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ott, Sir Walter's young daughter-in-law, drew back, and declared that she was afraid to go. Everybody urged her and reasoned with her, but she could not be persuaded--she would not go--she would stay where she was. Sir Walter did not seem at all vexed with her, though he laughed at her childish fears, but insisted on staying with her; and as the boat pushed off, he sat down on the shore beside her, and plucked flowers for her hair, and tried his best to entertain her--the good, kind great man! When the laughter and songs of his merry friends came to him across the water, he would smile cheerily, and wave his hat to them, and never once said how sorry he was not to be with them. I have heard many noble things about Sir Walter Scott, but nothing that speaks better for his generous, tender heart, than this little anecdote. I should like to describe further this strange and charming place, but I fear I have no room for any more descriptions of scenery. I will now try to give you some idea of the fairy lore and superstitions of this part of Ireland. The fairies, or "good people," according to the belief of the peasants, are not confined to any locality; they are all over the country, wherever they can find pleasant, secluded nooks, flowers, and green grass. Their meeting-places are said to be the "Raths," which are singular artificial mounds, supposed to have been built by the Danes, away back in the heathen ages. Fairies have the reputation of being in general good-humored and kindly, though full of merry pranks and frolicsome tricks; yet the peasants are very careful not to offend them by intruding upon their haunts at night, or speaking disrespectfully of their little mightinesses--for they say, "they have tempers of their own, and not having a Christian _idication_, can't be blamed for not behaving in a Christian-like fashion--poor _craturs_." The _Phooka_ is said to be a half-wicked, half-mischievous spirit, who takes the form of many strange animals, but oftenest assumes that of a wild horse. His great object then, is to get a rider, and when he has persuaded a poor fellow to mount him, he never lets him off till he has treated him to a ride long and hard enough to last him his lifetime. Over bogs and moors, ditches and walls, across streams, up and down mountains, he gallops, leaps, and plunges, making the welkin ring with his horrible horse-laugh, and snorting fire from his nostrils. There is a funny s
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