It is a custom amongst the people, when throwing away water at night, to cry out in a loud voice, "Take care of the water;" or literally, from the Irish, "Away with yourself from the water"--for they say that the spirits of the dead last buried are then wandering about, and it would be dangerous if the water fell on them. One dark night a woman suddenly threw out a pail of boiling water without thinking of the warning words. Instantly a cry was heard, as of a person in pain, but no one was seen. However, the next night a black lamb entered the house, having the back all fresh scalded, and it lay down moaning by the hearth and died. Then they all knew that this was the spirit that had been scalded by the woman, and they carried the dead lamb out reverently, and buried it deep in the earth. Yet every night at the same hour it walked again into the house, and lay down, moaned, and died; and after this had happened many times, the priest was sent for, and finally, by the strength of his exorcism, the spirit of the dead was laid to rest; the black lamb appeared no more. Neither was the body of the dead lamb found in the grave when they searched for it, though it had been laid by their own hands deep in the earth, and covered with clay. [Footnote 18: _Ancient Legends of Ireland._] SONG OF THE GHOST. ALFRED PERCIVAL GRAVES. When all were dreaming But Pastheen Power, A light came streaming Beneath her bower: A heavy foot At her door delayed, A heavy hand On the latch was laid. "Now who dare venture, At this dark hour, Unbid to enter My maiden bower?" "Dear Pastheen, open The door to me, And your true lover You'll surely see." "My own true lover, So tall and brave, Lives exiled over The angry wave." "Your true love's body Lies on the bier, His faithful spirit Is with you here." "His look was cheerful, His voice was gay; Your speech is fearful, Your face is grey; And sad and sunken Your eye of blue, But Patrick, Patrick, Alas! 'tis you!" Ere dawn was breaking She heard below The two cocks shaking Their wings to crow. "Oh, hush you, hush you, Both red and grey, Or you will hurry My love away. "Oh, hush your crowing, Both grey and red, Or he'll be going To join the dead; Or, cease from calling His ghost to the mould, And I'll come crowning Your combs with gold." When all were dreaming But Pastheen Power, A light went streaming From out her bower; And on the morrow, When they awoke, They knew that sorrow Her heart had broke. THE RADIANT BOY. MRS. CROW.