imals, with "mighty sharp horns." Of course, all this is
very absurd, and not half so pretty as the legends we heard everywhere
in Ireland of the fairies, or "good people." I will tell you more of
these another time. Now I have only room for a little anecdote of the
last Lord Clancarty, which I find set down as a great lesson to people
to read their Bibles.

When this unfortunate nobleman was going into exile, he told his
relative, the beautiful Duchess of Marlborough, that he was certain he
could recover his property, if he only had money enough to carry on a
lawsuit for it. She did not offer to help him, but she placed in his
hands a Bible, saying that he would find in it comfort and support in
all his troubles. The young lord thanked her with such a pious face
that one would have thought he meant to do little else than study the
good book for the next six months. But the rogue never once looked
into it, and when, long after, he returned to England, the Duchess
asked him for it, and opening it before his eyes, showed him that she
had placed between the leaves, bank notes enough to have recovered his
estates, now hopelessly lost.

I must say that this account of Lord Clancarty's poverty, and that of
his treasure hid in Blarney Lake, do not hang together very well; but,
as the Bible story has the best moral, perhaps we had better hold on to
that, and let the other go, with the legends of enchanted cows and
princesses.

LITTLE NORAH AND THE BLARNEY STONE.

One pleasant summer morning, in 18--, a gay party of English ladies and
gentlemen visited the old Castle of Blarney. They strolled along the
green shore of the lake, wandered about the wild neglected gardens and
"groves," ran up and down the Witches' Staircase, poked their heads
into the princesses cave, and then ascended the great tower of the
castle. This party was headed by a gentleman of middle age, tall and
stately, but very kindly and pleasant in his looks. He wore a military
uniform, but was addressed as "my lord." He held by the hand, that is,
whenever he could catch her, a smiling rosy, dimple-cheeked little
girl, whom he called "Fanny," and the rest of the party "Lady Frances."
It was a pretty sight to see her break away from them all, and flit
about the ruins and through the dark tangled alleys of the groves, like
a bird on the wing. She laughingly skipped up and down the Witches'
Staircase with the rest, but she lingered longest in the haun