a burden of great weight impeded the progress of the person or persons walking. They ceased for a minute or two upon reaching the top landing, and the little girl knew that the door of the room adjoining her own was opened, and that the person or persons entered it. There was but a slight partition between her room and the next one, which was used as a sort of lumber-room by the Drovers; and seeing that a light as of a candle glimmered through the chinks of this partition, Little Flaggs cautiously

approached it, and found that by applying her eye to a large aperture, worn away by time in this partition, she could make a survey of what was going on behind the scenes. What she saw really, or what she fancied she saw that night, had a fearful effect upon her. The height of a diseased imagination could not have conjured up anything more terrible. After looking through the chink for some minutes, her eyesight failed, her head became giddy, and she sank senseless on the ground.

THE merry song of a lark perched on the roof was ringing through the air, and the bright summer sun flooding the little attic chamber with a glorious radiance, when the little girl returned to consciousness. She found herself lying on the floor, cold, and in a strange bewilderment of mind. Had she fallen asleep there and dreamed a most terrific dream? She hardly knew whether such might not have been the case. Very ardently she wished it was. But how could she ever discover the truth? Could she dare to question any mortal in that house as to whether she had dreamed or beheld reality? Shivering and miserable, she crept into bed, and from utter exhaustion fell into a profound slumber. When her Aunt Margaret came to call her, she found it hard to awake her. She shook her and shouted at her, and finally sprinkled a few drops of cold water on her face which made her start up with a frightened exclamation of

"Where am I?"

"You're here, child. Why are you so scared looking? Get up quick, and learn to milk the cows, for you must help me with the house-work," said Margaret.

With trembling fingers the child dressed with nervous speed, while her eyes would keep wandering ever and anon to the chink in the partition, till at last Margaret's gaze followed their direction, and to her dismay she approached the partition, exclaiming how the mice or something had worn holes in it. Adding that they must be mended at once.

Little Flaggs said nothing, but she saw her aunt put her eye to the chink in the partition, and look through it, and she then felt as if she would faint. Had she fainted at all last night, or was it only the dream of a heavy sleep?

66

Come, come. What ails you? Staring about as if you expected to see a ghost!" called out Margaret. "I can't wait, if you don't get your wits right, and make haste."

Thus urged, the little girl summoned up all her energy to get ready as fast as possible, and was soon out in the fresh air, among singing birds and cackling fowl. Margaret brought her to the inn-yard, the gate of which was wide open, for the waggon that went every week to London, carrying goods, had that morning gone on its way heavily laden, and the track of its mighty wheels could be seen on the ground. An ostler was busy in the stables, rubbing down and talking to the horses, which were clanking their chains; the cows were in the shed waiting patiently to be milked; and numerous fowl were strutting about the yard. All was very rural, from the calves that were bleating for their breakfast to the magpie chattering on the house-top, and watching the little chickens following their mother. This was really the country, with green fields and hedges and shady trees. In spite of the dreamlike terror of the past night, Little Flaggs felt the exhilarating influence of the fresh air, perfumed with the fragrance of clover and bean blossoms. She watched her aunt milking the

cows, and feeding the calves and chickens, feeling that she would soon learn to do these things herself.

As the day advanced, people from the village of Larch Grove dropped in at the inn to make inquiries about a certain young man, named Mark Stedman, who was missed from his work that day; but the Drovers said they had not seen him for several days; he did not come often to the inn. He was the son of the game-keeper at Larch Grove Manor--a youth very active in the detection of poachers, who feared him much. For this reason it was dreaded that some harm might have happened to him through malice or revenge.

"It is not unlikely that some of these poaching chaps may have given him a knock on the head," observed Drover; "but if so, where is the body! After all, I think it's more certain that Stedman has gone off somewhere on a spree. He'll turn up to-morrow or next day."

But to-morrow and next day it was all the same. Mark Stedman appeared no more at Larch Grove. The magistrates in the neighbourhood assembled to consult with each other upon his mysterious disappearance, but could come to no fixed conclusions respecting it. There was no one to suspect in particular. When Mat Drover returned from London, whither he had gone with the waggon, he found every body at Larch Grove talking of young Stedman. But the matter at length dropped off when something else came to occupy public attention. The general conviction was that Mark was murdered, but the excitement attending that conviction died a natural death in time.

When Mrs. Lipwell understood that the little girl from the Almshouse, whom she had wished to bring up as a maid for her daughters, was living at the Halting Place as the granddaughter of the innkeeper, she sent for her one day to come to Larch Grove Manor; and accordingly the child was despatched to the mansion, which she entered with fear and trembling. Mrs. Grubly, the housekeeper, who still resided in her official capacity at Larch Grove, received her with civility, scrutinizing her with a sharpness peculiar to her. There was something in the air and appearance of the little girl, as she

stood before her, that recalled to her mind the appearance of some one whom she could not then recollect clearly. After the first few moments of the interview elapsed, this resemblance faded away, and Mrs. Grubly ceased to puzzle herself about it. The heart of the child beat fast when Mrs. Lipwell and her daughters came down to the housekeeper's room to speak to her; but the gentle demeanour of the elder Miss Lipwell won her confidence very quickly. It was hard to think that this young girl, dressed so simply, and so modest looking, was the heiress of all the broad lands round Larch Grove. So far from being proud or overbearing, Maria Lipwell had an extremely humble, retiring manner, and her countenance wore a look of sadness remarkable in one so young. She was not actually pretty, but very sweet-looking. Her air had nothing of that affected humility and condescension which some great people assume towards their inferiors, the real nature of which is easily seen through. It was rather that of a person who considered herself possessed of more than was her due, and for which she seemed about to apologize in these words: "I am to be the owner of great wealth, far more than I deserve, but I beg you will not hate or envy me for it, as the thought of having power and authority does not give me the happiness which you may imagine it does." She spoke more to Little Flaggs than the other ladies, and seemed particularly interested by her, engaging her to attend her Sunday-school class, and to come every day for an hour or so to the Manor House, to learn fancy needlework from the lady's maid, Jane Hart. Fortunately neither Drover nor his wife objected to their granddaughter complying with Miss Lipwell's requests, and Little Flaggs was permitted to go to Larch Grove as often as she was welcome there, after doing her own household work at the inn. It was always interesting to the Drovers to know what was going on at the Manor House, and whenever their grandchild returned from Larch Grove she was always questioned minutely as to the proceedings there.

"Is it true," asked her Aunt Margaret, one day, "that Miss Lipwell

and Mr. Raynor, the young curate at the Parsonage, are carrying on a courtship?"

"I don't know," replied the girl, "but I'm sure it is not, for Mr. Raynor wouldn't be grand enough for so great a lady."

"That's her own business," resumed Margaret; "many a rich heiress takes a fancy to a poor gentleman. Old Peggy Juggs met them walking yesterday through the demesne, and she had the boldness to speak out and tell Miss Lipwell to take care of getting herself into trouble by a courtship that might not please her mother; and though she's half-crazed she says she could see how Mr. Raynor's eyes flashed fire, and Miss Lipwell

"Mr. Raynor's a good man, and I like him," said Little Flaggs; "but still I'm afraid he's not a rich enough husband for Miss Maria."

And now it recurred to the girl's mind how she had seen Miss Lipwell that day looking as if she had been weeping, and how she had appeared to take less interest than usual in speaking to her when she met her in Jane Hart's room.

"Old Peggy Juggs was very impertinent to speak in that way to a lady," she said, after a pause.

"That may be," returned Margaret; "but still it would not make her words less true."

WHILE Some fictions are the common inheritance of the different branches of the Aryan family, there are others peculiar to this or that people, the natural features of their country, their climate, their form of government, their social condition, and their own prevailing disposition, concurring to this peculiarity. While philosophers gifted with the new light would find it convenient that there should have been more than one centre of creation, but are annoyed with the general resemblance of the popular fictions from Delhi to Galway, they account for it by saying that human imagination is limited in its range of invention and arrangement, and must move in one direction, and invest its creations with certain characters and forms.

Those who are pained by the lucubrations of the African bishop are content with the supposition of all household tales having been familiar to our very early ancestors, before they began to send some of their superabundant mouths westward and southwards. We concur, generally, with this theory, but are convinced that besides retaining these inventions of the human imagination while the world was still young, there were afterwards found among every separate people, some successors to the older giants of intellect, who composed and sung for their own race, such legends in verse and prose

VOL. LXI.-NO. CCCLXI.

as were best adapted to please and interest their peculiar audience. In some, and indeed a great number of cases, they adapted the ancient fictions to the taste of their own people by interpolations well or ill adjusted; and those compositions that, from whatever cause, had ceased to interest, were suffered to fall into oblivion. The trolls, and dwarfs, and water spirits of the north are little known or regarded among the Gael, and the fairies of Ireland, associated with so much that is bright and cheerful, are unknown to the Norse Folk.

In the Breton mythology the Irish fairies are replaced by the korils (night dancers), who assemble on the heaths and execute rondes till daybreak. Any inattentive mortal crossing their territory is seized on, and obliged to caper all night, and at sunrise is at the point of death with fatigue. Benead Guilcher, the hero of a story similar to the Lusmore of the Legends of the South of Ireland, returning with his wife from his labours at the plough, was on the point of being seized on, when they observed his paddle (fork in the original) in his hand, and so were obliged to relinquish their prey, singing at the same time,

"Lez-hi, lez-hon,

Bách an arér zo gant hon;
Lez-hon, lez-hi,
Bách arér zo gant hi

6

"Let him go, let her go,

Fork of plough has he; Let her go, let him go,

Fork of plough have they."

But the bold Benead, through curiosity and a wish to get rid of his hump, voluntarily joined the dance on another night, having first made them solemnly promise on the cross not to work him beyond his strength. They at once re-commenced dance and song,-the whole chaunt limited to three words

"Di-Lun, Di-Meurs, Di-Mercher."

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

"With submission to you, gentlemen," said Guilcher, "your song is of the shortest. You stop too soon in the week. I think I could improve it."

"Do so, do so,” cried they all, and

he chanted

"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,

Thursday, Friday, Saturday." They were so pleased, that when he requested beauty of face and form, they took him up, and pitched him from one to the other; and when he had gone the round, his hump was gone, and a handsome face given

him.

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tiring of the bald melody, added a line, and completed their bliss.

"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, With Sunday, as 'tis meet, And so the week's complete." Guilcher revealing his misery, they all flung their purses to him, and home he went in joy. Alas! when the contents were turned out on the table, they were found to consist of dry leaves, sand, and horse-hair. The frightened wife ran to the benitier, and luckily finding some holy water there, sprinkled it on themselves and the table, and lo, a pile of gold and In jewels sparkled before them! Ireland the reverse would have taken place.

We cite this tale as furnishing a curiously exact parallel in nearly every detail to a very popular Irish legend, which is pleasantly related in Mr. Crofton Croker's collection, and with which the writer of this article was familiar, by oral tradition, very many years before Mr. Croker's book appeared.

The Breton version is, however, The korils explained to Guilcher that more complete than the Irish one. they had been doomed to perpetual night-dancing, with an imperfect melody, till some mortal should have the courage to join them, and complete the strain. After Guilcher had lengthened it they were in hopes of the usurer finishing it, and hence the anger with him.

rather more of a Norse than Celtic The ensuing household story has air about it, though there are apparently no traces of it in Grimm's or Dasent's collections, except in the circumstances of the flight. Parts of the story may be recognised in the West Highland Tales, but we have met with the tale in full nowhere in print. Jemmy Reddy, Father Murphy's servant, and the relater of the "Adventures of Gilla na chreck an Gour," told it to the occupants of the big kitchen hearth in Coolbawn, one long winter evening, nearly in the style in which it is here given, and no liberty at all has been taken with the incidents. The underground adventures seem to point to the Celtic belief in the existence of the "Land of Youth," under our lakes. If it were ever told in Scan

dinavia, the spacious cavern of the Northern land would be substituted for our Tir-na-n-Oge, with the bottom of the sea for its sky, and its own sun, moon, and stars. The editor of this series never heard a second recitation of this household story.

"THE THREE CROWNS.

"There was once a king, some place or other, and he had three daughters. The two eldest were very proud and uncharitable, but the youngest was as good as they were bad. Well, three princes came to court them, and two of them were the moral of the eldest ladies, and one was just as lovable as the youngest. They were all walking down to a lake, one day, that lay at the bottom of the lawn, just like the one that's at Castleboro', and they met a poor beggar. The king wouldn't give him anything, and the eldest princes wouldn't give him anything, nor their sweethearts; but the youngest daughter and her true love did give him something, and kind words along with it, and that was better nor all.

"When they got to the edge of the lake, what did they find but the beautifulest boat you ever saw in your life; and says the eldest, I'll take a sail in this fine boat;' and says the second eldest, I'll take a sail in this fine boat;' and says the youngest, I won't take a sail in that fine boat, for I am afraid it's an enchanted one.' But the others overpersuaded her to go in, and her father was just going in after her, when up sprung on the deck a little man only seven inches high, and he ordered him to stand back. Well, all the men put their hands to their soords; and if the same soords were only thraneens they weren't able to draw them, for all sthrenth was left their arms. Seven Inches loosened the silver chain that fastened the boat, and pushed away; and after grinning at the four men, says he to them, 'Bid your daughters and your brides farewell for awhile. That wouldn't have happened you three, only for your want of charity. You, says he to the youngest, needn't fear, you'll recover your princess all in good time, and you and she will be as happy as the day is long. Bad people, if they were rolling stark naked in gold, would not be rich. Banacht lath.' Away they sailed, and the ladies stretched out their hands, but weren't able to say a word.

"Well, they wern't crossing the lake while a cat 'ud be lickin' her ear, and the poor men couldn't stir hand or foot to follow them. They saw Seven Inches handing the three princesses out o' the boat, and letting them down by a nice basket and winglas into a draw-well that was convenient, but king nor princes ever saw an opening before in the same place. When the last lady was out of sight, the men found the strength in

their arms and legs again. Round the lake they ran, and never drew rein till they came to the well and windlass; and there was the silk rope rolled on the axle, and the 'Let me nice white basket hanging to it. down,' says the youngest prince; 'I'll die or recover them again.' 'No,' says the second daughter's sweetheart, 'I'm entitled to my turn before you.' And says the other, 'I must get first turn, in right of my bride.' So they gave way to him, and in he got into the basket, and down they let him. First they lost sight of him, and then, after winding off a hundred perches of the silk rope, it slackened, and they stopped turning. They waited two hours, and then they went to dinner, because there was no chuck made at the rope.

"Guards were set till next morning, and then down went the second prince, and sure enough, the youngest of all got himself let down on the third day. He went down perches and perches, while it was as dark about him as if he was in a big pot with the cover on. At last he saw a glimmer far down, and in a short time he felt the ground. Out he came from the big limekiln, and lo and behold you, there was a wood, and green fields, and a castle in a lawn, and a bright sky over all. 'It's in Tir-na-n-Oge I am,' says he. 'Let's see what sort of people are in the castle.' On he walked, across fields and lawn, and no one was there to keep him out or let him into the castle; but the big hall-door was wide open. to another that was finer, and at last he reached the handsomest of all, with a table in the middle; and such a dinner as was laid out upon it! The prince was hungry enough, but he was too mannerly to go eat without being invited. So he sat by the fire, and he did not wait long till he heard steps, and in came Seven-Inches and the youngest sister by the hand. Well, prince and princess flew into one another's arms, and says the little man, says he, 'Why aren't you eating.' 'I think, sir,' says he, 'it was only good manners to wait to be asked.' "The other princes didn't think so,' says he. 'Each o' them fell to without leave or licence, and only gave me the rough side o' their tongue when I told them they were making more free than welcome. Well, I don't think they feel much hunger now. There they are, good marvel instead of flesh and blood,' says he, pointing to two statues, one in one corner, and the other in the other corner of the room. The prince was frightened, but he was afraid to say anything, and Seven Inches made him sit down to dinner between himself and his bride; and he'd be as happy as the day is long, only for the sight of the stone men in the corner. Well, that day went by, and when the next came, says Seven Inches to him: 'Now, you'll have to set out that way," pointing to the sun; and you'll find the

He went from one fine room