"I know 'twas a Lepreghaun," concluded Paudrigg; "and mark me, boys, there's coin in the crags."--"Coin!" said Jasper Trevenny approaching; "coin in the crags yander? What dost prate about? Coin indeed! Why thee'd sooner find coin in a tin-shank." There was a lurking expression in the Cornish mariner's face which told the dillosker, that notwithstanding his sneering tone, he would willingly be convinced of the probability of discovering a treasure, even on the rough unpromising skirts of the glynn; and Dooley, who was unaccustomed to the pleasure of being attentively listened to, immediately entered into an elaborate detail of all the old proverbs and pithy rhymes current on the subject. Jasper continued to sneer, and interrupted the dillosker from time to time by exclaiming, "Oh! thee'rt mazed, mun, clean gone, a fool, mazed as a wether." Nevertheless he moved with huge strides towards the creak. Christy in vain attempted to restrain his countryman's injudicious exposure of the gold grave "to a Sassenach, who, by the look of him, would just murther a worm for the sake of his hide and fat. It was a sin in the face of the country-so it was-to let a stranger share in the rich produce of the soil; meat and drink all were welcome to, but a Lepreghaun's gold none ought to touch but a Milesian."

The creek was forded with little difficulty, and, on reaching the crags, the party took different paths, and earnestly sought out the treasure grave. Paudrigg thought that the rocks were prodigiously multiplied, and the sand (which appeared to have been recently disturbed in different places) he asserted was dug up by the wary Lepreghaun and his manifold fellow sprites, for the purpose of bothering them. Christy said nothing; but, observing the Cornishman preparing to seek round the little rock, which he felt assured had been the goblin's temporary resting-place, the passionate youth violently wrested a small hatchet from the belt of Paudrigg, and proceeded to cut up the hard gravel and sand with such energy, as to attract the undivided attention of his anxious companions. In a few moments his edge sunk deep in the side of a coffer, which lay buried in a cavity at the root of the crag; a few vigorous blows shattered the oak, which verily proved to be a gold-coffin.

All was mute. Trevenny was the first who broke the long silence, by unconsciously uttering a short prayer, as Christy with a trembling hand dragged forth a large heavy untanned bull's-hide bag, from which the eloquent voice of gold emanated at every jerk.

They soon regained the dillosk-hut; and no sooner had Scanlon thrown his precious load upon the board, than Trevenny attempted to sever the thongs which bound its mouth. His knife was keen, but the tough hide altogether defied its edge; and the irritated Cornishman growled forth a tremendous oath, as he suddenly drew his blade athwart the bellying side of the gorged bag. A flood of tarnished silver and gold, mingled with precious stones, (some of which were naked, and others richly encased) streamed from the gash. Jasper gazed in ecstasy upon the glorious spectacle for a moment. He then thrust a handful of the coins into his bosom, and bathed his rough face in the mass. "I never was so freighted in my life," said he, appearing to be totally unconscious of the dillosk-gatherers presence." Mine, all mine-right Jacobuses, and true gold too, by Saint Joes." He next proceeded to

replenish the bag; but Christy and his companions, who had hitherto stood motionless, although by no means indifferent spectators of the scene, suddenly rushed forward with one accord, and laid hands upon the treasure. "Ah! what!" roared Trevenny, “ Hands off, you devils! Pouch paws, I say, by blood else you'll rue it. An' poison me but I'll scat the first he that meddles wi' a dollar dead upo' the planchin." At that moment the door of the dillosk-hut began to tremble upon its hinges, and opening slowly to its full extent, at length revealed a stunted, gaunt-looking, yellow-visaged figure, tottering athwart the threshold. It was the Lepreghaun!

66

All eyes were at once fixed upon the goblin, who advanced slowly towards the board, and laid his brown palm upon the naked arm of Trevenny. "What! flesh and blood after all?" cried Jasper, as the Lepreghaun touched him. "Why mun, I counted 'pon seeing a pixy at least, instead o' thou, my dainty bait-worm. What's come o' the Hollander porpoise we fished up in your wake, mun, eh?"-" We parted," replied the supposed gold-goblin, to the amazement of the dilloskers, we parted on the beach-may he be as successful in his quest as I have been in mine!"-"Quest! thine! What's thee prate about, 'oosbert?" asked Trevenny." This-ay-this is my gold," firmly replied the diminutive creature.--" Thine?" quoth Jasper, "thine? ha ha! why thee 'rt witless. It's a godsend, my chap, a fee, finder's chattels afloat."—"I buried it," resumed the supposed sprite, "beneath the glynn crags, seaman, on the day when, in the extravagance of my affection, I endowed an unworthy nephew with the bulk of my possessions, and demeaned myself to sit as a guest at the board where I might rightfully have presided as lord of the feast. I was soon punished for my folly, cruelly punished by the misdeeds of him in whom I had placed my hopes. The allurements of the harlot, the wine-cup, and the gamester, were too mighty for his youth. The old gold flowed in streams from the fountain-coffers of his ancestors; his broad lands passed away from his possession, and the plough of the stranger furrowed his hearth. Shame for his guilt at length drove him from the land of his fathers, to wander an outcast upon the face of the earth. What had I to do in Erin then? I left the land in madness, and heeded not my buried gold. I return a pauper, bitterly sensible of its value in all parts of the world, and solemnly claim my own. It is equally valuable to me now with the very blood of life."-" Come, thee'st a good running tackle," said Jasper; "the coin o' thy tongue's mint may pass current enough wi' clods, but it melts not Trevenny. Harkye, chap, so I suppose thee wast coming for thy gold across the seas?"" In the frail vessel which you ran down last night in the roads. Wearily have I sought for my coffer since you put me on shore."-"Sure!" quoth the Cornishman. "And pray who bees the rogue of a nevey thee tell'st about."—" His name," was the reply, "is well known here-Morty Quann." The Cornishman staggered"Quann! Morty Quann!" shouted he, "Blood, Sarrah, how so? Quann, say'st thee? Here's a land-shark, my cousins. He wants to berogue us wi' lies and what not. Let un swim, shall he? Let un float in a sieve, or a torn podger, shall he? We mustn't be gallied out o' the gold so, brethren. This is the little nestle-tripe we hoisted out o the brine to-night, cronies."-" We!" said the other petulantly; "say

not we, fellow. To your chief I owe my life;-but for you—I might have perished before you would have thrust out a straw to aid me in my mortal strife." "What, Sarrah!" cried Trevenny, his brow assuming a deeper red; "this to Trevenny of Lostwithiel?-Jasper Trevenny that was hunted from home for his milkiness in the matter o' float-flesh? Stand aback, cousins-stand aback—I'll pitch un half way to Penzance at a jerk." As he spoke, the passionate Jasper moved round the board towards the old man, who, terrified at his threats, hastily retreated to the vacant Brehon throne, and, leaping upon it, loudly called upon the dillosk-gatherers for protection. "Save me, my sons," said he, " save me from the knife of the robber. Visit not the sins of my nephew upon me;-forget, if you can, that your patriarch's grandchild was a victim to his guiles. Give me a weapon at least! Does no one stand out? Are ye Irishers? Is there not one of my old faction-not a single O'Dwyer among ye?"-" My mother was one, Sir Morough; for him I take you to be," shouted the tempestuous Christy Scanlon," and by her death-blessing I'll be with you to the last of my life. Hear that now, and come on, all of ye." The dilloskers stood irresolute. The sight of the gold and jewels; the sudden appearance of old Morough, whom they at first feared as a Lepreghaun; and the daring manner of Trevenny, had completely overpowered them. For a moment their passions were stagnant, and Jasper was just about to grapple with Christy, when a pale girl, on whose handsome features present joy appeared to be struggling with the memory of by-gone grief, followed by a tall figure, in the ruddy prime of manhood, glided like a spirit into the hut.

A glance from the manly stranger instantly subdued the sturdy Cornishman, and the pale young beauty having taken down the wren-bush from the low roof, and placed it on the floor in front of Christy, began to chant one of the verses which are still used by the merry wren-boys when they "sound for collection along."

"On Saint Stephen's day, the little king bird
In his green holly bower is always heard,

Claiming homage and gift from maids and men :-
Heart-cankered be they who frown on the Wren!"

The

This fearful malediction from the honoured grandchild of the old beach king, poor Onagh, the spendthrift's victim, effectually smoothed the knotted brow of Christy. Meantime Trevenny endeavoured to palliate his guilt, by stating the cause of the uproar. "At last," concluded he, "my little hero said without a stammer, but outright and full as I speak it, that you, even you, Morty Quann, was the roguish nevey he'd been prating about. That was too much, Captain, I couldn't pouch it, to say nought of his beslavering me :-so you see-" Cornishman's speech was here cut short by an exclamation of joy from the old man, as he staggered into the arms of Morty-for Morty himself the stranger was-" My preserver! my kind-hearted, brave, forgiven boy," said Morough, "do I indeed owe my life to thee? thee, Morty-bless thee-bless thee!""Procure "Procure my pardon from Fergus Consadine, uncle," said Quann, bowing to the revered Brehon king, who had just re-appeared, "and let Önagh share your blessing as my bride. I shall then be as happy-" "Thy bride, Morty!" interrupted Morough." We have plighted troth together

Bless

this night upon the beach," replied Quann. ""Twas little she thought I stood breathless at her side, listening to the song she sang, while she stood by the sea's edge, pondering so deeply (upon me perhaps too) that the white foam glimmered upon her brow unheeded. Her words would have won a harder heart than I can boast of, with all my guilt. You shall hear them, uncle. Do you listen also, king Fergus, and prepare both of ye to give my Onagh joy of her reclaimed and penitent spendthrift as the last word melts away on her lips." The moment was critical, and the bashful Onagh instantly placed her hands in those of Morty, and chanted with a faltering voice the following simple rhymes.

"I smile by day, for the old man's sake,
Although my heart 's at sea,-

With the flowers all night I weep and wake,
They seem to pity me.

My kinsmen say, he was virtue's foe,

And ruder than the sea;

But what care 1, when well I know,

He once was kind to me?"

Old Fergus listened with tears in his eyes to young Onagh's song, and joined Morough O'Dwyer in a hearty benison on the heads of the happy plighted ones. The hut then became a scene of joyous uproar. The rude dilloskers pressed around Morty, and loudly welcomed him to his home again. Onagh sat silent and happy, reposing on the bosom of Fergus beneath the wren-bush, while old Sir Morough distributed largesse from his treasure-bag among the beach-boys. Even Trevenny was not forgotten by the kind forgiving old man, notwithstanding he had just aggravated his precedent delinquency, by churlishly observing that "Fortune, in throwing Sir Morough on his native shore, and putting gold in his palm again in his extreme old age, had played the part of the fickle fishwife, who, in a fit of humanity, pitched the mackerel into his natural element, after she had gutted and pickled him." The Cornishman was, however, summoned to approach the board and take his allotted portion of the treasure; but he declined accepting the proffered gift, and turned towards the youth with whom he had entered the hut, a mischievous half-lunatic elf, the eternal cause of sorrow and anger to Trevenny, who patiently endured his manifold misdeeds; "seeing," said he," that the cursed 'oosbert lost his wits by a blow from my old father's tough staff that was properly levelled at my own head; and if I won't stand by the imp, and bear wi' his folly, who on the wide seas would, I wonder?" The youth was occupied in draining a vessel of meadh, and Jasper urged him to prolong his draught, by roaring this old Cornish drinking-catch in his ear, with all the mirth and carelessness of one in whose presence nothing extraordinary had lately occurred.

"Drain the jug, drouthily,

Tipple boy, tipple boy:

Lay to it mouthily,

Swigging boy, swigging boy;

Warm it now nosily,

Rosy boy, rosy boy,

And be not outfaced by brown ale."

A.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF FASHION.

Ir will, perchance, set some of my readers in a puzzle to discover what connexion can exist between fashion and philosophy, especially those who are apt to confound terms, and imagine that philosophy can only be applied in the vulgar sense. That so profound a word should be used to designate any of the follies of society, may appear a little anomalous. Most have heard of the fashionable philosophy of modern times, which, after all, is a complete misnomer, if philosophy be to be used but in one sense. Carp not, gentlemen, at terms; two and two do not always make four, in spite of Cocker-at least, if political economists know any thing at all, and many a seeming contradiction may be resolved into a consistent whole. "Old improbabilities," says a late writer," are become modern probabilities," and the philosophy of fashion may be comprehended in an analysis of the prominent characteristics of a numerous sect of the community :-marry! proceed we then analytically.

To catch"the Cynthia of the minute,"-to depict the ever-shifting Proteus universally worshipped by the most ardent of votaries, to define with fidelity its multiform transmutations, and the flickering hues that sparkle around the idol, coming and going like the ebb and flow of the ocean, would be a vain task for pen and pencil united. Some painters complete a picture by only delineating the striking parts in a bold manner, and flinging into undefined shadow those to which their art is unequal-thus by bold and prominent outlines the original is easily recognised. This must be our stratagem, we must hit off a sketchy draught, and leave the filling up to imagination, that best of finishers. Custom, then, is styled "the law of fools," and fashion may be truly denominated their religion. Custom must approve of fashion, in the same way as my Lord Chief Justice of the Court of King's Bench tells the world that the law must approve of the religion of the state. Nothing but what is so approved can be tolerated, and as unlucky disenters in opinion, from what statutes make religion, are not allowed to propagate their opinions, fashion, unless tolerated by custom, is put beyond the pale of adoption, made liable to pains and penalties, and finally driven into obscurity. Thus the heretical attempts made by presumptuous individuals of the supreme bon ton to launch a mode have been many; but in spite of every effort, if custom have withheld her patronage, it has perished in neglect. I recollect when Lady Arcot, just arrived from India, with all the notoriety of wealth and the sanguine hope of a fashionable of the first water, endeavoured to introduce palanquins for visiting or shopping in a London summer, by no means a bad scheme; many stood and admired her equipage, but the thing would not take. On the other hand, a noble lord, a few years ago, cut off the skirts of his coat, and, outré as he appeared, the fashion was universally adopted; the rage for shorn garments spread like a pestilence, and did not cease until another fashion, perhaps equally extravagant, "pushed it from its stool." Fashion has numerous attendants in her temple