rate we may put him next to St. Columkill. Now, you see, when he was building the church of Ballynasaggart, it came to pass that there arose a great famine in the land, an' the saint found it hard to feed the workmen where there was no vittles. What to do, he knew not, an' by coorse he was at a sad amplush, no doubt of it. At length, says he, 'Boys, we're all hard set at present, an' widout food bedad we can't work; but if you observe my directions, we'll conthrive to have a bit o' mate in the mean time, an' among ourselves, it was seldom more wanted, for, to tell you the thruth, I never thought my back an' belly would become so well acquainted. For the last three days they haven't been asunder, an' I find they are perfectly willing to part as soon as possible, an' would be glad of any thing that 'ud put betune them.'

"Now, the fact was, that, for drawin' timber an' stones, an' all the necessary matayrials for the church, they had but one bullock, an' him St. Keeran resolved to kill in the evenin', an' to give them a fog meal of him. He accordingly slaughtered him with his own hands, 'but,' said he to the workmen, 'mind what I say, boys; if any one of you breaks a single bone, even the smallest, or injures the hide in the laste, you'll destroy all; an' my sowl to glory but it'll be worse for you besides.'

"He then took all the flesh off the bones, but not till he had boiled them, of coorse; afther which he sewed them up again in the skin, an' put them in the shed, wid a good wisp o' straw before them; an' glory be to God, what do you think, but the next mornin' the bullock was alive, an' in as good condition as ever he was in during his life! Betther fed workmen you could't see, an', bedad, the saint himself got so fat an' rosy that you'd scarcely know him to be the same man afther it. Now, this went on for some time: whenever they wanted mate, the bullock was killed, an' the bones an' skin kept safe as before. At last it happened that a long-sided fellow among them named M'Mahon, not satisfied wid his allowance of the

mate, took a fancy to have a lick at the marrow, an' accordingly, in spite of all the saint said, he broke one of the legs an' sucked the marrow out of it. But behold you!-the next day when they went to yoke the bullock, they found that he was useless, for the leg was broken an' he couldn't work. This, to be sure, was a sad misfortune to them all, but it couldn't be helped, an' they had to wait till betther times came; for the truth is, that afther the marrow is broken, no power of man could make the leg as it was before until the cure is brought about by time. However, the saint was very much vexed, an' good right he had. Now, M'Mahon,' says he to the guilty man, 'I ordher it, an' prophesy that the church we're building will never fall till it falls upon the head of some one of your ́name, if it was to stand a thousand years. Mark my words, for they must come to pass.'

"An' sure enough you know as well as I do that it's all down long ago, wid the exception of a piece of the wall, that's not standin' but hangin', widout any visible support in life, an' only propped up by the prophecy. It can't fall till a M'Mahon comes undher it; but although there's plenty of the name in the neighbourhood, ten o' the strongest horses in the kingdom wouldn't drag one of them widin half a mile of it. There, now, is the prophecy that belongs to the hangin' wall of Ballynasaggart church."

"But, Barney, didn't you say somethin' about the winged woman that flewn to the wildherness ?"

"I did; that's a deep point, an' it's few that undherstands it. The baste wid seven heads an' ten horns is to come; an' when he was to make his appearance, it was said to be time for them that might be alive then to go to their padareens."

"What does the seven heads and ten horns mane, Barney ?"

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Why, you see, as I am informed from good authority, the baste has come, an' it's clear from the ten horns that he could be no other than Harry the Eighth, who was married to five

wives, an' by all accounts they strengthened an' ornamented him sore against his will. Now, set in case that each o' them -five times two is ten-hut! the thing's as clear as crystal. But I'll prove it betther. You see the woman wid the two wings is the church, an' she flew into the wildherness at the very time Harry the Eighth wid his ten horns on him was in his greatest power."

"Bedad that's puttin' the explanations to it in great style." "But the woman wid the wings is only to be in the wildherness for a time, times, an' half a time, that's exactly three hundred an' fifty years, an' afther that there's to be no more Prodestans."

"Faith that's great!"

"Sure Columkill prophesied that until HE MEIAM should come, the church would be in no danger, but that afther that she must be undher a cloud for a time, times, an' half a time, jist in the same way."

"Well, but how do you explain that, Barney?"

"An' St. Bridget prophesied that when D O C is uppermost, the church will be hard set in Ireland. But, indeed, there's no end to the prophecies that there is concerning Ireland an' the church. However, neighbours, do you know that I feel the heat o' the fire has made me rather drowsy, an' if you have no objection, I'll take a bit of a nap. There's great things near us, any how. An' talkin' about D O C brings to my mind another ould prophecy, made up, they say, betune Columkill and St. Bridget; an' it is this, that the triumph of the counthry will never be at hand till the DOC flourishes in Ireland."

Such were the speculations upon which the harmless mind of Barney M'Haigney ever dwelt. From house to house, from parish to parish, and from province to province, did he thus trudge, never in a hurry, but always steady and constant in his motions. He might be not inaptly termed the Old

Mortality of traditionary prophecy, which he often chiselled a-new, added to, and improved, in a manner that generally gratified himself and his hearers. He was a harmless, kind man, and never known to stand in need of either clothes or money. He paid little attention to the silent business of on-going life, and was consequently very nearly an abstraction. He was always on the alert, however, for the result of a battle; and after having heard it, he would give no opinion whatsoever until he had first silently compared it with his own private theory in prophecy. If it agreed with this, he immediately published it in connexion with his established text; but if it did not, he never opened his lips on the subject.

His class has nearly disappeared, and indeed it is so much the better, for the minds of the people were thus filled with antiquated nonsense that did them no good. Poor Barney, to his great mortification, lived to see with his own eyes the failure of his most favourite prophecies, but he was not to be disheartened even by this; though some might fail, all could not; and his stock was too varied and extensive not to furnish him with a sufficient number of others over which to cherish his imagination, and expatiate during the remainder of his inoffensive life.

MOLL ROE'S MARRIAGE;

OR,

THE PUDDING BEWITCHED.

It is utterly impossible for any one but an Irishman fully to comprehend the extravagance to which the spirit of Irish humour is often carried, and that even in circumstances which one would suppose it ought least to be expected. In other countries the house of death is in reality the house of mourning, and so indeed it is also in Ireland, where domestic grief is felt with a power that reaches to the uttermost depths of the heart. But then in Ireland this very fullness of sorrow, unlike that which is manifested elsewhere, is accompanied by so many incongruous associations, apparently incompatible with, or rather altogether opposed to, the idea of affliction, that strangers, when assured of such an anomalous admixture of feelings, can scarcely bring themselves to believe in their existence. I have said that in Ireland the house of death is without doubt the house of mourning; but I must not conceal the additional fact, that it is also, in consequence of the calamity which has occurred, the house of fun; and of fun, too, so broad, grotesque, and extravagant, that in no other condition of society, even in Ireland, is there anything to be found like it. This no doubt, may appear a rather startling assertion, but it is quite true.

And now many of my sagacious readers will at once set about accounting for such a singular combination of mad mirth and profound sorrow. Let them, however, spare their meta