Well, by the powers,' said I, this beats Bannacher, and, any how, I'll give him a tune:' so saying, I yoked the pipes, and commenced The For-hunters, when a hundred ladies and gentlemen, all in silks and satins, ran in to hear me ; and sure enough every body likes to please the great, and why should not Mick M'Connell? The ladies laughed with their pretty smiling faces, and pity they'd ever do any thing else; and the men cried out, Hoop! halloo!' for you know I can do anything with that same tune. Troth, I am complete master of it! However, what's hunney to one is pison to another, as the saying is; and the ould bard, with a beard as long as my arm, and as white as my shirt, got so enraged, that, failing to stop his ears with his hands, he seized a rusty sword, and popped it into my poor bellows, and of course the tune was ended; but one of the grandees present soon mended the matter, by bringing me a span new set of pipes, twice as good as the ould ones. They were all so delighted with my music that they would hear no other play; and, having placed me in a great grand chair, they forced me to eat and drink of the very best, for I was a little shy before such fine ladies and gintlemen. But troth they wern't more pleased with me than I with them; for, when they began to dance, it would do your heart good to see them handle their feet. Jigs, reels, and country dances, didn't come amiss for them, and the sun performed a hornpipe on Lough Lane before they had concluded. Just at that moment a trumpet sounded, and I was led out, where a most beautiful horse waited for me, and in a jiffy the whole train was mounted; and, what was most wonderful of all, was to see the horses walk upon the water without sinking. O'Donohue himself, on a white horse,* marched before his train, to sounds of music; but, by the powers! I was myself the best musicioner among 'em, so I was; and so O'Donohue said when we all returned to the palace." * O'Donohue, according to a tradition yet brief among the Irish peasantry, was a prince of great virtue and renown, who lived near Lough Lane, now the Lakes of Killarney. He, as a reward for his terrene acts, is permitted occasionally to visit the scenes of his former greatness, and is to be seen on each May morning on his white horse gliding over the lakes, accompanied by the most delicious music. The particulars of this tradition may be found in Derrick's Letters,' in Weld's Killarney,' &c. The foam caused by the waves breaking on the shore is called, by the peasantry, O'Donohue's White Horse. "Mick M'Connell,' said he, 'will you stop and live with us?' "I'd be mighty glad, your honour,' said I, only I am engaged this day at Mr. Herbert's, to-morrow at the pat tern 66 6 'Oh, never mind,' said he, interrupting me, about Mr. Herbert, or patterns; but stay here, and you must have eaten and drinken to your heart's content.' "But sure, your honour,' said I, wouldn't have me break my word; and if you'd just be after letting me go "If you stir,' says he, 'I'll strike you as blind as a brick-bat again.' "Oh, your honour wouldn't do that, any way, for the sight is a mighty great blessing,' and so I argufied the matter with him; but, if I said mass on the hobstone, it wouldn't satisfy him; and so, when I said I should go, he gave me a polthoge in the side, and I never knew what became o❜me afterwards until you awakened me here.." "A fine dream you had of it, Mick Agra," said Tom M'Gordon," some drinken buckeens wanted to have their fun with you, and so carried you a piece of the way, but seeing you were too drunk to play, they pitched you here, where you lay like a lump of a block." Ay, you may think so," said Mick, "but see the pipes which I brought away with me." They're quare looken ones sure enough," returned Tom, "but you are like my Kate, a great believer in ramashes. Troth, if I took my bible oath, she wouldn't believe but that the child at home is one o'the fairies. He's a mighty odd child, sure enough; his limbs are like spindles, his hands like I dinna what; and, though he's ten years' ould, he isn't much bigger than a little bonneen.”* Very odd," said Mick; "but how goes on the world with you-better than it used, I hope?" Oh yea diogha-dioghadh," replied Tom, "the bit of ground is too dear-the cess is too high; and yesterday I was cast in the tithe court to pay fifteen pounds instead of thirty shillings: so you see, Mick avourneen, that I am nearly heartbroken. But come, Kate has got something for breakfast.” ↑ Sucking pig. As Mick lived always upon 'God send,' he didn't refuse, and so accompanied Tom to his cabin, a poor place it was, sure enough, for even in those good times there was plenty of misery; and more's the pity, for poor Paddy would be happy if he could then as well as now. In the corner next the fire stood the old wooden cradle, and in it the brat, who set up a pullilue the moment he saw Mick, and couldn't be pacified until he got the pipes to please him; but then he seemed highly delighted, and laughed with gladness. Scarcely had they sat down to the dish of sturabout, when in walked the tithe-proctor, to demand the award of the bishop's court; aud, while poor Tom was apologising for not having the money, the landlord's bailiff entered, followed by the constable, who came for the grand jury cess. Any more of you?" asked Tom. Yes," answered the parish clerk, 66 "I come for the church rates.' 66 "God bless you all," said Tom, as he turned around to wipe away the tears that stood in his eyes. 66 Father, father," cried the brat in the cradle. Whist, you cur," says Kate, “there's no ho with you when your father is in the house." 66 Oh, don't be cross, Kate aghudh," said Tom, "the poor child wants something;" and sure enough it did, for it was nothing less than to yoke the pipes for him; and so he did, and the brat slipped into them as if he had been a piper all his life. "He's a genius," cried Mick, on hearing the first screech of the pipes; and the brat gave a loud laugh. Try it again, my boy," said the tithe-proctor, and so he did, when he set them all instantly laughing; nor could they help it; and, when he changed the tune, they began, as loud as they could bawl, to sing Garryone na gloria. That'll do," said the little fellow in the cradle, who seemed higly delighted with the effect produced by his music. "Now for the jig polthoge," and up bounced the tithe-proctor, the constable, the bailiff, and clerk, and commenced dancing like madmen, with their sticks (for [every man in Ireland carries a stick,) in their hands. 66 Fogha-boileach,' * cried the brat, at the same time chang ing his music, and whap, whap, whap, went the sticks upon their heads. Mick crept under the table; Tom jumped up on the dresser; and Kate sought safety in the ashes' corner, while the little fellow kept screeching in the cradle even louder than his bagpipes. Once more he altered his tune: the combatants desisted; but, instead of stopping to carry away poor M'Gordan's furniture, they ran from the house as if it had been infected, without saying as much as "Good by to you, Tom." The astonished cottier turned his eyes up to heaven; Mick crept from his hiding-place; and Kate, after blessing herself, seized upon the brat. "I knew you weren't good,' she exclaimed, " you spawn of a Sheoge! but now I'll settle you," and she flung him into the turf fire, and a good one it was after boiling the sturabout. "Bad luck to you, you ould hag," says he, "I often suspected you for this, and weren't it for the kindness of Tom M'Gordon, I'd have made you sup sorrow long since." So saying, he floated like a balloon up the chimney, and father or mother's son never saw him afterwards. As for the bagpipes, they were immediately purchased by the minister of the parish; for such an instrument in the hands of the Irish peasantry would prove dangerous to the interests of those who live on tithes. The drones, it is said, were committed to the flames as not quite orthodox; but the bellows are yet shown to the curious as the remains of O'Donohue's bagpipes. THE OCEAN BY MOONLIGHT. Beyond the immeasurable expanse of heaven That fringe the billowy ocean; and the waves Gemm'd o'er with tufts of sea-flow'rs. On the rocks The mist of night reposes, like a cloud Upon the brow of battle! When we mark Those proud survivors of the ocean's rage, Feel we not energy surround our hearts The stars are shining out Sport like young dew-drops on the azure flower. That stem the dark blue current, sweep along Oh thou Ungovern'd and ungovernable deep! In thee we see the image of the sole All-seeing Deity! Erst o'er thy breast The royal minstrel of the Israelites Pour'd his warm light of song. He saw thee heave Thy mountain billows; and he saw thee sleep |