin' what a man can do, until he makes the effort."

Encouraged by these words, Terry commenced very gingerly to lift his

head from its long sunken position; to his infinite delight he found

the movement unaccompanied by the slightest twinge, and so, with a

heart brim full of overflowing joy, he drew himself up to his full

height without an ache or a pain; tall, muscular, and as straight as a

tailor's yard.

The hurroo! that Terry sent forth from his invigorated lungs, when he

felt the entire consciousness of his return to youth and its attendant

freshness and strength, startled the echoes of the mountain, like the

scream of a grey eagle.

"And now, Misther Terry Magra," said the leprechaun, "I may as well

tell you the exact period of time that has transpired since I first had

the pleasure of a conversation with you; it is now exactly, by my

watch," and he pulled out a mite of a time-keeper from his

fob--"there's nothing like being particular in matters of

chronology--jist fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds, or to be more

explicit, in another minute it will be precisely a quarter of an hour."

"Oh, murdher alive, only to think!" cried Terry, gasping for breath.

"An' the wife an' childher, and the drunkenness and misery I scattered

around me."

"Served but to show you, as in a vision, the sure consequences which

would have resulted had you really been in possession of the coveted

gift you merely dreamed that you had obtained; the life of wretchedness

which you passed through, in so short a space of time, is but one of

many equally unfortunate, some leading even to a more terrible close.

There are a few, however, I am bound to say, on whom earthly joys

_appear_ to shed a constant ray; but we, to whom their inmost thoughts

are open as the gates of morning to the sun, know that those very

thoughts are black as everlasting night."

"What say you now, Terry? Will you generously give up your power over

me, and by leading a life of industry and temperance, insure for you

and yours contentment, happiness, and comfort, or will you, to the

quelling of my fairy existence and its boundless joys, risk the

possession of so dangerous though dazzling a gift as I am compelled to

bestow upon you, should you insist on my compliance with such a wish?"

It must be confessed that Terry's heart swelled again at the renewed

prospect of sudden wealth, and inasmuch as he exhibited, by the puzzled

expression of his countenance, the hidden thoughts that swayed,

alternately, his good and evil impulses, the leprechaun continued--

"Take time to consider--do nothing rashly; but weigh well the

consequences of each line of conduct, before you decide irrevocably and

for ever."

"More power to you for givin' me that chance, any way," said Terry. "It

wouldn't take me long to make my mind up, if it wasn't for what I've

gone through; but, 'the burnt child,' you know, 'keeps away from the

fire.' Might I ax, sir, how far you could go in the way of money? for,

av I incline that way at all, bedad it won't be a peddlin' shillin'

that I'll be satisfied with."

"Do you know Squire Moriarty?" said the fairy.

"Is it Black Pether? who doesn't know the dirty thief of the world?

Why, ould Bluebeard was a suckin' babby compared to him, in the regard

of cruelty."

"How rich is he?"

"Be gorra, an' they say there's no countin' it, it's so thremendous.

Isn't he the gripinest an' most stony-hearted landlord in the barony,

as many a poor farmer knows, when rent day's to the fore?" said Terry.

"And how did he get his money?" inquired the leprechaun.

"Indeed, an' I b'lieve there's no tellin' exactly. Some says this way,

an' others that. I've heard say that he was a slave marchint early in

life, or a pirate, or something aiqually ginteel an' profitable,"

replied Terry.

"They lie, all of them," the little fellow went on. "He got it as you

did yours, by a fairy gift, and see what it has made of him. In his

early days, there was not a finer-hearted fellow to be found anywhere;

everybody liked, courted, and loved him."

"That's thrue enough," said Terry, "and now there ain't a dog on his

estates will wag a tail at him."

"Well, you may be as rich as he is, if you like, Terry," said the

fairy.

"May I?" cried Terry, his eyes flashing fire at the idea.

"He turned his poor old mother out of doors, the other day," observed

the leprechaun, quietly.

Terry's bright thoughts vanished in an instant, and indignation took

their place; for filial reverence is the first of Irish virtues. "The

murdherin' Turk!" he exclaimed, angrily, "if I had a howld of him now,

I'd squeeze the sowl out of his vagabone carcass, for disgracin' the

counthry that's cursed with such an unnatural reprobate."

"It was the money that made him do it," said the fairy.

"You don't tell me that, sir!"

"Indeed but I do, Terry. When the love of _that_ takes possession

of a man's heart, there's no room there for any other thought. The

nearest and dearest ties of blood, of friendship, and of kin, are

loosed and cast away as worthless things. You have a mother, Terry?"

"I have, I have; may all good angels guard and keep her out of harm's

way," cried Terry, earnestly, while the large tears gushed forth from

his eyes. "Don't say another word," he went on, rapidly; "if it was

goold mines that you could plant under every step I took, or that you

could rain dimonds into my hat, an' there was the smallest chance of my

heart's love sthrayin' from her, even the length of a fly's shadow,

it's to the divil I'd pitch the whole bilin', soon an' suddent. So you

can keep your grand gifts, an' yer fairy liberty, an' take my blessin'

into the bargain, for showin' me the right road."

"You're right, Terry," said the leprechaun, joyously, "an' I'd be proud

to shake hands with you if my fist was big enough. You have withstood

temptation manfully, and sufficiently proved the kindliness of your

disposition. I know that this night's experience will not be lost on

you, but that you will henceforth abandon the wild companionship in the

midst of which you have hitherto wasted time and energy, forgetful of

the great record yet to come, when each misused moment will stand

registered against you."

"And now, Terry," he continued, "I'll leave you to take a little rest;

after all you have gone through you must sorely need it." So saying,

the leprechaun waved a slip of osier across Terry's eyelids, when they

instantly closed with a snap, down he dropped all of a heap upon the

springy moss, and slept as solid as a toad in a rock.

When Terry awoke, the morning was far advanced, and the sun was shining

full in his face, so that the first impression that filled his mind

was, that he was gazing upon a world of fire. He soon mastered that

thought, however, and then, sitting down upon the famous stone, began

to collect his somewhat entangled faculties into an intelligible focus.

Slowly the events of the night passed before him; the locality of each

phase in his adventures was plainly distinguishable from where he sat.

There, close to him, was the identical branch on which had perched the

legion of little pipers; a short distance from him was the mazy hollow

through which he had so singularly forced his way; half hoping to find

some evidence of the apparently vivid facts that he had witnessed, he

put his hand into his breeches pocket, but only fished out a piece of

pig-tail tobacco.

As he ran over every well-remembered circumstance, he became still more

puzzled. It was clear enough that he had been asleep, as he had but

just woke up; but then he was equally certain that he was wide awake

when the leprechaun touched his eyelids with the osier. Indeed, he

looked round in the expectation of seeing it lying somewhere about; but

there was no trace of such a thing.

The conclusion he came to was a characteristic one. "By the mortial,"

said he, as, taking up his pipes, he sauntered down the mountain-road,

"there's somethin' quare in it, sure enough; but it's beyant my

comprehendin'. The divil a use is there in botherin' my brains about

it; all I know is, that there's a mighty extensive hive o' bees singin'

songs inside of my hat this blessed mornin'. I must put some whisky in

an' drownd out the noisy varmints."

The chronicler of this veracious history regrets exceedingly that he

cannot, with any regard to the strict truth, bring it to a conclusion

in the usual moral-pointing style, except in its general tendency,

which he humbly considers to be wholesome and suggestive; but the hero

of the tale--the good-for-nothing, wild roysterer, Terry, who ought, of

course, to have profited by the lesson he had received and to have

become a sober, steady, useful, somewhat bilious, but in every way

respectable, member of society, dressed in solemn black, and petted

religiously by extatical elderly ladies, did not assist the

conventional denouement in the remotest degree. With grief I am

compelled to record the humiliating fact, that Terry waxed wilder than

ever, drank deeper, frolicked longer, and kicked up more promiscuous

shindies than before, and invariably wound up the account of his fairy

adventures, which in process of time he believed in most implicitly, by

exclaiming:

"What a murdherin' fool I was not to take the money."

THE END.

_RACY!!_

A Basket of Chips.

BY JOHN BROUGHAM.

ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS BY McLENAN.

_One 12mo. volume, 408 pages. Price $1 25._

A collection of Mr. Brougham's brilliant and characteristic

productions. It is admitted to be one of the most delightful books

of the year. It is marked by Mr. Brougham's boundless humor, happy

fancy, and the peculiar freshness of his style.

CONTENTS.

Some Passages in the Life of a Dog.

The Opera of "La Fille du Regiment,"--done into English.

Love and Loyalty--an Episode in English History.

Pauline.

O'Dearmid's Ride.

The Coming of Kossuth.

The Fairies' Warning.

The Killing of the Shark.

Every-day Drama.--The Pigeon and the Hawks.

Kitt Cobb, the Cabman.--A Story of London Life.

The Phantom Light.--A Tale of Boston.

Revolt of the Harem.--Simplified.

Fatality.--A Condensed Novel.

Dramas of the Day.--Revenge; or, the Medium.

Ned Geraghty's Luck.

The Eagle and her Talons.--An Eastern Apologue.

Peace and War.

Summer Friends.

Love's Mission.

Evenings at our Club.

Romance and Reality.

Jasper Leech.--The Man who never had Enough.

Nightmares:--I. The Lamp Fiend.

II. Political Ambition.

III. Murder.

THE BUNSBY PAPERS.--The Opinions and Observations of Jack Bunsby,

Skipper, and of Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner.

BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS.

126 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.

"The best new novel before the public."--_New York Express_.

Blanche Dearwood:

A NEW ROMANCE OF AMERICAN LIFE.

_One Vol. 12mo., Cloth, $1; Paper, 75 Cents._

"BLANCHE DEARWOOD is a work of genuine Vigor, full of Passion, of Life

and Character, and especially a reflection of these, as developed in

our midst. It possesses a distinction from our other local novels--that

of a sustained and dignified tone, which if it does not aim at a

uniform ideality, reaches an elegance and beauty in its materials and

finish quite equal to the best English novels. From the first page to

the end, the interest is graduated with accelerating intensity, and as

a delicious Love Story, or as a well-knit Intrigue, skillfully managed

with an intensity of interest, happy conclusion, pleasant description

and incident, we are prepared to accord it our vote and sanction, _as

the best new novel before the public_."--_New York Express._

"The best American novel of the season as far as we have yet seen.

The story is full of interest, and the characters are marked with

individuality."--_New York Daily Times._

"It has the gentleness and delicacy of perception peculiar to the

female mind, and yet the masculine strength of expression, and vigor of

imagination peculiar to men."--_Sunday Courier._

"There are few modern tales the perusal of which has given us more

pleasure."--_New York Herald._

BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS,

196 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK.