und two long clefts in the stone where it was, after burning
itself an opening downwards, nobody could tell how far. But a messenger
came in at noon and said that the Danes were so frightened when they
heard of the flail coming into Dublin that they got into their ships and
sailed away.

Well, I suppose before they were married Gilla got some man like Pat
Mara of Tomenine to larn him the "principles of politeness," fluxions,
gunnery, and fortifications, decimal fractions, practice, and the
rule-of-three direct, the way he'd be able to keep up a conversation
with the royal family. Whether he ever lost his time larning them
sciences, I'm not sure, but it's as sure as fate that his mother never
more saw any want till the end of her days.

PATRICK KENNEDY.

The Hill-man and the House-wife

It is well known that the good people cannot stand mean ways. Now, there
once lived a house-wife who had a sharp eye to her own good in this
world, and gave alms of what she had no use, for the good of her soul.

One day a hill-man knocked at her door. "Can you lend us a saucepan,
good mother?" said he. "There's a wedding in the hill, and all the pots
are in use." "Is he to have one?" asked the servant girl who opened the
door. "Ay, to be sure," said the house-wife.

But when the maid was taking a saucepan from the shelf, she pinched her
arm and whispered sharply, "Not that, you stupid; get the old one out of
the cupboard. It leaks, and the hill-men are so neat and such nimble
workers that they are sure to mend it before they send it home. So one
does a good turn to the good people and saves sixpence from the tinker."

The maid fetched the saucepan, which had been laid by till the tinker's
next visit, and gave it to the dwarf, who thanked her and went away.

The saucepan was soon returned neatly mended and ready for use. At
supper time the maid filled the pan with milk and set it on the fire for
the children's supper, but in a few minutes the milk was so burnt and
smoked that no one could touch it, and even the pigs would not drink the
wash into which it was thrown.

"Ah, you good-for-nothing slut!" cried the house-wife, as she this time
filled the pan herself. "You would ruin the richest, with your careless
ways; there's a whole quart of good milk spoilt at once." "And that's
twopence," cried a voice from the chimney, a queer whining voice like
some old body who was always grumbling over something.

The house-wife had