"Now, then, Master Tom, the wind that shakes the 'barley.'"

"The fox-hunter's jig."

"Garryowen."

"Patrick's day."

"Irish washerwoman."

"Arrah, now boys and girls, give him time to draw his breath and he'll give you all the tunes together with one scrape of the bow, won't you, Master Tom?" says the vanithee.

"To be sure I will, and half a dozen more for good measure," says Master Tom.

And so, not to keep you waiting any longer, up they put him on the table, and Master Tom took the fiddle, his friend rosined the bow, and they gave the fiddler's hat to Peter Kinsella to gather up the change in. And maybe Master Tom couldn't play -whisht! You'd know how to dance immediately, as soon as you heard him, even if you never saw a jig before in your life; and it would make your heart cry tears of joy and laughter to see Peter Kinsella going round with the hat among us; and maybe it wasn't well filled—because, you see, we were all having such fun on account of our near losing it all, and whenever you're near losing anything that you get a new grasp on, it's twice as sweet as before, as, indeed, I needn't tell you, because you must all know it from experience. Well, of course, there was great talk about the fright we were all in.

"Did you see Darby Duff getting under the vanithee's thimble, boys? Sure, if the rest of him got in, the brogues would stick out, anyhow."

"Ay!" says Darby, "but you got into the closet yourself so as to be near your dearest friend, the poteen; but you take it to heart a great deal—almost as much as to stomach."

"How careful you were, Thade," says another, "that Moya wouldn't be seen. Sure, when Garret hears that—”

"Ah! boys, did you see himself?" says Thade; "sure, I thought we'd be all discovered, your lobster nose shone so much in the dark."

Well, such was the talk among us all, and for about ten minutes

we were in great confusion, and there was the greatest hubbubevery one laughing and talking, blaming others, praising himself, the girls all animation and the boys all spirits, Pat and his cronies laughing and saying that it reminded them of when they were young gaffers themselves. Well, we were all ready just for a renewal of the dance. Master Tom was on the table striking up a' tune, and Peter Kinsella was just emptying the hat in the fiddler's lap, when the door, which by ill luck we forgot to bar the second time, was opened, and who stalks in but Father Kinsella himself, as large as life, and his forehead like an August thunder-cloud. There wasn't an instant to blow out a light, or to scrooge away in a corner, but there we stood, looking as dreary and as guilty as a pair of cocks fighting in the rain. Oh! but we were terror-stricken; and when Father Kinsella looked round his eye grew flashy.

"What do you mean," says he, "assembling here on this holy night, and profaning this great feast of God's Church by disturbing the stillness of the night with your drunken revelry ?"

"Oh! Father Kinsella! drunk-sorra one of us," we all cried out together.

Well, boys, just then he cast his eyes around, and whom should he see but his own nephew, with the fiddler's hat in his hand, and Master Tom on the table, with the fiddle to his shoulder. Well, the look he put on-Virgil couldn't describe, as Athanasius Ryan said (how could he, sure he never saw Father Kinsella). Well, he wanted to be fiercer than ever, and spite of all he could do he had to smile; and then Master Tom looked at him and laughed, and sure he had to laugh too; and when he saw his own cape, hat and umbrella with Peter Kinsella he burst out into a roar; but, for all that, he remembered his duty, so up he takes his umbrella and told us all to go home. Says he:

"Go home peaceably, now, every one of you, and I'll forgive you all, for sure my own nephew encourages you; but let me never hear of such a thing again. Remember that, and let it sink deep into your hearts."

"Oh, your reverence, never again in all our lives."

"That will do now; go home-no nonsense," for he knew we couldn't keep such a promise if we tried ever so hard.

"Oh, thank you, Father; sure we'll always remember it." "Never fear us, your reverence, sorra dance--" "Never in my

house again, your reverence—-”

"Home with you all, quick; and as for you three gentlemen, come and walk over a piece with me—'

"Oh! Father, forgive them." "Forgive them, your reverence; sure, 'twas only a little sport on their part—” Father Kinsella; sure they'll never do it again--"

“Ah, do,

"Home out of this, every one of you, or this will not be the end of it. Home, quickly, every one of you, or maybe it's mention you I would."

Well, off we went all home, and sure by the time Monica, Ned and myself got back it was very early, and says the Widow Walsh to me:

"And what brought you home so early?"

"Well, ma'am," says I, "you see I forgot to feed Katy when I left, and sure it lay heavy on my mind, and I thought I'd come home and not leave the poor beast without her supper on my account."

"And you, Mcnica ?"

"Well, ma'am, sure I was afraid I hadn't set the dough for the baking, and as James was coming back, I thought I'd come with him and make sure."

"And you, Ned, what brought you home so early ?"

66 Why-because, ma'am, the others came home, and I didn't want to come home alone any later for fear of the fairies, as they do say there's a power of them abroad to-night."

"But sure you're getting very timorous, Ned," says the widow, "and I am very glad to see you other two so tender for the welfare of the house. That will do now; you can go."

A little later the boys came in with Father Kinsella, and such laughing as was in the parlor you never heard the like of before. And sure who was it but the widow who put the boys up to the sport, and then sent word to Father Kinsella of a dance over at

Pat Malone's; and sure didn't she confess, and it was a quare thing all round, anyhow. When Monica went up with some refreshments, they asked her was "the bread set yet?" and if "Ned saw any fairies by the rath ?" but they guessed she was the only one herself. Well, from that day till I left Ireland, five years come next Michaelmas, I never heard Master Tom called anything by his college friends but Father McEvoy,” and, per

haps, occasionally "Fiddler Tom."

"

MIKE DRISCOLL AND THE FAIRIES.

The picturesque village of Castleconnell lies on the banks of the Shannon, about six miles above Limerick. A lovelier habitation could scarcely be chosen by the most enthusiastic admirer of decaying art and perennial nature. The surrounding district is thickly strewn with the remains of castles, fortresses, and churches, each shrined in the mellow twilight of its own legend; whilst the gently undulating country is belted and darkened with fragments of forest, and overtopped by the bluest of mountains. The noble river itself flows past the village, a quarter mile in breadth, by quaintly-mossed and water-stained weirs, over which the salmon leaps, at times, high in the air, like a sudden gust of jewels; by conical-roofed, old-fashioned mills, whose crooked windows and high gables blend in marvellous harmony with the character of the surrounding landscape; and by pleasant cottages, where peasant girls still sit and sing at the threshold, and the spinning-wheel hums flaxen-toned ditties in the summer weather. Leaving the village, the mighty stream sweeps with a curved rush around the gentle promontory on whose height the castle of the O'Briens still stands in desolate magnificence; and thence, with many a bend, round green elbows of scented woodland and pastoral peninsulas, dotted with dreamy Cuyp-like cattle, towards Doonas. The fall in the bed of the river at this point is considerable. The narrow channel is nearly blocked up by huge boulders, overgrown with citron-colored flora, from whose fissures spring the slender hazel and the flowing elder; and over and around them rushes the great torrent of waters, churning itself into vast cauldrons of boiling foam and clouds of mist; subsiding here and there into weltering pools of flaky emerald. To the