had died. Her bonnet and pelisse were on; and she knew she was to leave the cottage, for ever, that night.

"I have come to take you to my uncle's," said Dillon, as he approached her. "Do you think you will be able to walk through the wet streets." "Yes, I can walk very far, and I don't mind the rain."

"It isn't far, but your shoes will be covered with mud; if you like, I'll carry you."

No, thank you," replied the young lady, colouring slightly; "Ill walk, if you please.'

Oh, very well," said Dillon, smiling.

"You're not vexed," she said, as she took the hand he extended to her. "No, not in the least."

Old Margaret now came to receive the simple adieux of the child, whom she had never particularly liked; and, hand in hand, she and Dillon left the house.

"Do you live where I am going," asked Lizette, as they were out upon the road.

"I do not live at Meiklam's Rest, but I am very often there."

"I wish you did," whispered the little voice, softly.

Dillon made no reply; and they went on silently, with the drizzling rain falling upon them, their feet splashing on the pavement. When they arrived at Mr. Pilmer's villa, Bessie ran to receive them in the hall. The servant who opened the door looked curiously at the child, who felt too much bewildered by the glare of light to take note of anything round her. Bessie's pleasant voice, and the kiss she kindly imprinted on her cheek, first roused her from a sort of trance, and made a direct impression on her. Those pretty curls, those dancing eyes, those light, silvery tones, could not be withstood. Lizette surrendered her hand to her with confidence; and now they walked up stairs that looked very wide and grand to the stranger child; her feet were treading on carpets, bright and soft as in a dream of palaces. Lights, too, were everywhere; such bright, dazzling lights. Bessie led her into the drawing-room, and up to her mother, who sat at her work-table. Mrs. Pilmer scarcely seemed to look

at her, but, nevertheless, she saw her quite well.

"How do you do?" she asked in a cold, dry tone, nodding her head, and still apparently intent upon her needle-work-the square-featured Berlin-wool man, who was still unfinished. Lizette's reply was inaudible.

"She is very well, but very cold," replied Dillon.

"Let her warm herself, then," said Mrs. Pilmer.

"Come to the fire," said Bessie, putting her arm round her.

What a blazing fire it was! The grate so large and polished! the red coals burning so brilliantly! and what a sleepy, large gentleman was sitting before it, with his eyes shut and his mouth open! Bessie gave her father a shake, and requested him to look at Miss Stutzer. "Hah! how d'ye do, Miss?" asked Mr. Pilmer, suddenly starting up. "Fine weather, isn't it?" and then he dozed off again. Lizette stood upon the wide, handsome rug, with the glow of fire-heat spreading itself over her. Bessie removed her bonnet, and stroked her hair, speaking many kind words; but the child only replied by monosyllables, and looked vacantly at the fire.

Is she very stupid?" asked Bessie of Dillon, in a whisper. "No2, not a bit; she used to be very merry.

"Well, I suppose the poor little thing is sorry now. What a queer little image she looks there, without moving or even seeming to breathe! I am afraid she will torment Mrs. Meiklam, if she is always so odd and silent.'

All this was spoken sotto voce to Dillon, in another part of the room. Mrs. Pilmer glanced, over her work, ever and anon, at the still, little figure on the rug. At length the sound of wheels was heard, and the photon from Meiklam's Rest stopped at the door. Bessie ran to put her bonnet on, as it had been arranged that she and Dillon were to accompany Lizette to the Rest. Dillon approached the child with her bonnet which he had brought from the sofa.

"Am I going away again from this?" she asked, when desired to put it on.

“ "Yes."

"Then that is not the good lady that papa said I was to go to ?" she observed, looking over at Mrs. Pilmer. Dillon could not repress a smile of amusement, as he replied.

"No; you are to go to a lady a great deal older than that one."

The child drew a long breath, and tied her bonnet strings. A vision of the white haired lady who had stood beside her father's death-bed, and clasped her own hand kindly, came before her mental eyes. Bessie soon came down, equipped for the evening drive, and all were ready to sally forth. Mrs. Pilmer now got up, and came towards Lizette with a large shawl, which she wrapped round her, desiring her to tell Mrs. Meiklam she had put it on her to keep her warm, and then she gave her a cold kiss. The three young people all went down stairs and entered the little photon. The rain had cleared off and the stars were shining brightly. Dillon drove the pony very skilfully-feeling now and

then an inclination to make the animal perform strange equestrian feats, but combatting it, in consideration of the young stranger's fears. Lizette seemed rather enlivened by the drive, and when the vehicle stopped before the old-fashioned house of Meiklam's Rest, with its dark walls covered here and there with ivy, she looked at it with some degree of interest. Mrs. Meiklam met the young people in the hall, and all received kisses and kind words of welcome. She had dined early herself that day, and now a meal, partaking of the character of luncheon and supper, was in readiness for the new comers, in the red-room. There were preserves and red-cheeked apples, and cakes, and snowy breadcustards, and cold apple-pie, together with fowl, ham, and tea. Right well did the orphan child comprehend that she was really welcome under that hospitable roof; she almost felt happy in that cheerful room with the old, gray cat on the hearth-rug, and Gypsy the Spaniel, beside it. She liked it better than the large room at Mrs. Pilmer's house. Bessie was all attention to her, and Dillon cracked nuts and peeled apples for her, with great good-will. When supper was over, and the table cleared, Mrs. Meiklam disappeared for a little time, and then

came back with a large box, which she placed on the table, desiring Lizette to open it. The child obeyed, her hands trembling with timidity and excitement, and to her surprise found it filled with pretty chairs and tables, tiny plates and dishes, candlesticks, jugs, cups and saucers, and lastly, dolls of fairy size, to suit the fairy furniture. A smile broke over her countenance, as Mrs. Meiklam told her to place them, one by one, on the table; and even Bessie, who had relinquished toys on her own account, was delighted with the pretty things displayed.

I believe these are nicer than my pictures of lions and tigers, missy," said Dillon.

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"They are not the same," replied Lizette, fixing her dark eyes on his face; "but I liked the pictures too."

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"Now these are all for yourself," said Mrs. Meiklam, stroking her hair; to-morrow you will have to furnish a nice house for these ladies and gentlemen.

The child smiled again--a dreamy, melancholy smile that soon faded away. When the time came for Bessie and Dillon to go home, she felt sorry and surprised.

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'Ah, if you lived here too!" she murmured, burying her face on Bessie's shoulder.

"She will be here nearly every day," said Mrs. Meiklam, drawing her kindly to herself; "and you will yet have great fun together, playing about the place."

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Soon after the departure of Dillon and Bessie, Lizette went to bed. The housemaid, Peggy Wolfe, a goodnatured woman, was her attendant; and she was to sleep in a little bed in Mrs. Copley's room. But, although Peggy kissed her two or three times, and apostrophized her as a sweet pet; Lord love her!" and " a little pigeon of the world," the poor orphan could not help feeling her lonely and strange position. Reader, have you ever felt what it was in childhood to be left without father, or mother, or brother, or sister, or any friend that you have ever known before? If you have, you know well there is nothing on the earth so dreary as the grief of a little heart thus bereft of old acquaintances. It was long ere Mrs. Copley retired to rest; and for hours

the child lay awake in the dark room, with strange faces floating through her brain, and a bitter remembrance in her heart that the hands she had so often clasped in confidence were now passing their first night in a

damp grave in the bosom of the earth, where worms were crawling. She tried to think of the spirit above; but the flesh mourned for the flesh, and she cried herself to sleep, worn out at last.

THE practice of magic being resorted to for the acquisition of supernatural power, its form and nature must depend on the religion, true or false, which is supposed to influence the practitioner. The subject of this paper being the practice of magic in the heathen days of Ireland, some introductory remarks would seem necessary on the peculiar mythology of our Celtic grandsires. And here we must take occasion to remark in what a satisfactory state our knowledge is, with regard to the Teutonic; and how comparatively trifling and conjectural is our acquaintance with the Celtic forms of belief before the light of Christianity dawned on the people, in the early part of the twelfth century. Soon after the Scandinavians became Christians, their Pantheon was epitomized in verse by Saemund, a priest; and about a hundred years later, the prose "Edda," furnishing the adventures of the gods, the heroes, and the giants, was compiled by the turbulent and talented Snorro Sturleson.

Now, the great change among the Celtic peoples had taken place by the fifth century, and it happened that no Saemund or Sturleson was vouchsafed to them; or if vouchsafed, the writings left by him were early lost in the confusion attending the determined struggles between themselves and their dogged, troublesome neighbours of the Teuton stock.

Owing to this unfavourable state of things, our knowledge of the nature of religious usages among our ancestors is necessarily limited. It has been obtained from casual allusions in early Christian writers on serious subjects, and to a greater extent, from

ancient poems and romances, and the relics of their festivals-still celebrated, but changed in object, and devoted to honour events in the life of our Lord, or the memory of saints. In late numbers of the UNIVERSITY, we have gone over this ground; naming the Sun and Moon; Mananan Lir, the sea deity, and peculiar patron of the Isle of Man; Dagdæ, the Danaan chief; Morrigu, his spouse, the Celtic Bellona; Crom; and the spirits of the hills, streams, and forests, as receiving worship from the heathen Scots. Their Elysiums were delightful islands in the Atlantic-alas! no longer visible-meadows of asphodel, sun-enlightened, below its waves, and the placid lakes of Erin; and grottoes under the sepulchral mounds of old Danaan kings and sages. When cruelty, inhospitality, and treachery, developed themselves to a monstrous extent in any individual, his thin, shivering ghost* suffered in the winds, and rains, and cold rigours of upper air, after its separation from the body. Besides the worship given to the divinities mentioned, it is conjectured by some sound Celtic scholars that a fetich reverence was paid to some traditional bulls, cows, bears, and cats; even upright stones (Dallans) were not without reverence of some kind.

Everything of a magical character connected with the history or social state of the early inhabitants of Ireland, is traceable to the people called the Danaans, of whom we subjoin a brief sketch, claiming the same belief for its certainty as we would for the exploits of Romulus or Theseus.

Nemedius (a wanderer from the East), and his thousand men, reached

Erinn from Thule (Jutland, or the Belgian Peninsula), in thirty skincovered corachs. He employed four Phoenician or African architects to raise four palaces for him in different parts of the island; and to prevent their doing as much for any other chief or prince, and thus detracting from his own greatness, he had each skilful artist pitched from the battlements as soon as his work was achieved. But there was such a principle as poetical justice extant in Erinn, even so early as the days of Abraham. The Fomorians from Africa -all cousins-germain to Rog, Robog, Rodin, and Rooney, the murdered men-assailed Nemidh from the bleak northern Isle of Torry, deprived the four castles of their master, by sending him to Tir-na-n-oge, and scattered his people to east, south, and north. Some under the leader Jarvan, sailed to the Danish Isles, and the south of Sweden; and their descendants established themselves in four citiesFalias, Gorias, Finias, and Muriasand taught the simple Scandinavians magic rites, and the other branches of the polite literature of the day. After a few hundred years, their descendants took the resolution of seeking out the pleasant isle of their forefathers, and set sail, bringing from city No. 1 a magic glaive, from No. 2 a magic spear, from No. 3 an enchanted cauldron, and from No. 4 the Lia Fail, or "Stone of Destiny,' at present resting in the lower part of St. Edward's Chair, in Westminster Abbey.* At the time of their approach to the island, it was held by a kindred race, the Firbolgs, lately returned from Greece, to which country they had fled when routed by the Fomorians. The newcomers, landing somewhere in the north-west, enwrapped themselves in a druidicalt fog, and were never seen by mortal till they had attained the plain of southern Moy-tuir (plain of the tower), near Cong. The Firbolg King, Achy (Eochaidh, Chevalier), sent a herald to demand their business. They said they merely wanted possession of the country, and would allow their cousins

in the tenth degree-the Firbolgsto retire to the islands of Arran, Inisbofine, &c.; moreover, that it was useless to brandish sword, or fling spear at them, as their Druids, on the morn after a battle, would pass through the slain, and by their spells of power, recall every dead warrior to his pristine life and strength. "We defy your Druids," said the Firbolg spokesman. Every one of our knights (curaidh, companion) shall be attended by a kern bearing twenty sharpened stakes of the rowan-tree; and as every Danaan warrior falls in fight, his body shall be pinned to the sod by one of these charmed staves."

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The threat had its effect; and the succeeding battles were fought without the aid of draoideacht (magic) on either side. The Firbolgs being defeated, were allowed to people the islands off the western coast; and it is supposed that Dun Angus in Arran, and other stupendous caisiols, are the architectural remains of this brave but unsuccessful people. The ancient martial games and marriagefairs held at Tailtean, now Telltown, in Meath, were instituted in honour of Tailte, wife of the brave Firbolg King slain at Moy-tuir.

THE CHILDREN OF TUIRREANN.

WHILE the Danaan kings held sway, the Fomorians made another attempt to gain possession of the country, but were bravely opposed by Luacha of the Long Hand. This hero being much straitened on one occasion by the foreign intruders, despatched his father, Kian MacKeinte, and his two brothers, to different parts of the island, to summon aid. Kian, passing over the plains of Louth, saw approaching him the Firbolg brothers-Bran, Ur, and Urchorba, three of his deadliest foes. Knowing himself to be no match for them all, and espying some pigs on the plain near him, he struck himself with a druidic wand, and became one with the nighest of the animals. Bran, the most acute of the brothers, alone saw what had occurred, and revealed it to the other two; but

they considered the capture of their foeman very problematical, owing to the number of the swine. He, however, striking them with his druidic wand, they became dogs on the instant, and instinctively found out the disguised warrior, and gave chase. Bran launched a javelin, which pierced the outward disguise of Kian, and so, being rendered incapable of flight, he asked for life. Meeting a stern refusal, he begged permission to resume his human shape. This being granted, he exultingly enlarged on the much greater eric they would have to pay to his redoubted son of the long arm, for slaying him in his own form rather than that of the swine. This did not stay their hands: they killed him on the spot, and buried him where he fell; but on going forward for some distance, and looking back, they saw the body above ground. They had to return; but on the third occasion, after the grave had been made exceeding deep, he troubled them no

more.

After Luacha had settled the business of the Fomorians, he became uneasy at not hearing from his father; and returning to the spot where he last parted with him, he traced his steps like a sleuth-dog till he stood over his deep grave. He disinterred him with a heavy heart, and paid him the usual Celtic honours, raising a mound above his remains, and inscribing his name and virtues in Ogham on a pillar-stone. He then took his way to the Midchuarta at Tara, where he knew the murderers had taken refuge, and in the ArdRigh's presence he demanded from them the eric of his father. They inquired the amount, and he modestly claimed but a few, easily-obtained articles, such as a spit, a pig-skin, a chariot, a bunch of apples, a spear, three "hill-shouts," and two or three other trifles. The king allowed that his demands were reasonable, and decreed the eric to be collected forthwith. Alas! when the vengeful son revealed the localities and the circumstances of the different prizes, the guilty brothers gave themselves up

*Island of the Pig.

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for lost. They consulted Tuirrean, their father, who told them to ask of Luach the magic horse, Innbhear, given to him by his tutor, the great Mananan, son of Lir. "He will refuse you," said he; so he will be obliged by law of geasa to grant you your next request, which must be, the magic boat of the same mighty sage." By aid of this boat they secured, but with a world of trouble, all the articles except the spit and the three "hillshouts," which, through Luacha's magic influence, had escaped their memory. They went on their way again, recovered the spit in an island in the great western sea, and gave the three shouts on a hill in Fomor-Land, after having all been nearly wounded to death. A spear having been driven through Bran's body, he had the shaft cut off at the two points where it projected from his sides, and thus returned, fearing to withdraw it, lest his life should issue forth at the same time. Even in this plight he bore his weaker brothers along. On their return, with all the commissions fulfilled, Luacha, who had the power, was besought by King and Court to stretch forth his hand and prolong their lives. He remembered his murdered father, refused, and they fell lifeless on the hall floor.

INIS NA MUIC.*

THE fated children of Gael Glas sailed from Egypt into the Black Sea, and thence through the waters which filled the Riphean Valley,† and made a temporary lodgement in the southern part of Scandinavia. Their next voyage was to Spain; and at last, the greatgrandchildren of those who had quitted Egypt (temp. Phar.) determined to make their permanent abode in the green island, which Breogan, their chief, had discovered from a watchtower on Cape Ortegal. The brave old historians occasionally omitted details: they have left no account of the construction of the telescope used in the operation.

The Danaan Princes, either through negligence or design, allowed the in