business care. There is no need of his continuing in it, since
other people's business will always give him ample scope for his

energies. He has, since his return to America, dispensed justice
and mercy, chiefly mercy, to one embezzler, one honest fellow

tempted beyond his strength, one widow, one unfortunate friend of
his youth, and two orphans, and it was in no sense an extraordinary

season.
To return to notes of travel, our method of progression, since we

deserted the high-road and the public car, has been strangely
varied. I think there is no manner of steed or vehicle which has

not been used by us, at one time or another, even to the arch donkey
and the low-backed car with its truss of hay, like that of the

immortal Peggy. I thought at first that 'arch' was an unusual
adjective to apply to a donkey, but I find after all that it is

abundantly expressive. Benella, who disapproves entirely of this
casual sort of travelling, far from 'answerable roads' and in

'backwards places' (Irish for 'behind the times'), is yet
wonderfully successful in discovering equipages of some sort in

unlikely spots.
In towns of any size or pretensions, we find by the town cross or

near the inn a motley collection of things on wheels, with drivers
sometimes as sober as Father Mathew, sometimes not. Yesterday we

had a mare which the driver confessed he bought without
'overcircumspectin' it,' and although you couldn't, as he said,

'extinguish her at first sight from a grand throtter, she hadn't
rightly the speed you could wish.'

"It's not so powerful young she is, melady!" he confessed. "You'd
be afther lookin' at a chicken a long time and niver be reminded of

her; but sure ye might thry her, for belike ye wouldn't fancy a
horse that would be leppin' stone walls wid ye, like Dan Ryan's

there! My little baste'll get ye to Rossan before night, and she
won't hurt man nor mortial in doin' it."

"Begorra, you're right, nor herself nayther," said Dan Ryan; "and if
it's leppin' ye mane, sure she couldn't lep a sod o' turf, that mare

couldn't! God pardon ye, melady, for thrustin' yerself to that
paiceable, brindly-coloured ould hin, whin ye might be gettin' a

dacint, high-steppin' horse for a shillin' or two more; an' belike I
might contint meself to take less, for I wouldn't be extortin' ye

like Barney O'Mara there!"
Our chosen driver replied to this by saying that he wouldn't be

caught dead at a pig fair with Dan Ryan's horse, but in the midst of
all the distracting discussions and arguments that followed we held

to our original bargain; for we did not like the look of Dan Ryan's
high-stepper, who was a 'thrifle mounTAIny,' as they say in these

parts, and had a wild eye to boot. We started, and in a half-hour
we could still see the chapel spire of the little village we had

just left. It was for once a beautiful day, but we felt that we
must reach a railway station some time or other, in order to find a

place to sleep.
"Can't you make her go a bit faster? Do you want to keep us on the

road all night?" inquired Francesca.
"I do not, your ladyship's honour, ma'am."

"Is she tired, or doesn't she ever go any better?" urged Salemina.
"She does; it's God's truth I'm tellin' ye, melady, she's that

flippant sometimes that I scarcely can hould her, and the car jumps
undher her like a spring bed."

"Then what on earth IS the matter with her?" I inquired, with some
fire in my eye.

"Sure I believe she's takin' time to think of the iligant load she's
carryin', melady, and small blame to her!" said Mr. Barney O'Mara;

and after that we let him drive as best he could, although it did
take us four hours to do nine Irish miles. He came, did Mr. Barney,

from County Armagh, and he beguiled the way with interesting tales
from that section of Ireland, one of which, 'the Old Crow and the

Young Crow,' particularly took our fancies.
"An old crow was teaching a young crow one day, and says to him,

'Now, my son,' says he, 'listen to the advice I'm going to give
you,' says he. 'If you see a person coming near you and stooping,

mind yourself, and be on your keeping; he's stooping for a stone to
throw at you,' says he.

"'But tell me,' says the young crow, 'what should I do if he had a
stone already down in his pocket?' says he.

"'Musha, go 'long out of that,' says the old crow, 'you've learned
enough; the divil another learning I'm able to give you.'"

He was a perfect honey-pot of useless and unreliable information,
was Barney O'Mara, and most learned in fairy lore; but for that

matter, all the people walking along the road, the drivers, the
boatman and guides, the men and women in the cottages where we stop

in a shower or to inquire the way, relate stories of phookas,
leprehauns, and sprites, banshees and all the various classes of

elves and fays, as simply and seriously as they would speak of any
other occurrences. Barney told us gravely of the old woman who was

in the habit of laying pishogues (charms) to break the legs of his
neighbour's cattle, because of an ancient grudge she bore him; and

also how necessary it is to put a bit of burning turf under the
churn to prevent the phookas, or mischievous fairies, from

abstracting the butter or spoiling the churning in any way. Irish
fays seem to be much interested in dairy matters, for, besides the

sprites who delight in distracting the cream and keeping back the
butter (I wonder if a lazy up-and-down movement of the dasher

invites them at all, at all?), it is well known that many a milkmaid
on a May morning has seen fairy cows browsing along the banks of

lakes,--cows that vanish into thin mist at the sound of human
footfall.

When we were quite cross at missing the noon train from Rossan,
quite tired of the car's jolting, somewhat vexed even at the mare's

continued enjoyment of her 'iligant load,' Barney appeased us all by
singing, in a delightful, mellow voice, a fairy song called the

'Leprehaun,'* This personage, you must know, if you haven't a large
acquaintance among Irish fairies, is a tricksy fellow in a green

coat and scarlet cap, with brave shoe buckles on his wee brogues.
You will catch him sometimes, if the 'glamour' is on you, under a

burdock leaf or a thorn bush, and he is always making or mending a
shoe. He commonly has a little purse about him, which, if you are

quick enough, you can snatch; and a wonderful purse it is, for
whatever you spend, there is always money to be found in it. Truth

to tell, nobody has yet succeeded in being quicker than Master
Leprehaun, though many have offered to fill his cruiskeen with

'mountain dew,' of which Irish fairies are passionately fond.
* By Patrick W. Joyce.

'In a shady nook, one moonlight night,
A leprehaun I spied;

With scarlet cap and coat of green,
A cruiskeen by his side.

'Twas tick, tack, tick, his hammer went,
Upon a weeny shoe;

And I laughed to think of his purse of gold;
But the fairy was laughing too!

With tip-toe step and beating heart,
Quite softly I drew nigh:

There was mischief in his merry face,
A twinkle in his eye.

He hammered, and sang with tiny voice,
And drank his mountain dew;

And I laughed to think he was caught at last;
But the fairy was laughing too!