hat did she die of?" said the Philosopher.

"My wife only put it that maybe she was dead, and that maybe she was
taken by the fairies, and that maybe she went away with the travelling
man that had the musical instrument. She said it was a concertina, but I
think myself it was a flute he had."

"Who was this traveller?"

"I never saw him," said Meehawl, "but one day I went a few perches up
the hill and I heard him playing--thin, squeaky music it was like you'd
be blowing out of a tin whistle. I looked about for him everywhere, but
not a bit of him could I see."

"Eh?" said the Philosopher.

"I looked about--" said Meehawl.

"I know," said the Philosopher. "Did you happen to look at your goats?"

"I couldn't well help doing that," said Meehawl.

"What were they doing?" said the Philosopher eagerly.

"They were bucking each other across the field, and standing on their
hind legs and cutting such capers that I laughed till I had a pain in my
stomach at the gait of them."

"This is very interesting," said the Philosopher.

"Do you tell me so?" said Meehawl.

"I do," said the Philosopher, "and for this reason-most of the races of
the world have at one time or another--"

"It's my little daughter, Caitilin, sir," said Meehawl.

"I'm attending to her," the Philosopher replied.

"I thank you kindly," returned Meehawl.

The Philosopher continued "Most of the races of the world have at one
time or another been visited by this deity, whose title is the 'Great
God Pan,' but there is no record of his ever having journeyed to
Ireland, and, certainly within historic times, he has not set foot on
these shores. He lived for a great number of years in Egypt, Persia,
and Greece, and although his empire is supposed to be world-wide, this
universal sway has always been, and always will be, contested; but
nevertheless, however sharply his empire may be curtailed, he will never
be without a kingdom wherein his exercise of sovereign rights will be
gladly and passionately acclaimed."

"Is he one of the old gods, sir?" said Meehawl.

"He is," replied the Philosopher, "and his coming intends no good
to this country. Have you any idea why he should have captured your
daughter?"

"Not an idea in the world."

"Is your daughter beautiful?"

"I couldn't tell you, because I never thought of looking at her that
way. But she is a good milker, and as strong as a man. She can lift a
bag of meal under her arm easier than I can; but