l only laughed contemptuously;
but as his efforts to find out any thing about his daughter and her
husband had all failed, it was thought that he finally more than half
believed in the O'Donoghue story himself, though he never owned that he
did.

May-day morning had come round again. It was three years since
Kathleen More was carried off, and as usual, on that day, her father
and mother awoke very early, for it was a sad anniversary for them.

"Troth!" exclaimed Michael, "and it was a queer drame I had last night."

"Ah then, avick, tell me it!" cried his wife, who was particularly
curious and superstitious about dreams.

"Well, then, I dramed that I paid a visit to the O'Donoghue; in his
grand palace under the lake. I received my invitation by being upset
in my boat, and pulled downwards by a big merman, who never let go of
my coat-tails till he landed me at the palace gate.

"The O'Donoghue himself met me in the hall. 'Welcome, Mr.
MacCarty-Mor,' (mind that, MacCarty-Mor!) said he--'welcome kindly!
Sure it's delighted I am to see you--and you are just in time for
dinner.' With that a sarvent began sounding a big conch-shell, a great
door was flung open, and the next thing, I found myself in an ilegant
room, sitting down to dinner with a mighty genteel looking company."

"Arrah! and was our Kathleen amongst them?" asked Mrs. More.

"Of course she was--sitting at the O'Donoghue's right hand, all silks
and gold, and heaps of pearls in her hair. She kissed her hand to me,
very politely, which was the most she could do, being a Princess, so
grandly dressed, and meself in my old grey coat and patched corduroys."

"And did she look natural?--the darling!"

"A trifle paler and prouder--but pretty much the same as ever, Biddy."

"And who else did you see, Mickey?"

"Oh hosts of the quality. First there was Fin MacCual, and Brian Boro,
and old King Cormac and the O'Tooles--with their crowns on, and the
O'Neills, and the O'Connors, and the O'Meaghers, and the O'Malleys, and
the O'Doghertys, and the O'Briens, and no end of O'Donoghues,--and the
Dermods, and Desmonds, and my ancestor, the great MacCarty-Mor himself."

"And what was your dinner, Mickey?"

"Why, principally oysters, and lobsters, and turtles, sarved up in
their shells--and plenty of good potheen to drink. The trouble of it
was, every thing was cowld, for you see they had no fire down there;
and candles wouldn't burn, by raison of the dampness,--