play jig and reel without end, and Ollistrum's
March, and the Eagle's Whistle, and the Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of
every sort and kind. But he knew one far more surprising than the rest,
which had in it the power to set everything dead or alive dancing.

In what way he learned it is beyond my knowledge for he was mighty
cautious about telling how he came by so wonderful a tune. At the very
first note of that tune the shoes began shaking upon the feet of all how
heard it--old or young, it mattered not--just as if the shoes had the
ague; then the feet began going, going, going from under them, and at
last up and away with them, dancing like mad, whisking here, there, and
everywhere, like a straw in a storm--there was no halting while the
music lasted.

Not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a feast in the seven parishes round, was
counted worth the speaking of without 'blind Maurice and his pipes.'
His mother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another
just like a dog.

Down through Iveragh, Maurice Connor and his mother were taking their
rounds. Beyond all other places Iveragh is the place for stormy coasts
and steep mountains, as proper a spot it is as any in Ireland to get
yourself drowned, or your neck broken on the land, should you prefer
that. But, notwithstanding, in Ballinskellig Bay there is a neat bit of
ground, well fitted for diversion, and down from it, towards the water,
is a clean smooth piece of strand, the dead image of a calm summer's sea
on a moonlight night, with just the curl of the small waves upon it.

Here is was that Maurice's music had brought from all parts a great
gathering of the young men and the young women; for 'twas not every day
the strand of Trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bagpipe. The
dance began; and as pretty a dance it was as ever was danced. 'Brave
music,' said everybody, 'and well done,' when Maurice stopped.

'More power to your elbow, Maurice, and a fair wind in the bellows,'
cried Paddy Dorman, a hump-backed dancing master, who was there to keep
order. ''Tis a pity,' said he, 'if we'd let the piper run dry after such
music; 'twould be a disgrace to Iveragh, that didn't come on it since
the week of the three Sundays.' So, as well became him, for he was
always a decent man, says he, 'Did you drink, piper?'

'I will, sir,' said Maurice, answering the question on the safe side,
for you never yet knew piper or schoolmaster who refused his drink.

'What