the steep hills and rocky dills of Sligo and Donegal, sped the traveller, when on the morning of Friday, he entered the Cabin of the Old Hag, having then until but Tuesday evening to come back and get his son from the spells of the enchantress. When he entered, he saw no one except a little girl, about ten years old, sitting by the half-burned turf embers, roasting barrachans, (Barrachans are half-roasted potatoes and a particular relish with some Irish boys and girls.) The little girl was roasting her barrachans when the old man entered. he asked was the old woman. She did not know. When would she be home? Of that he was also uncertain—"She may not be for three days—she may not be for a fortnight." Had she any idea where she was to be found? No, her grandmother, as she called her, was not in the habit of telling her of her movements. Art More was stupefied by this information, and gave vent to his feelings by load bursts of lamentation. The little girl enquired the cause of his grief, and why the absence of her Grandmother occasioned him such disappointment. He, without answering her, was turning away to leave the cabin. When she more earnestly desired to know what was his business with her grandmother,—Without in the least expecting an assistance from her, he told her the cause of his journey. She listened attentively to his story, and at its conclusion, asked him a few questions about his son,—as how old was he, what was his appearance, was he the celebrated hurler of Munster; and being very satisfied on these particulars, said, if the old man would engage to give her his son in marriage when she came of age, she would go with him and endeavour to break the witchery of Queen Cliodhna;—but first she must eat her barrachans—
(to be continued.)
A 4th of July in America.
In the year of grace 1856, while still a mere boy, I became a resident of Boston,—the Capital of the old Puritan State of Massachusetts, and, in the fond estimation of its citizens, the Chiefest City in the United States, and consequently in the world. In their pride, Boston is termed by its inhabitants the "Athens of America," and by the rest of their countrymen, in their love of burlesque nomenclature, the "Hub of the Universe" and the "City of Nations;" the latter word signifying, in the Yankee vocabulary, articles of trade. The 4th of July (the anniversary of the declaration of American independence) was approaching; and impatiently I waited the tardy coming of this world-celebrated gala-day of the great American republic,—"the great and glorious Fourth," anticipating, from all I had heard respecting it, a rare treat. In order that I should be up early on the morning of Independence day, and not cheat my boyish eagerness of a moment’s sport, I retired to bed very early the evening before; and though my brain was worked up to fever heat at the thought of the morrow, Someone almost instantly asserted his sway, and I became oblivious of past, present and future. Suddenly I was aroused from sleep. Peals of thunder, as it were, rent the air. Forgetful of the occasion, the terrible thought flashed through my brain that the awful Day of Judgement had arrived. Another instant, the truth dawned upon my my mind; it was the birth-day of a nation,—the day of all others that forcibly reminds Americans of the time when their fathers, despite the immense odds they had to contend with, nobly dared to have the proudest sovereignty of the world, and, battling for their rights, compel it to acknowledge their independence; thus, by their exertions, raising them to the prominence they now hold amongst the nations of the earth. From the loud and rapid reports, I conceived that the military were called out, and, placed in every street and lane, were ushering in the glorious day with tremendous feux-de-joie. Venturing, at last, to get out of bed, I tremulously approached the window and looked cautiously out. The bells were chiming a joyous peal, and every now and the then the sky was illuminated by a sheet of flame. Evidently no military were engaged in firing as I had supposed; but in every direction, torpedoes, Roman candles, etc, were let off with deafening noise by demonstrative, sleepless citizens. As it was not long after midnight, and feeling sure that the fun wouldn’t be exhausted before day, I again sought my couch, and once more fell asleep—rising between to prepare for the day’s enjoyment. About six O’clock I sauntered forth; heaven was smiling on the day’s proceedings and the intense heat of the sun. Sole occupant of the clear blue sky, was tempered by a refreshing breeze. Attracted by the sound of marching
