hs,
Till to land they drew.
"Yeo-ho! Pull to!
Tiller-rope, thro' and thro'!"
And all's right anew.
"Now jump upon shore, ye queer little oddities.
(Eh, what is this?... Where are they, at all?
Where are they, and where are their tiny commodities?
Well, as I live!"....) He looks blank as a wall,
Poor ferryman! Round him and round him he gazes,
But only gets deeplier lost in the mazes
Of utter bewilderment. All, all are gone,
And he stands alone,
Like a statue of stone,
In a doldrum of wonder. He turns to steer,
And a tinkling laugh salutes his ear,
With other odd sounds: "Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Fol lol! zidzizzle! quee, quee! bah, bah!
Fizzigigiggidy! pshee! sha, sha!"
"O ye thieves, ye thieves, ye rascally thieves!"
The good man cries. He turns to his pitcher,
And there, alas, to his horror perceives
That the little folk's mode of making him richer
Has been to pay him with withered leaves!

JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN.

The King of the Black Desert

This story was told by one Laurence O'Flynn from near Swinford, in the
County Mayo, to my friend, the late F. O'Conor, of Athlone, from whom I
got it in Irish. It is the eleventh story in the "Sgeuluidhe Gaodhalach,"
and is here for the first time literally translated into English.

AN CHRAOIBHIN AOIBHINN.

When O'Conor was King over Ireland he was living in Rathcroghan, of
Connacht. He had one son, but he, when he grew up, was wild, and the
King could not control him, because he would have his own will in
everything.

One morning he went out--

His hound at his foot,
And his hawk on his hand,
And his fine black horse to bear him--

and he went forward, singing a verse of a song to himself, until he came
as far as a big bush that was growing on the brink of a glen. There was
a grey old man sitting at the foot of the bush, and he said, "King's
son, if you are able to play as well as you are able to sing songs, I
would like to play a game with you." The King's son thought that it was
a silly old man that was in it, and he alighted, threw bridle over
branch, and sat down by the side of the grey old man.

The old man drew out a pack of cards and asked, "Can you play these?"

"I can," said the King's son.

"What shall we play for?" said the grey old man.

"Anything you wish," says the King's son.

"All right; if I win you must do for me anything I shall ask of you, and
if you win I must do for you anything