M'Gaveran, a good-lookin' vagabone, no doubt, but not
worth a copper."

"Is she fond of him?"

"Troth, to tell you the truth, I'm afeard she is; he has been often seen
about the house in the evenin's."

"Well, Mrs. Houlaghan, I will tell you how to lay this ghost."

"God bless you, sir; poor Mary, although she purtends that the ghost is
good company for her, is lookin' pale and very quare somehow."

"Well, then, here is the receipt for laying the ghost: Marry her as soon
as you possibly can to Brine Oge M'Gaveran--do that and the ghost will
never appear again; but if you refuse to do it--I may lay that ghost of
course--but another ghost, as like it as an egg is to an egg, will
haunt your house until she is married to Brine Oge. You have wealth
yourselves, and you can make Brine and her comfortable if you wish.
She is your only child"--("Blessed Father, think of him knowin'
this!")--"and as you are well to do in the world, it's both a sin and a
scandal for you to urge a pretty young girl of nineteen to marry an
old miserly runt of fifty. You know now how to lay the ghost, Mrs.
Houlaghan--and that is what I can do for you; but if you do not marry
her to Brine Oge, as I said, another ghost will certainly contrive to
haunt you. You may now withdraw."

A farmer, with a very shrewd and comic expression of countenance, next
made his appearance, and taking his hat off and laying it on the floor
with his staff across it, took his seat, as he had been motioned to do,
upon the chair which Mrs. Houlaghan had just vacated.

"Well, my friend," said the conjurer, "what's troubling you?"

"A crock o' butther, your honor."

"How is that? explain yourself."

"Why, sir, a crock o' butther that was stolen from me; and I'm tould for
a sartinty that you can discover the thief o' the world that stole it."

"And so I can. Do you suspect anybody?"

"Troth, sir, I can't say--for I live in a very honest neighborhood.
The only two thieves that were in it--Charley Folliott and George
Austin--were hanged not long ago, and I don't know anybody else in the
country side that would stale it."

"What family have you?"

"Three sons, sir."

"How many daughters?"

"One, sir--but she's only a _girsha_" (a little girl).

"I suppose your sons are very good children to you?"

"Betther never broke bread, sir--all but the youngest."

"What age is he?"

"About nineteen, sir, or goin' an twenty; but he's a, heart-scald to me
and the family