aul, darling,' said I, 'for supposing that I'd ever dream of
marrying again'--and I couldn't help kissing him once more and crying
over him when I heard what he said. 'Now,' said he, 'kiss the book, and
swear that you'll never put a ring on man after my death, and I'll leave
you every shilling I'm worth.' God knows it was a trying scene to a
loving heart like mine--so I swore that I'd never put a ring on man
after his death--and then he altered his will and left me the property
on those conditions."

"Proceed, madam," said the conjurer; "I am still in the dark as to the
object of your visit."

"Why, sir, it is to know--ahem--O, poor old Paul. God forgive me! it was
to know, sir, O--"

"Don't cry, madam, don't cry."

"It was to know, sir, if I could ever think of--of--you must know, sir,
we had no family, and I would not wish that the property should die with
me; to know if--if you think I could venture to marry again?"

"This," replied the conjurer, "is a matter of unusual importance and
difficulty. In the first place you must hand me a guinea--that is my fee
for cases of this kind."

The money was immediately paid, and the conjurer proceeded: "I said it
was a case of great difficulty, and so it is, but--"

"I forgot to mention, sir, that when I went out to get the prayer-book,
I found Charley Mulvany in the next room, and he said he had one in his
pocket; so that the truth, sir, is, I--I took the oath upon a book
of ballads. Now," she proceeded, "I have strong reasons for marrying
Charley Mulvany; and I wish to know if I can do so without losing the
property."

"Make your mind easy on that point," replied the conjurer; "you swore
never to put a ring on man, but you did not swear that a man would never
put a ring on you. Go home," he continued, "and if you be advised by me,
you will marry Charley Mulvany without loss of time."

A man rather advanced in years next came in, and taking his seat, wiped
his face and gave a deep groan.

"Well, my friend," said the conjurer, "in what way can I serve you?"

"God knows it's hard to tell that," he replied--"but I'm troubled."

"What troubles you?"

"It's a quare world, sir, altogether."

"There are many strange things in it certainly."

"That's truth, sir; but the saison's favorable, thank God, and there's
every prospect of a fine spring for puttin' down the crops."

"You are a farmer, then; but why should you feel troubled about what you
call a fine season fo