in parlour." And now," says the fairy to Con, "dont you want a little money? come this way with me and fill your pockets." So they turned down an entry and came to a great iron grated door, with a huge padlock to it, which at the fairy's touch opened, and they entered into a sort of cellar, full of bags of gold. "Make haste now, Con, and fill your pockets." So Con set to work, and crammed as fast as he could; and just when he had all his pockets full, he cried out, "thank God I'm rich enough for ever!" He had no sooner said this, than crash, dash, went every thing about his ears; light left his eyes, and sense his brain; and on the following morning, as if awaking out of a sound sleep, he found himself lying at the mouth of the cave, and what was best of all, he found when he clapped his hands to his pockets, that they were full of good hard cash. So up he got, and as he was going towards home, says Con to himself, "What came by fairies may go by fairies; if I stay here in this country, there may little luck or grace

go along with me or my money." So Con set off for Derry, and took shipping for New York, as he heard for sartain that fairies never go as far as America; and there he lived and died-and there his children are rich people to this very day."

"Well now,” says I to Tony O'Donnel, my informant, "what do you think is the reason of the fairies not being seen now? or why are they not now as powerful for good and evil as formerly ?"-"Why to what should it be owing but to yonder blessed well? From the day that Father Freel sanctified that holy water, the good people have scampered off; and och but it was the world's trouble to Friar Freel to bless this well. He knew rightly that there was a holy well wanting in this quarter, and he prayed to St. Patrick and St. Columkill to tell him where he should find one that was proper to fix upon and bless. So the holy saints appeared to him in a dream, and desired him to go to six different wells and take six rushes with him, and dip a rush in each well, and then set

fire to them, and whatever rush took fire and burned bright, as if it was dipped in wax or tallow, that then the well in which the burning rush was dipped should be made holy for ever after.

"So according to these directions the good Friar proceeded; he provided himself with rushes, and went and dipped them in the best spring wells of the country, and then he set fire to them, but not one of them would burn -at last he came to Doune, and here he dipped his rush, and the moment he took it out of the water and applied a coal of turf to it-why, my dear sowl, a blaze came from the wet rush as bright as from one of the tapers on our chapel altar; and it continued burning clear and steady the whole day and next night. So here Father Freel stopped, he fasted and prayed six days and six nights, going round the well on his bare knees, and this being finished, the sanctity of it has grown in grace, and character, and vartue, ever since— at first it was only good for the cure of cattle, the murrain and the black-leg; and then it

came on to cure horses of mange, strangles, and surfeits; but now it cures Christhens; and look, Sir, at all these crutches stuck round the well; look at these hand-barrows. I saw myself with my two eyes, the bed-rid come here on these crutches, and they went away, after going their rounds, as straight and nimble as you or I, and they left these things behind, as well they might, to prove and to certify God's wonders done unto them at this Holy Well.

"Sir," said he, "the black-mouthed Presbyterians there below on the Lennan, are forced to confess and believe in the wonders of this Well. Not long ago a bitter psalmsinging Presbyterian, who farms part of the townland of Drumgarton, his name is John M'Clure, he used to laugh at us poor Catholics as we passed him by, going to this blessed spot-Oh! it would make your flesh creep to hear all he said, turning the sacred well into game; but one spring, just as we were going to labour the ground for the barley, his horses took the mange, and they got so

lean that they were dropping off their standing they could not plough his field, they were unable to crawl to the bog to bring home a creel of turf, he tried brimstone with them, but it did not do; all the tobaccowater and sulphur in Derry had no effect; so, says he, half joke half earnest, to his neighbour Jerry M'Swine, 'I'll go to the Well of Doune and wash my horses with your holy water, and who knows but the Saint will cure a Presbyterian's horse as well as a Catholic's cow.' So off he set with his horses, and he brings a pail with him to lift the water, and when he came near the well, as he could not lead his horses close to it by reason of the bog, he tied the cattle to a stone, and down he went to fetch the water, and raising it with his pail, off he set to pour it over his horses. But my dear honey he had not gone ten steps from the well, when the pail, as if it had no bottom, let out all the water; back he goes again, but no better was his bad luck, he might have been lifting the water until Lady Day and yet not one