The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes Page 13

  THE FAIRY CIRCLE.

  "Don't be conthrairy With an Irish fairy, Or, I declare, he Won't regard you much; But be complaisant, When that he's adjacent, And he'll use you dacent, If you merit such."

  "Corney; avic?"

  "Ma'm to you."

  "What the mischief are you thinking so _thremendious_ hard about?"

  "Me thoughts is me own, anyway, Missis O'Carrol."

  "Unless, may-be, you borrowed them from some one else; an' that's mostlikely, Mr. O'Carrol; for the niver an original idaya did I obsarveiminatin' from your own sinsabilities, sence here I've been."

  "Exceptin' once."

  "An' whin was that, may I ax?"

  "Whin I tuk it into me foolish head to marry you."

  "An' have you the owdashious vanity to suppose that nobody thought thatbefore you?"

  "Not to me knowledge, Mrs. O'C."

  "The saints be good to us! There's a _dale_ of ignorance in the world;but come now, tell me, what is it that makes you lave off your work,evry now an' thin, lookin', for all the world, as cute as a concaited_gandher_."

  "Why, thin, Moll _machree_, I'll tell you; but you must promise not tomake fun o' me, for it's your good that's iver foremost in me heart."

  "The blessin's on your lovin' sowl! I know it is."

  "Well, then, Moll, come an' sit near me, an' lave off polishin' up thatowld copper kittle; for I want to spake mighty sarious to you. Haven'tyou noticed that big, slated house that's just builded up, fornenst ourvery nose?"

  "Of coorse I have."

  "Yes, but do you know who's livin' in it? Who, but young Phil Blake,that was as poor as a _thranieen_, an' as ragged as a mountain goat, inhis ivry-day clothes, not more nor six months ago?"

  "You don't say!"

  "It's the mortial truth; didn't I see him awhile ago, struttin' up an'down the place, as proud as any other paycock, wid a _blew_ coat on hisback, covered over wid brass buttons, a'most as big as fryin' pans,enough to dazzle the eyes out of a Christian's head; an' he ordherin'the min about, as importint as you plaze. Phil Blake, of all fellows inthe _worrild_, that niver had the ghost of a fippenny-bit to blesshimself wid, to see him now, crammin' his fists into his breechespockets, an jinkin' the goold an' the silver about, in the mostaggravatin' way."

  "But where did he get it all?"

  "That's the chat--where? Guess, won't you?"

  "I don't know, may-be some rich ould lady fell in love wid him."

  "Is it wid Phil? Small chance of that, I'm thinkin'. Guess agin."

  "May-be he had a lawshuit!"

  "Be my _sowkins_, you're further in the mud than iver, Moll-shee.Lawshuits isn't the stuff goold mines is made of; if so, it's only thelawyers that's licensed to dig. I'll tell you. Last night, meself an' afew boys was takin' a jug of punch, at the "Cross Kays," whin one ofthem up and towld us all about it. Moll, as thrue as you're here, itwas neither more nor less than a _fairy-gift_."

  "No!"

  "Gospel! He cotch one of the little schamers (saving their prisince,for I suppose there's a lot of thim listenin', if we knew where theywere perched), an' so, he wouldn't let him go until he gave him hapesof money. Why, they say Phil's as rich as an archbishop!"

  "But, Corney, darlin', don't you know that fairy money niver thrives?let us wish Blake good luck, and think no more about it."

  "Pooh! Nonsense! He has luck enough; we had better wish ourselves aslice. Money's money, Moll; a fairy groat would pay for a pot ofporther just as aisily as Father Fogarty's. It isn't that I'm overcovetious, but I can't help envyin' Phil."

  "An' you see what harm even the first beginnin' of such a feelin' does.All this blessed day, you've hardly done a stitch of work; instead ofmakin' the lapstone echo with the sound of your merry voice, you'vebeen lookin' as disthracted as a sthray pig; why, you haven't evenkissed the babby sence dinner. Go to work, Corney, while I get a cup oftay ready. Thank God, we've never wanted for a male's vittles yet, andhave always a plinty in the house, agin we do."

  "Yes, I know that; but haven't I to work for it, day afther day! Norest; nothing but slave, slave, slave, from year's end to year's end,while gintlefolks, like Phil, bad 'cess to him, can sthroll up an' downthe sunny-side of the street, smoke as many pipes of tibbacky as theyplaze; have roast beef ev'ry Sunday, an' wear top-boots. Murdher alive!It's a great thing to be one of the _quality_."

  "Well, the mischief has got into you, I b'lieve. Corney, you niver tuksuch a fit as this, afore."

  "Niver mind, Moll, I know what I know; luck's like a fox; you have tohunt it hard before you ketch it; the divil a toe will it come to you.There's plinty of fairies about, an' who knows but there may be aslucky chaps as Phil Blake in the _worrild_."

  At the conclusion of the above conversation, Corney silently resumedhis work, endeavoring to add another piece to a wonderfully patchedbrogue, while Mary busied herself at the little bright turf-fire,boiling the water for _tea_--a few scanty grains of some apochryphalherb, representing that indispensable delicacy. She holds a rasher ofexceedingly fat bacon on the end of a fork, which screws and twistsitself about like some living thing enduring fierce agony, while asleepy-looking puss, with her tail twisted comfortably around her pawslike a muff, sits intently watching the operation, evidently wonderingin her own mind what it can possibly be that spits so cat-like and sospitefully into the fire. The walls of the little room are comfortablywhitewashed; only one broken pane of glass in the window, and thatneatly mended with a piece of old newspaper; the dresser is as white assoap and sand applied by tidy hands can make it, while the fewhousehold utensils that adorn it, shine to the utmost extent of theircapability. It's hardly necessary to say, that a good, cleanly, homelyand sensible wife, was Mary O'Carrol; and our friend Corney was anungrateful rascal to be dissatisfied with his condition. The mistake hemade was this (and it is by no means confined to Corney), he contrastedhis situation in life with the _few_ who were better off than himself,instead of the _many_ who were infinitely worse.

  And now, dear, domestic, tidy Mary spreads her little cloth, coarse'tis true, but scrupulously clean and ironed, every fold showing like aprinted line; she opens a little cupboard and produces an enormoushome-baked loaf, so close and dense that a dyspeptic individual wouldfeel an oppression by merely looking at it, but which our toil-hungeredfriends can dispose of by the pound, without the assistance of tonics;then, the small, black teapot, having _stood_ the conventional time,is carefully wiped, and placed on the table, and the whole frugal butcomfortable meal arrayed with that appetizing neatness without which itbecomes a mere matter of feeding and not of enjoyment.

  "Now, Corney, dear," said Mary, "tay's ready."

  "Faix, an' there's a pair of us," replied Corney, "I'm just about ashungry as a dragin."

  And no gourmet, even after he had lashed his appetite with stimulants,which would otherwise have sneaked away from the laborious work it hadto undergo, ever sat down with so keen a palate, or rose from tablewith so capital a sense of satisfaction as did Corney on thisparticular occasion.

  "Well, Molly machree," he cried, "I don't know that I iver had agreater thrate nor that same rasher; if the fat of it wasn't, for allthe _worrild_, like double-distilled _marra_, may I niver use anothertooth; an' that _tay_! _Gogs bleakey_, Moll, if you haven't a recaitfor squeezin' the parliaminthary flaviour out of the _herrib_! regardthe color of it!"

  "An' afther three wathers," replied Mary, with pardonable vanity.

  "Thrue for you, darlin'; why, the bread seems lighter, an' the butthersweeter, an' the crame thicker. I'll be judged by the cat--look at thebaste; if she hasn't been thryin' to lick the last dhrop off of her_hushkers_, for as good as a quarther of an hour, an' it's stickin'there still, as tight as a carbuncle to a Christian's nose; an' may-beI ain't goin' to enjoy this," he continued, as drawing his chair closeto the fire, out came his use-blackened pipe. He took just as much timein preparation, cutting his tobacco and rolling it about in his hand,as Mary did to clear away the tea-th
ings, in order that nothing shouldinterfere with that great source of comfort--his smoke. Having placed asmall piece of lighted turf on top of his pipe he threw himself back inhis chair. With eyes half closed, and an expression of the mostprofound gratification creeping over his features, he sent forthseveral voluminous whiffs--what he called "saysonin' his mouth;" butvery soon, as though the sensation was too delicious to be hurriedover, he subsided into a slow, dignified, and lazy smoke, saying,between puffs:

  "Blessin's on the fellow that first invented 'baccy; it's mate an'dhrink to the poor man; I'd be on me oath, if I wouldn't rather lose medinner nor me pipe, any day in the week."

  "Where did 'baccy come from, Corney?" inquired Mary.

  "Why, from 'Meriky; where else?" he replied, "that sint us the firstpitaty. Long life to it, for both, say I!"

  "What sort of a place is that, I wonder?"

  "'Meriky, is it? They tell me it's mighty sizable, Moll, darlin'. I'mtowld that you might rowl England through it, an' it would hardly makea dent in the ground; there's fresh water oceans inside of it that youmight dround Ireland in, and save Father Matthew a wonderful sight ofthrouble; an' as for Scotchland, you might stick it in a corner of oneof their forests, an' you'd niver be able to find it out, except,may-be, it might be by the smell of the whisky. If I had only a thrifleof money, I'd go an' seek me fortune there."

  "Arrah, thin, what for Corney?"

  "Oh! I don't know; I'm not aisy in me mind. If we were only as rich nowas Phil Blake, how happy we might be!"

  There was the cloud that shut out content from Corney's heart--far-sightedenvy, that looks with longing eyes on distant objects, regardless ofthe comfort near. Most stupid _envy_, which relinquishes the goodwithin its grasp to reach at something better unattainable, and onlybecomes conscious of its folly when time has swept away the substanceand the shadow.

  "It was the fairies that gave it to him," resumed Corney, as thoughcommuning with himself, while poor Mary, with a fond wife's prescience,mourned, as she foresaw that the indulgence of this new feeling would,most probably, change her hitherto industrious mate into an idlevisionary.

  "_The Fairies!_--An' why the divil shouldn't they give one man a tasteof good luck, as well as another? I'll do it--I will--this very blessednight--_I'll do_ it!"

  "Do what?" interrupted Mary, in alarm.

  "Oh, nothing, nothing!--an' yet, I've niver kept anything from you,Molly, an' I don't know why I should now! Sure, it's you that'll havethe binifit of it, if it comes to good."

  "Dear Corney," replied Mary, "I'm happy enough as it is, so long asHeaven gives us strength to provide for each other's wants, an' youcontinue to be, what you always have been, a good husband to me. I'drather not be throubled with any more."

  "It's nothin' but right for you to say so, Mary, darlin'," returnedCorney; "but now, supposin' that I could make a lady of you--eh? Thinkof bein' able to wear a fine silken gound, an' a beautiful sthrawbonnet, wid a real feather stuck in it; wouldn't you jerk yourshowlders to show off the silk, an' toss your purty head for to humorthe feather?"

  I must confess Mary's heart did flutter a little, at the mention of thesilk gown and the feather. Corney saw his advantage, and continued,

  "You know how it was Phil got his money; it was by sleepin in a _fairycircle_. I know where there's one, an' wid a blessin', I'll thry itmeself."

  "You won't be so foolish, Corney?"

  "May I niver taste glory, if I don't do it!"

  Of course, after that solemn, though doubtful obligation, Mary darednot endeavor to dissuade him from following out his intention,notwithstanding the most melancholy forebodings of kidnapping,fairy-blighting, and all the terrors associated with supernaturalagency, filled her imagination.

  The evening was now far advanced, and Corney, having finished his pipe,rose to go.

  "Come, Molly," he exclaimed, gaily, "kiss me before I start, an' wishme iligant luck."

  Mary, with tearful eyes, replied, "Dear Corney, if you had all the luckI wish you, you wouldn't have to go out into the cowld to hunt for it."

  "Well, God bless you, darlin', if I don't come back to you CornaliusO'Carrol, Esquire."

  "You'll come home my own dear, contented husband."

  "We'll see," said Corney, and away he went.

  It was nothing but reasonable that he should pay a visit to the "CrossKays" before he went on his fairy hunt, and it was nothing but naturalupon his arrival there, to find his resolution had receded so far thatit took sundry pots of beer to float it up again. At last, brimful ofthat unthinking recklessness, which the intoxicated generally mistakefor courage, off he started on his expedition, singing remarkably loud,in order to persuade any lurking feeling of cowardice that might bewithin him, that he wouldn't be influenced by it a morsel. As he nearedthe village church, however, his voice unconsciously subsided intoutter silence; there was a short cut through the churchyard to theplace of his destination, but he made a full stop at the little stile;many and many a time had he crossed it night and morning, without athought, and now it seemed to call up ghostly images; the wind as itmoaned through the trees, appeared to address itself particularly tohim; it wasn't more than a stone's throw to the other side, and hewanted to clear it with a bound. At this moment the rusty old clocksuddenly squeaked and boomed out upon the startled air. The firststroke, so sharp and unexpected, shattered Corney's nerves like astroke of paralysis; recovering from his fright, he laughed at hisfolly, but the sound of his own voice terrified him still more. It wasnot familiar to him--he didn't know it! A fancy came into his head thatsomebody was laughing for him, and he fairly shivered!

  A sudden thought relieved him: there was no occasion to go through thechurchyard at all!

  "What a fool I am," thought he, "it isn't so far round, and there'splenty of time. Divil take me if I wouldn't go home agin, only Marywould think me such a coward, besides, didn't Phil do it? That'senough; faint heart never won anything worth spakin' of--so here goes."

  About half an hour's walk brought him to the meadow in which lay theobject of his search--a fairy-circle. Now this same fairy-circle, isnothing more nor less than a ring of grass, which, from some cause oranother, probably known to botanists, but certainly a mystery to mostpeople, is of a different shade of color to that which surrounds it.Tradition celebrates such places as the favorite resort of fairies, bywhom they were formed, that they might pursue their midnight revelrywithout fear of danger from inimical powers. The Irish peasantrycarefully avoid trespassing on those sacred precincts, and indeedscarcely ever pass them without making a reverential bow.

  Our ambitious friend, Corney, hesitated for some time, before heentered the magic enclosure, exceedingly doubtful as to the treatmenthe should receive; at last, swallowing his trepidation with a spasmodicgulp, he placed one foot within the circle, taking care to propitiatethe invisibles on whose exclusive property he was so unceremoniouslyintruding.

  "The blessin's on all here," said he, "an' I hope I'm not disturbin'any frolic or business that yez may be indulgin' in. It's mighty sleepythat I am, an' if yer honors would give me lave to recline meself atopof the grass, an' make it convanient not to stick any rheumaticks intome for takin' such a liberty, I'd recaive it as a compliment. If it's athing that I happen promiscuously to thread on anybody's toes, I haveno manin' whativer in it. By your laves, I'm goin' to lie down, an'I'll drop aisy, in order that I mayn't hurt anything."

  So saying, Corney let himself down very gingerly, and lay full lengthwithin the fairy circle; he was one of those weather-proof individualsto whom the meadow-grass was as good as a feather-bed. Consequentlywhat with the walk and the beer, it wasn't many minutes before he wassnoring fast.

  He hadn't been asleep, as he thought, an instant, before he felt aninnumerable quantity of tiny feet traversing him all over; with regularstep they marched up his throat, and scaled his chin; making twodivisions up his cheeks, they arrived at his eyes, where they commencedtugging at the lids until they were forced open; the sight that met his
view filled him with dreadful wonder. The circle of meadow, in which hehad barely room to stretch himself out, formed all he could see ofearth. Church, village, country, all had vanished; he rubbed his eyesand looked again, but there was nothing; with an inexpressiblesensation of awe, he turned round, and creeping cautiously to the edgeof the circle, gazed downward, and could just discover the village hehad quitted about a mile below; with still increasing dread, he was nowaware that he was gradually mounting higher and higher. One more look,villages, cities, countries, were blended into an undistinguishablemass, and soon the globular form of the earth appeared, thoroughlydefined, swinging in the air.

  He then became sensible of a tremendous heat, which increased inintensity, until he found to his dismay that he was rapidly shrinkingin size; his flesh dried up, shrivelled, cracked, and clasped hisdiminishing bones tighter, until at last he was not bigger than arespectable fly. "This is mighty quare," thought Corney, "there's agreat lot of things like me frolicin' about. I feel as light as afeather. I wonder if I couldn't make one among them." So saying, hebounded up, and to his great amazement found that he had literallyjumped out of his skin. He perched upon his own head, which had resumedits natural size and flying off, found himself floating securely in theair, while the carcass which he had just deserted fell, fairy-circleand all, rapidly towards the earth, and finally, also disappeared. Oh!the pranks that Corney played in the first delight of being able tofly; he dived down, he careered up, he threw mad summersets like atumbler-pigeon--so light and buoyant had he become, that the passingvapors served him for a resting-place; he was happy, intoxicated withglee, thousands upon thousands of atomies gambolled around him likegnats in a sunbeam, the whole surrounding expanse was instinct withjoyous life.

  And they knew Corney, and saluted him as he passed by, with acompliment.

  "Hallo!" said they, "here's Corney O'Carrol; how are you, Corney? It'swell you're looking;" and Corney was astonished at the extensive natureof his atmospheric acquaintance.

  "How do you like a fairy's life, Corney?" said one slim, midge-waistedchap.

  "Iligant, your fairyship, iligant," said Corney.

  "Then, I'd advise you to make the most of it, while it lasts. You'llsoon have to appear before our king, and if you don't give asatisfactory reason for seeking him, woe betide you."

  "Don't be frightened, sir," said Corney; "I've rayzon enough forcomin', to satisfy any dacint-disposed fairy."

  "Doubtful," said the good-natured elf, and off he flew.

  "Stupid sperrit," thought Corney, and over he tumbled in madrecklessness, enjoying actually, that delicious sensation whichsometimes occurs to people in dreams--the ability to skim through theair with the speed and safety of a bird. What struck Corney mostparticularly was the universal expression of glee which prevailed;nothing could he hear but a universal hum, which rose and fell on theear with a purr-like undulation, such as one might imagine wouldproceed from a paradise of remarkably happy cats.

  While Corney was thus revelling in his new-found element, he wassuddenly accosted by two very genteel fairies. "Mr. Cornelius O'Carrol,we presume?" said they.

  "There's not a doubt of it, gintlemen," replied Corney.

  "We have come to have the honor of conducting you into the presence ofour king," they continued.

  "With a heart and a half," said Corney; "where might his majestydomesticate?"

  "In yonder goold-tinted cloud, a few seconds' fly from this; followus."

  Upon nearing the regal abode, Corney observed sundry small substances,like duck-shot, dropping downward. "What's thim?" inquired he of hisconductors.

  "Oh!" answered one, "only a few discontented souls, who, like you, havesought our king, and haven't given sufficient reason for troubling himwith their complaints."

  Corney began to feel nervous, but coming to the conclusion that he hadas good a right to be enriched through fairy agency as ever Phil Blakehad, he put on a bold front, and was ushered into the presence of thefairy potentate. There, a sight of such dazzling splendor presenteditself to his view, that, as he said himself, "You might as well try tocount the stars of a frosty night, or look right into the sun's heartof a summer's day, as to give the slightest notion of the grandeur thatsurrounded me." All he could compare it to, was, a multitude of_living jewels_ of every variety of hue, sparkling and flashing inperpetual light.

  As soon as he could collect his scattered senses, he heard a voiceexclaim, "What, ho! soul of O'Carrol, approach!"

  "So I'm thravelin' without my trunk this time, any way," thoughtCorney, as he advanced toward the voice.

  It continued, "Soul of a mortal, why hast thou sought our presence?"

  "May it plaze yer majesty," Corney began to stammer out, "bekase I wasa trifle unaisy in me mind."

  "What about?"

  "In regard of the scarcity of money, plaze your reverence."

  "What is your trade?"

  "A shoemaker, sir."

  "Cobbler, you mean," said the voice, severely. "No lying here;recollect your poor, miserable, naked soul stands before us."

  Corney thought of the height he'd have to fall, and trembled.

  "You can't get work, I suppose," the voice returned.

  "Too much of it, if it plaze yer honor. I niver have a minute tospare."

  "For what?"

  "Why, yer honor, to--to----"

  "Remember the punishment of prevarication. To what?"

  "To take a drink."

  "Then you have no home?"

  "Oh, yes, but I have, sir."

  "But 'tis pleasanter to lounge in a tap-room?"

  "A trifle, may-be, your honor."

  "Perhaps you have no wife to make your home comfortable?"

  "Have't I though; the best that ever drew the breath of life," criedCorney, with a loving remembrance of Mary.

  "Poor fellow," continued the voice; "your situation is deplorable, itappears. You have a good trade, an excellent wife, a comfortable home,and yet you are discontented."

  Corney felt himself resolving into a leaden pellet.

  "One question more," said the voice; "when did you first feeldissatisfied?"

  "Why, to tell the truth, yer honor, as soon as that fellow, Phil Blake,began to build his big brick house opposite to my little mud cabin.Before that, I was as gay as a lark, but it stood like a great cloudbetween me and the sun."

  "Envy was the cloud, envy, that gloomiest of all earthly passions. Whydo you covet this man's fortune?"

  "Because, sir, he always looks so smilin', and jinks his money about,an' dispises the poor boys he used to be friendly with."

  "Foolish, foolish soul!" said the voice, in accents of commiseration,"but not yet wholly tainted. Thy love of home hath partially redeemedthee. Listen to me. Dost thou see yonder piled up mass ofrainbow-tinted clouds. Do they not look gloriously, as the rising sunflings his beams through them, as though revelling in their embrace?Wouldst thou not like to behold such magnificence closer?"

  "Nothing in life betther, yer majesty," said Corney.

  "Then away; a wish will place you in their midst--a thought return youhere."

  So with the wish and thought Corney went and came back.

  "Well, what didst thou see?" inquired the Fairy King.

  "The divil a haperth," replied Corney, "but a mighty black and mostunwholesomely damp cloud."

  "What should that teach you?"

  "Never to thravel without an umbrella, yer honor, I suppose," answeredCorney, who to say the truth, _was_ a little obtuse.

  "Fool," said the fairy, "since I cannot lesson thee, go to thy kindredearth, and learn experience from realities. Proceed to the chamber ofthe man whose good fortune thou enviest; then to thine own, and if thouart not satisfied with thy condition, seek me again, and meet with thyreward. Away!"

  As if by magic, the brilliant assembly dispersed like clouds ofgold-dust floating on the wind, and Corney was left alone.

  "That's a mighty high sort o' chap," said Corney, "but I suppose I'dbetther do wh
at he towld me for fear'd he'd turn spiteful."

  So Corney wished himself within the chamber of Blake, and there he sawthe most piteous sight earth can produce: a young mother weeping tearsof agony over the body of her first-born. A man stood beside her withfeatures set and hard, as though turned to stone by hopeless grief.

  "My God," thought Corney, "and these are the people whose lot I haveenvied, and my own blue-eyed darling, is _he_ safe? Home, home," criedhe, and with the wish was there. In his little cradle lay the beautifulboy steeped in the angel-watched, the holy sleep of infant innocence,while Mary, on her knees, mingled her prayer for her absent husband.Corney was rushing towards her, but suddenly remembering himself: "Whata fool I am," thought he, "I forgot I was a sperrit, at all events, Ican kiss the babby." With that, he bounded into the cradle, and nestledon the boy's lip. Mary, seeing the child smile in his sleep, exclaimed:"Good angels are putting sweet thoughts into your head, my blessedbabe," and she softly kissed him too.

  "Oh! murdher," thought Corney, "this will never do; I must go and lookafther my body and bring it home. Thanks to the good fairies, I'velarned a lesson that shall last _my_ life and my boy's, too, if Ihave any influence over him."

  So saying, Corney wished himself in the meadow where his tangibleproportions were extended, and having kicked and got in, shook himselfcarefully to see if he had obtained absolute possession.

  "It's all right," said he, "I've come back." Looking up and around him,he was surprised to see the bright sunlight of morning, and still moreso to observe Mary trudging through the churchyard to meet him.

  "Oh, well," said Mary, anxiously, when they encountered, "what luck?"

  "A power of knowledge, but no money," said Corney, sententiously.

  "Did you see the fairies?"

  "Did I _see_ them! bedad, I was one myself."

  "Oh! be aisy!"

  "The divil a doubt of it; wasn't I at home a bit ago, unbeknownt toyou? Answer me this, didn't you kiss the babby just before you cameout?"

  "As thrue as life, I did," said Mary, slightly awe-struck.

  "I was there and saw you do it."

  "Where were you, Corney?"

  "Sittin' on the end of his nose."

  Of course that was proof positive, but inasmuch as Mary always _did_kiss the boy before she left the house, the coincidence becomes lessremarkable.

  It only remains for me to say, that the circumstance made a veryfavorable change in Corney's disposition, or rather dissipated the cloudwhich obscured his real character. Mary found her account in it, by anincrease of industry on his part, and he was rewarded by a correspondinganxiety in her, to make his home happy. Many and many a time would hegive an account of his aerial journey, religiously convinced of itsreality; once only Mary just ventured to insinuate that it mightpossibly have been a dream, but the _I-pity-your-ignorance-look_ whichCorney gave her, made her heartily ashamed of having hazarded so stupidan opinion, and, as a matter of course, she soon believed as implicitlyas her husband, the wonderful adventure of _The Fairy Circle_.

  O'BRYAN'S LUCK.

  A TALE OF NEW YORK.