eminence not to oblige him to quit Spain. "I am growing old, my lord," he said; "I quitted my house at Toledo only for your sake, and in hopes of raising my son to some place of honour and emolument in the church; I even gave up my favourite studies, except as far as they were of service to your eminence. My son"No more of that, if you please, Don Julian," interrupted the cardinal. "Follow me, you must; who can tell what may happen at Rome? The pope is old, you know. But do not tease me about preferment. A public man has duties of a description which those in the lower ranks of life cannot either weigh or comprehend. I confess I am under obligations to you, and feel quite disposed to reward your services; yet I must not have my creditors knocking every day at my door; you understand, Don Julian. In a week we set out for Rome.'

With such a strong tide of good fortune as had hitherto buoyed up Don Julian's pupil, the reader cannot be surprised to find him, in a short time, wearing the papal crown. He was now arrived at the highest place of honour on earth; but in the bustle of the election and subsequent coronation, the man to whose wonderful science he owed this rapid ascent had completely slipped off his memory. Fatigued with the exhibition of himself through the streets of Rome, which he had been obliged to make in a solemn procession, the new pope sat alone in one of the chambers of the Vatican. It was early in the night. By the light of two wax tapers which scarcely illuminated the farthest end of the grand saloon, his holiness was enjoying that reverie of mixed pain and pleasure which follows the complete attainment of ardent wishes, when Don Julian advanced in visible perturbation, conscious of the intrusion on which he ventured. "Holy father!" exclaimed the old man, and cast himself at his pupil's feet: "Holy father, in pity to these gray hairs do not consign an old servantmight I not say an old friend?-to utter neglect and forgetfulness. My son- "By St. Peter!" ejaculated his holiness, rising from the chair, "your insolence shall be checked-you my friend? A magician the friend of heaven's vicegerent! Away, wretched man! When I pretended to learn of thee, it was only to sound the abyss of crime into which thou hadst plunged; I did it with a view of bringing thee to condign punishment. Yet, in compassion to thy age, I will not make an example of thee, provided thou avoidest my eyes. thy crime and shame where thou canst. moment thou must quit the palace, or the next closes the gates of the Inquisition upon thee."

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Trembling, and his wrinkled face bedewed with tears, Don Julian begged to be allowed but one word more. "I am very poor, holy father," said he: "trusting in your patronage I relinquished my all, and have not left wherewith to pay my journey." "Away, I say," answered the pope; "if my excessive bounty has made you neglect your patrimony, I will no farther encourage your waste and improvidence. Poverty is but a slight punishment for your crimes.' "But, father," rejoined Don Julian, "my wants are instant; I am hungry: give me but a trifle to procure a supper to-night. To-morrow I shall beg my way out of Rome." "Heaven forbid," said the pope, "that I should be guilty of feeding the ally of the prince of darkness. Away, away from my presence, or I instantly call for the guard." 'Well, then,” replied Don Julian, rising from the ground, and looking on the pope with a boldness which began to throw his holiness into a paroxysm of rage, "if I am to starve at Rome, I had better return to the supper which I ordered at Toledo." Thus saying, he rang a gold bell which stood on a table next the pope. The door opened without delay, and the Moorish servant came in. The pope looked round, and found himself in the subterraneous study under the Tagus. "Desire the cook," said Don Julian to the maid, "to put but one partridge to roast; for I will not throw away the other on the Dean of Santiago."

From the Spanish.

THE TWO FOUNTAINS.

I saw, from yonder silent cave, Two fountains running side by side; The one was Memory's limpid wave, The other cold Oblivion's tide. "O love!" said I, in thoughtless dream, As o'er my lips the Lethe pass'd, "Here in this dark and chilly stream,

Be all my pains forgot at last."

But who could bear that gloomy blank, Where joy was lost as well as pain? Quickly of Memory's fount I drank,

And brought the past all back again; And said, "O Love! whate'er my lot, Still let this soul to thee be trueRather than bave one bliss forgot, Be all my pains remember'd too!"

THOMAS MOORE.

MASTER AND MAN.

Thomas Crofton Croker, born at Cork, 15th January, 1798; died at Brompton, London, 8th August, 1854. His Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, the first edition of which appeared in 1825, remains the

standard work on the fairy lore of the author's country. Sir Walter Scott, in his Demonology and in a note to Rob Roy, speaks of it in terms of the highest admiration. Mr. Croker's fame was established and main tained by this book, although he wrote and edited several other works, and was a frequent contributor to the Gentleman's and Fraser's Magazines. He was the author of the popular story of Daniel O'Rourke. interesting memoir written by his son, Mr. T. F. Dillon Croker, and prefaced to his gossiping Walk from L ndon to Fulham, it is mentioned that the tales of Barney Mahoney and My Village versus Our Village, which are usually attributed to Mr. Croker, were in reality

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very bottom without ever taking a second to it.

"Success," said the little man; "and you're heartily welcome, Billy; but don't think to cheat me as you have done others; out with your purse and pay me like a gentleman."

"Is it I pay you?" said Billy; "could I not just take you up and put you in my pocket as easily as a blackberry?"

"Billy Mac Daniel," said the little man, getting very angry, "you shall be my servant for seven years and a day, and that is the way I will be paid; so make ready to follow me."

Billy Mac Daniel was once as likely a young man as ever shook his brogue at a pattern, emptied a quart, or handled a shillelagh; fearing for nothing but the want of drink, caring for nothing but who should pay for it, and thinking of nothing but how to make fun over it. drunk or sober, a word and a blow was ever the way with Billy Mac Daniel; and a mighty easy way it is of either getting into or ending a dispute. More is the pity that, through the means of his thinking, and fearing, and caring for nothing, this same Billy Mac Daniel fell into bad company; for surely the good people (the fairies) are the worst of all company any one could come across.

It so happened that Billy was going home one very clear frosty night, not long after Christmas. The moon was round and bright: but although it was as fine a night as heart could wish for, he felt pinched with the cold. "By my word," chattered Billy, "a drop of good liquor would be no bad thing to keep a man's soul from freezing in him; and I wish I had a full measure of the best."

"Never wish it twice, Billy," said a little man in a three-cornered hat, bound all about with gold lace, and with great silver buckles in his shoes, so big that it was a wonder how he could carry them; and he held out a glass as big as himself, filled with as good liquor as ever eye looked on or lip tasted.

"Success, my little fellow," said Billy Mac Daniel, nothing daunted, though well he knew the little man to belong to the good people; "here's your health, any way, and thank you kindly, no matter who pays for the drink:" and he took the glass and drained it to the

VOL. I.

When morning began to dawn the little man turned round to him and said, "You may now go home, Billy, but on your peril don't fail to meet me in the Fort-field to-night; or if you do, it may be the worse for you in the longrun. If I find you a good servant, you will find me an indulgent master."

Home went Billy Mac Daniel; and though he was tired and wearied enough, never a wink of sleep could he get for thinking of the little man: and he was afraid not to do his bidding, so up he got in the evening, and away he went to the Fort-field. He was not long there before the little man came towards him and said, "Billy, I want to go a long journey to-night; so saddle one of my horses, and you may saddle another for yourself, as you are to go along with me, and may be tired after your walk last night.'

Billy thought this very considerate of his master, and thanked him accordingly. “But," said he, "if I may be so bold, sir, I would ask which is the way to your stable, for never a thing do I see but the Fort here, and the old tree in the corner of the field, and the stream running at the bottom of the hill, with the bit of bog over against us."

"Ask no questions, Billy," said the little man, "but go over to that bit of bog and bring me two of the strongest rushes you can find.'

Billy did accordingly, wondering what the little man would be at; and he picked out two of the stoutest rushes he could find, with a little bunch of brown blossom stuck at the side of each, and brought them back to his master.

"Get up, Billy," said the little man, taking one of the rushes from him, and striding across it.

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"Where shall I get up, please your honour?" said Billy.

"Why, upon horseback, like me, to be sure," said the little man.

"Is it after making a fool of me you'd be," said Billy, "bidding me get a-horseback upon that bit of a rush? May be you want to persuade me that the rush I pulled but a while ago out of the bog there is a horse."

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Up! up! and no words," said the little man, looking very angry, "the best horse you ever rode was but a fool to it." So Billy, thinking all this was in joke, and fearing to vex his master, straddled across the rush: "Borram! Borram! Borram!" cried the little man three times (which in English means to become great), and Billy did the same after him: presently the rushes swelled up into fine horses, and away they went full speed; but Billy, who had put the rush between his legs without much minding how he did it, found himself sitting on horseback the wrong way, which was rather awkward, with his face to the horse's tail; and so quickly had his steed started off with him, that he had no power to turn round, and there was therefore nothing for it but to hold on by the tail.

At last they came to their journey's end, and stopped at the gate of a fine house: "Now, Billy," said the little man, "do as you | see me do, and follow me close; but as you did not know your horse's head from his tail, mind that your own head does not spin round until you can't tell whether you are standing on it or on your heels."

The little man then said some queer kind of words, out of which Billy could make no meaning; but he contrived to say them after him for all that; and in they both went through the key-hole of the door, and through one keyhole after another, until they got into the wine cellar, which was well stored with all kinds of wine.

When they came back to the Fort-field, the little man dismissed Billy, bidding him to be there the next night at the same hour. Thus did they go on, night after night, shaping their course one night here, and another night there; sometimes north, and sometimes east, and sometimes south, until there was not a gentleman's wine-cellar in all Ireland they had not visited, and could tell the flavour of every wine in it as well—ay, better than the butler himself.

One night when Billy Mac Daniel met the little man as usual in the Fort-field, and was going to the bog to fetch the horses for their journey, his master said to him, "Billy, I shall want another horse to-night, for maybe we may bring back more company with us than we take." So Billy, who now knew better than to question any order given to him by his master, brought a third rush, much wondering who it might be that would travel back in their company, and whether he was about to have a fellow-servant. "If I have," thought Billy, "he shall go and fetch the horses from the bog every night; for I don't see why I am not, every inch of me, as good a gentleman as my master."

Well, away they went, Billy leading the third horse, and never stopped until they came to a snug farmer's house in the county of Limerick, close under the old castle of Carrigogunniel, that was built, they say, by the great Brian Boru. Within the house there was great carousing going forward, and the little man stopped outside for some time to listen; then turning round all of a sudden, said, “Billy, I will be a thousand years old to-morrow."

"God bless us! sir," said Billy, "will you?" "Don't say these words again," said the little man, "or you will be my ruin for ever. Now, Billy, as I will be a thousand years in the world to-morrow, I think it is full time for me to get married."

"I think so, too, without any kind of doubt at all," said Billy, "if ever you mean to marry."

"And to that purpose," said the little man, "have I come all the way to Carrigogunniel; for in this house, this very night, is young Darby Riley going to be married to Bridget Rooney; and as she is a tall and comely girl, and has come of decent people, I think of marrying her myself, and taking her off with me." "And what will Darby Riley say to that?" said Billy.

"Silence!" said the little man, putting on a mighty severe look, "I did not bring you here with me to ask questions;" and without holding further argument, he began saying the queer words which had the power of passing

him through the key-hole as free as air, and which Billy thought himself mighty clever to be able to say after him.

In they both went; and for the better viewing the company, the little man perched himself up as nimbly as a cock-sparrow upon one of the big beams which went across the house over all their heads, and Billy did the same upon another facing him; but not being much accustomed to roosting in such a place, his legs hung down as untidy as may be, and it was quite clear he had not taken pattern after the way in which the little man had bundled himself up together. If the little man had been a tailor all his life, he could not have sat more contentedly upon his haunches.

There they were, both master and man, looking down upon the fun that was going forward; and under them were the priest and piper-and the father of Darby Riley, with Darby's two brothers and his uncle's son-and there were both the father and the mother of Bridget Rooney, and proud enough the old couple were that night of their daughter, as good right they had-and her four sisters, with bran new ribbons in their caps, and her three brothers, all looking as clean and as clever as any three boys in Munster-and there were uncles and aunts, and gossips and cousins enough besides to make a full house of it-and plenty was there to eat and drink on the table for every one of them if they had been double the number.

Now it happened, just as Mrs. Rooney had helped his reverence to the first cut of the pig's head which was placed before her, beautifully bolstered up with white savoys, that the bride gave a sneeze which made every one at table start, but not a soul said, "God bless us!" All thinking that the priest would have done so, as he ought, if he had done his duty, no one wished to take the word out of his mouth, which, unfortunately, was pre-occupied with pig's head and greens. And after a moment's pause the fun and merriment of the bridal feast went on without the pious benediction.

Of this circumstance both Billy and his master were no inattentive spectators from their exalted stations. "Ha!" exclaimed the little man, throwing one leg from under him with a joyous flourish, and his eye twinkled with a strange light, whilst his eyebrows became elevated into the curvature of Gothic arches "Ha!" said he, leering down at the bride, and then up at Billy, "I have half of her now, surely. Let her sneeze but twice more, and she is mine, in spite of priest, mass-book, and Darby Riley."

Again the fair Bridget sneezed; but it was so gently, and she blushed so much, that few except the little man took, or seemed to take, any notice; and no one thought of saying, "God bless us!"

Billy all this time regarded the poor girl with a most rueful expression of countenance; for he could not help thinking what a terrible thing it was for a nice young girl of nineteen, with large blue eyes, transparent skin, dimpled cheeks, suffused with health and joy, to be obliged to marry an ugly little bit of a man, who was a thousand years old, barring a day.

At this critical moment the bride gave a third sneeze, and Billy roared out with all his might, "God bless us!" Whether this exclamation resulted from his soliloquy, or from the mere force of habit, he never could tell exactly himself; but no sooner was it uttered than the little man, his face glowing with rage and disappointment, sprung from the beam on which he perched himself, and shrieking out in the shrill voice of a cracked bagpipe, "I discharge you my service, Billy Mac Daniel

-take that for your wages," gave poor Billy a most furious kick in the back, which sent his unfortunate servant sprawling upon his face and hands right in the middle of the supper table.

If Billy was astonished, how much more so was every one of the company into which he was thrown with so little ceremony: but when they heard his story, Father Cooney laid down his knife and fork, and married the young couple out of hand with all speed; and Billy Mac Daniel danced the Rinka at their wedding, and plenty did he drink at it too, which was what he thought more of than dancing.

THE KNITTER. (From Servian Popular Poetry.) The maiden sat upon the hill, Upon the hill and far away, Her fingers wove a silken cord, And thus I heard the maiden say: "O, with what joy, what ready will, If some fond youth, some youth adored, Might wear thee, should I weave thee now! The finest gold I'd interblend, The richest pearls as white as snow. But if I knew, my silken friend, That an old man should wear thee, I The coarsest worsted would inweave, Thy finest silk for dog-grass leave, And all thy knots with nettles tie!"

BOWRING.