A MORNING AT BALLYSHANNON. 369 



even dry up the glittering dew-drops that 

 hung on its shining leaves. 



" Pat crept to the charmed circle, and 

 cautiously raising his head, saw the tiny 

 and beautiful figures wheeling in their fairy 

 circles ; but all was still, and though the 

 light feet touched the dewy turf in precise 

 and accurate time, not a note of music could 

 be heard. * By the powers ! ' said Pat, * it's 

 not the pipes you'll be wanting, my beau- 

 ties, and me standing by.' 



u So, taking up his time from the dancers, 

 and suiting the character of his music to 

 their light and aerial movements, he glided 

 softly into a lively strain. And the more he 

 played and the quicker his fingers moved 

 over the pipes, the more joyously and light- 

 somely did the fairies skim their graceful 

 circles, and the brighter did the white thorn 

 glimmer in its soft and unearthly light — it 

 was like the light of millions of glow-worms. 

 There was no stopping, there was no resting. 

 ' Play up, Pat — play up ! ' continually whis- 

 pered a shrill and spirit-like voice at his 

 ear ; and the wind-bag swelled of itself under 

 his elbow, and his fingers refused to leave 

 the notes. 



B B 



