orning, very early, when he heard a
little bird singing so melodiously out among the trees, that he got up
from his knees and followed it. The bird flew from tree to tree, and
still he walked after, for its music was so delicious he could not tire
of it. He thought in his heart that he could listen to it forever, and
he came very near doing that same, for the bird was an enchanted
singer, and so bewitched the priest that he had no idea how the time
went by. At last, he thought that it was about the hour for
vespers--so he gave his blessing to the little bird, and went back into
the abbey. But, when he entered, he was astonished to see only strange
faces and to hear a strange tongue, which was the English, in place of
the Irish. There were monks about, who asked him who he was, and where
he came from. He told them his name, and that he was their Abbot. He
had gone out, he said, in the morning to hear a little bird sing, and
somehow it had kept him following it about the island ever since. Then
they told him that no less than _two hundred years_ had passed since he
went out to hear that singing, and that he had never been seen
since--for being enchanted, he had been invisible. Then the old monk
cried out--"Give me absolution, some of you, for my time is come!"
They gave him absolution, and he died in peace; but just as he was
passing away, there came to the holly-tree, before the window, a little
white bird, and sat and sung the sweetest song ever heard; and when the
soul left the body of the old Abbot, another white bird appeared, and
the two sang together very joyfully for awhile, in the holly tree, and
then flew out into the sunshine, and up into the blue heaven, away!

KATHLEEN OF KILLARNEY.

Not many years ago there lived at Glena, the loveliest spot in all
Killarney, a small farmer, by the name of Mickey, or Michael More, his
wife, and one daughter. Though Mickey was a poor, hard-working man, he
boasted that he was descended from a regular Irish chieftain, the great
MacCarty-Mor, and held his head up accordingly. But his wife, Bridget
O'Dogherty, that was--used sometimes to put him down a little, by
boasting that her great ancestor of all, was "a mighty king, or
monarch, that ruled over the biggest part of Ireland, shortly after the
flood,--long before the MacCartys-Mor were ever heard of. Why man, it
took all the lakes of Killarney to water his cattle--and the bog of
Allen was only his potato-patch."