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mines for her daughter. She, however, could get nothing out of the solicitor, who was guardian to the girl, and executor to his brother's will. Mrs. Thompson, being a clever, active old woman, sifted the whole affair to the bottom, and then threatened to bring an action against Fox to recover the property made away with. He, however, contrived to make her change her tactics; they were reconciled, and the suit was dropped. The fact was, he convinced her that though she might win her cause, she could never recover the money which was lost, as he had no capital, and could not pay it; she would only disgrace and ruin him, and thereby disgrace and ruin her granddaughter, whose birth and parentage would be published in all the papers in which the trial appeared; whereas, if she would let bygones be bygones, and keep quiet, he would maintain Eudora until she married. In the former case, she could never hope to marry anybody higher than a waiter at an inn, or a groom; in the latter case, she might go to fashionable watering-places, be puffed off as a great fortune, and marry a gentleman. The grandmother saw the force of the argument, and agreed with Master Fox-to take the line of sharpers. Fox was only too glad, of course, to hook you; for he did not care whom the girl married, so she was off his hands. But the grandmother must have thought you well off, or she would hardly have tried to take you in." "I believe it was reported that I had property in the West Indies, and of course it was not my business to go about proclaiming that I was little else than a beggar."

"I see, it was a case of 'diamond cut diamond,'" said Arnold, turning away to conceal the expression of contempt that he felt must have passed over his face.

Harry strode rapidly up and down the room, cursing himself, his wife, her grandmother, and Mr. Fox. He then passed on to lament that he had not taken Arabella and her five hundred a year.

"I declare it is the five hundred a year you are regretting, and not the girl herself! Really, Harry, you are too mercenary !" exclaimed Arnold.

"What shall I do? What do you advise? Separate from the creature?" asked Harry, taking no notice of Arnold's remark.

"By no means. You would have two establishments to keep up instead of one. You can't divorce her; so you must make the best of a bad bargain. Nobody need know who or what she was, or how you were taken in-if you keep up appearances. And, Harry, behave decently to the poor girl; after all, she is your wife now. I have some influential friends at the Horse Guards, and I will try what can be done to have you placed on full pay again. So keep up your spirits, and don't cut your throat."

It was not easy for Captain Vaughan to keep up his spirits, but he certainly had no intention of cutting his own throat.

Through the interest of Mr. Arnold's influential friends, Captain Vaughan was soon after placed on full pay, and he went with his wife, whom he now hated cordially, to live in two barrack rooms, for he could not afford private lodgings. Eudora had no idea of management or economy; she had no notion of providing comfortable little dinners at a moderate cost; her whole soul was wrapped up in dress, and every shilling she could get hold of was spent in tawdry finery. She kept their

two rooms dirty, untidy, and squalid-looking; she had neither the habits nor the tastes of a lady-for however plain the furniture, and simple the appearance of rooms, you can always tell if they are occupied by a gentlewoman. In Eudora's sitting-room, which served for dining-room, drawing-room, breakfast-room, &c. &c., there were never a book, a magazine, a drawing, a vase of flowers, or even a neat work-box to be seen. There were generally lying on the centre table a pair of large vulgar scissors, that looked as if the mistress of the place had been taking lessons from a tailor, some second-rate print of dresses purporting to be fashionable, and a piece of bread-and-butter, or a half-eaten bun. Hung over the back of a chair would be seen a soiled dressing-gown, and an old slipper, apparently just kicked off, might be visible on the hearth-rug. We do not attempt to hint at the discomforts of the inner apartment. And the fastidious Harry Vaughan, except once in a way when he joined his confrères at the mess-table, had to put up with the peine forte et dure of a wretchedly ill-cooked dinner-to him, the greatest penalty on earth!

IRISH FAIRY LORE.*

DR. RODENBERG, already known favourably in this country by his "Island of the Saints," a quaint and poetical description of his travels through portions of Ireland, has just published a supplementary volume, under the title of "The Harp of Erin," which contains those fairy tales and legends which would have been out of place in a book of travels. At the same time, however, he presents his readers with a very full description of Irish fairy lore, which will serve as the staple of the present article.

The frontiers of the Irish fairy kingdom exactly coincide with those that mark the adherence of the old language, religion, and customs; the belief in fairies, and other superstitions, goes hand in hand with Catholic orthodoxy. "It is not surprising that he does not believe in the fairies, for he eats meat on Fridays," was an expression our author heard from a friend on the Lakes of Killarney. It is therefore but natural that Irish folk lore should be the sworn foe of Protestantism and English enlightenment; and the fairies make a sharp distinction between the AngloIrish and those "of the old race." A characteristic instance of this will be found in Hardman's "Irish Minstrelsy."

An old Irish gentleman of county Leitrim erected a heap of stones over a carn, in which it was believed that Fin-Mac-Cul lay buried, in memory of the national hero. This monument stood for many years, and was visible far and wide; but after the death of the builder, who belonged to the celebrated MacRanald family, it was overthrown by a storm. At a later date, an Englishman, who bought the estate, re-erected the monument. But it was hardly up ere it

* Die Harfe von Erin. Märchen und Dichtung in Irland. Von Julius Rodenberg. Leipzig: F. W. Grunnow.

was overthrown by a fresh storm, and still lies in ruins. The country folk say, and firmly believe, that the storms which twice levelled it were created by the good people who dwell in the carn, and that, though they allowed it to stand during the first builder's life, because he was one of the old race, they inexorably overthrew it after his death, and would not suffer it to be rebuilt by a Sassenach. We are also told of the Kirwan family, to whom belongs Castle Market at the foot of the Knock-magha, in which the mighty fairy king, Fin Barra, dwells, that they have ever been on the most friendly terms with the latter. Everybody firmly believes that he and his band, all dressed in red jackets, frequently revelled in the wine-cellars of the owner, and rode his horses about at night. In return, however, the latter always beat English horses at the races.

It is curious, however, to note that Irish fairies and spirits are distinguished from those of all other countries by their wickedness and cruelty. No pleasant or amiable trait brightens up their faces or hearts; they take a delight in destruction, and their approach entails ruin. Puck is in Wales, for instance, a merry-hearted sprite, who takes delight in roguery and friskishness; in Ireland the Phuka is converted into a bullock, which drag men "thorough bush, thorough briar," and leaves them with a threat to kill them on the next opportunity. While, in Wales, the fairies are called "the pretty family," and it is the greatest delight of children to dance and play with them-while the fairies of Wales, again, unite loving maidens with their bachelors, richly reward good and industrious men, and merely play harmless tricks with drunkards—in Ireland, on the contrary, the fairies steal children, carry off maidens, and cunningly employ the state of drunken individuals to draw them into their power. In other parts people seek the beneficent proximity of these beings, but in Ireland they are timidly avoided and fled. Fear, in fact, is the only feeling that the Irish peasant has for the fairies; and though, in his opinion, they are the most malevolent creatures in the world, through that fear he never calls them otherwise than "the good people." In some districts, where reminiscences of the Danes are still vivid, it may be heard that the fairies are the spirits of the Danes, which found no rest in the dark forts and hills. Externally they are generally old, ugly, and withered, but they have the power to assume any shape they please, or render themselves invisible. Still, the man who possesses a four-leaved shamrock is enabled to see the good people, wherever they may appear, without being seen by them. They can also convert themselves into animals, especially cats; usually, however, they appear in the form of little men, and wear green coats with red caps. The Munster fairies wear white stockings, red shoes, black caps, on which the red bells of the campanula wave. There must always be something red about their costume. In former times they are said to have been good tempered, and helped those they loved out of every trouble; but now-adays they are no longer so, and have been rendered very angry by the persecutions they have suffered at the hands of the Protestants. The thing that most annoys them is to be called by their right name, and hence the Irish peasant is very cautious to allude to them as the "little gentlemen" or the "good people." But it is considered even more dangerous to frighten them away, as the following story, told Mr. Shirley Hibberd by an Irish maid-servant, and published by him in "Notes and Queries," proves. Her uncle was a smith in the neighbourhood of

Galway, and was a favourite with the fairies, through the kindness he showed to persons surprised by night. After all had retired to bed they would visit his forge, and set to work with such earnestness, that they finished everything uncompleted overnight. The blowing of the bellows and the hammering of the anvil always woke the family up; but it was laid down as a rule by the fairies to put away all the tools they used, and sweep up everything tidy before morning. One night, however, a member of the family being ill, the smith went to the forge at midnight to fetch a bottle of medicine he had forgotten there. Unluckily, he startled the fairies, who from that hour not only remained away, but did him all the injury they could. A fat pig died the next day; little Tyke had the measles; and one calamity followed uninterruptedly on another.

We can imagine from this how anxious people are to give the fairies no cause of annoyance; but, for all that, the latter do not give up their wickedness. They suddenly strike a wayfarer with lameness, or shoot the cattle with elfin arrows. They not unfrequently carry off young mothers, who are compelled to suckle fairy children, but their passion is to steal children from the cradle. Dr. Rodenberg heard of a rich lady who lost three or four babies one after the other, and it was generally credited that the fairies had fetched them. The lady therefore consecrated the next one to the Virgin, and dressed him all in white. When he grew up, he was made to ride a white pony; but after all, when he had attained the age of twenty, he was thrown from his horse and killed; "for nothing avails against the fairies," our author's informant concluded.

The fairies, too, are addicted to fighting with one another. The scene of one of the most popular of these fairy wars is in the neighbourhood of Lough Seur, in Leitrim. A chain of hills runs along this lake, and on two of the highest are a couple of those carns which the people have made into fairy abodes, one called Sigh-mor, the other Sigh-beg. The story of these two piles of stones is, that under the latter, one of Fin-Mac-Cul's heroes was buried, and under the other, one of his enemies, after fighting a great battle in this valley. Long after this fight was over, the airy denizens of the carns continued it, and when the mortal combatants had long ceased to wield a sword, the war was continued by their immortal allies for centuries. The peasants of the neighbourhood often told of fresh actions, and so lively was the belief in them during the last century, that a friend of the celebrated bard Carolan suggested as the theme for a chant the last battle that had taken place between the hostile fairies of Sigh-mor and Sigh-beg.

The true home of the fairies is the south of Ireland, and their paradise was county Wicklow, with its pleasant valleys and glorious hills. But they angrily retired from it when Germanic manners and the English language became settled there. They are now spread over the whole of Ireland, living in the raths and carns, which the peasants call Danish forts. And as this belief is even at the present day spread over nearly all Ireland, especially in the south and west, the peasants regard these fairy hills-each of which has its special history and magic power-with. terror, and the most pious equally with the most godless take great care. not to offend their invisible denizens as they pass. And now to let Dr. Rodenberg speak for himself:

July-VOL. CXXII. NO. CCCCLXXXVII.

The most wondrous music, rising from the hills, and enchanting the traveller who rests upon them, announces their presence, for the Irish fairies love music and dancing passionately. They are divided into four kingdoms, each of which has its special potentate. The fairy King of Munster is called Dorm Firineagh (Dorm the Soothsayer), and his castle is in Knock-firin (the Mountain of Truth), a romantic hill in county Limerick. Clion, the fairy Queen of Kerry, dwells in her invisible palace in Carrig Cliodhua, in the vicinity of Fermoy, five miles from Mallow, to the right of the Cross of Domach-more, in a wild mountain range. The rock is a huge grey stone, surrounded by a number of smaller ones. The fairy King of Ulster is called Macancanta, and holds his court at Seraba; but the most powerful of all are Mail, the supreme fairy Queen of Ireland, and Fin Barra, the fairy King of the Wild West. His palaces are in the celebrated fairy mounds of Knock Maghan, Rath Croghan, and Mullah-dung. They often make lengthened journeys through their kingdom, their travelling equipages being dust-clouds, which whirl them along, but they generally ride on ponies into which they have converted straws and carrot-tops. They have a great power over the vegetable world, and a number of fungi, mosses, and flowers stand in the closest connexion with them. The old grey-bearded sloe-bushes, which grow at cross-roads, are their favourites, and when anybody uproots one of these, they strew the thorns and prickles in his bed at night. The truffle, which is so common in Ireland, is called fairy sponge, and what is called in our gardens English grass, is known in Ireland as fairy flax. The blossoms of the campanula are called, in the popular language, fairy bells, those of the foxglove, fairy caps. Puff-balls are also very dangerous fairy plants, and if they are trodden on and the dust flies out, the fairies are aroused. To the same category belongs a variety of fungus, called Pukanu, or fairy chairs, on which the souls of children who have died before baptism sit; and lastly, the enchanted grass, which the people call hungry grass, and of whose origin Carleton gives the following account: When the field-labourers in summer had finished their dinner, they would throw the crumbles around them for the good of the fairies. If they did not do so, however, the fairies, out of spite, caused hungry grass to grow on the spot where they had been sitting. If a person steps on this in walking, he is assailed by a furious hunger; the best preservation against which being, it is said, a piece of oatmeal-cake. The Irish peasant never fails to put a piece in his pocket before he sets out.

Between the fairies and humanity comes a series of middle formscreations of twilight, inhabitants of the dusk, who form the transition from the visible to the invisible. They are more closely allied to man than to the fairies, and some of them were human beings before they were brought under the influences of enchantment. Hence they stand in a subordinate position to the fairies, and are their servants, the lowest rank being taken by a being with whom the idea of his being red is closely connected. Sometimes he is called the Red Man, sometimes the Red Captain, and he plays his part on the frontier line of the two worlds.

Red, in the association of ideas among nearly every people, includes the notion of something that arouses distrust. It may be referred, in the first instance, to the natural superstition which makes the fox, the red-haired animal, play the most notorious part in the Greek fable and the German animal epic, and which transfers to red-haired men the name and some of the characteristic features of the fox. With the psychological ground of repugnance which is generally entertained against red hair, a decidedly national one is associated in Ireland. Those of her oppressors who completed their work first and in the most sanguinary way, and whose traces have been most deeply cut in popular fable and belief-the Danes-had red hair. "Red-haired men are feared throughout the whole of the Celtic land," says Clement, in his "Reisen in Irland." "I was often told, in a joke, that they would like to send all the

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