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'Be the powers, it's Misther Pearson an' Miss Annie !' And here the ghost (sic) twirled its shovel-hat in the air, and turned a swift but most unclerical caper. Shure it's meself thought yerself was a ghost, Miss Annie, alannah! standin' there in yer white frock.'


'Jack, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!' exclaimed Annie indignantly. I'll tell papa, and he'll have you punished.'


"Troth an' he won't, Miss Annie, jewil! for yer papa is wan av the people that pays me fur bein' a ghost. Where wud yer sthrawberries an' yer flowers an' Misther Connolly's beauty-ful roses up there at the nursery be, av it wasn't that the chaps is afeard av the ghost? The few polis can't be everywhere at wanst, and nivir fear, they know all about it. So don't brathe a word, Miss Annie, alannah, or ye'll hindher a boy from airnin' an' honest penny.'

Annie, now at ease, recognised the ghost's attire to be a suit of clothes belonging to her father, who was a collector of curiosities, so that the undoubted identification of the Dean of St. Patrick by the graybeards of the district was a natural sequence of the apparition.

Since that evening Michael Kelly has himself actually seen the ghost. Many are the marvellous tales which he relates concerning it, proving them according to his own logic,' whilst Tom and Annie gravely listen. These two have a pleasant home of their own now, near Drumcondra, and when strolling along the banks of the Tolka-but in the broad daylight-they have more than once beheld Dean Swift's Ghost.'



The World speaks:

GOOD thou mayhap hast wrought us,

But we grow weary now the end is near,
And so think most about the ills you brought us:
Die, then, Old Year!

Back to life could we catch thee,

By stretching forth a hand to keep thee here, Thinkst thou that we should care from doom to snatch thee? No! die, Old Year!

Come, thou for whom we're waiting

Heir of the ages, child whose birth we cheer; Thou shalt find welcome thine arrival feting: Come, then, New Year!

Hark, how the glad bells greet thee,

Singing with silver tongues so sweet and clear! Behold how all our hearts go forth to meet thee! Welcome, New Year!

The New Year replies:

Heard I not tones upbraiding?

I saw a dim shape from your presence hurl'd; Ere long I too must fade as that is fading, Ungrateful World!

Think not to win a blessing

By selfish hopes in honey-speeches furl'd;
I go my way, and heed not your caresses,
O cold, hard World!

The Voice of the Old Year is heard:

Not within my bestowing

Were moments sunn'd with joy, or sorrow-pearl'd;
I lived with you-I loved you—I am going:
Farewell, false World.



J. A. Pasquier, del.

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