The _Far Darrig (fear dearg)_, which means the Red Man, for he wears a red cap and coat, busies himself with practical joking, especially with gruesome joking. This he does, and nothing else. The _Fear-Gorta_ (Man of Hunger) is an emaciated phantom that goes through the land in famine time, begging an alms and bringing good luck to the giver. There are other solitary fairies, such as the House-spirit and the _Water-sheerie_, own brother to the English Jack-o'-Lantern; the _Pooka_ and the _Banshee_--concerning these presently; the _Dallahan_, or headless phantom--one used to stand in a Sligo street on dark nights till lately; the Black Dog, a form, perhaps, of the _Pooka_. The ships at the Sligo quays are haunted sometimes by this spirit, who announces his presence by a sound like the flinging of all "the tin porringers in the world" down into the hold. He even follows them to sea. _The Leanhaun Shee_ (fairy mistress), seeks the love of mortals. If they refuse, she must be their slave; if they consent, they are hers, and can only escape by finding another to take their place. The fairy lives on their life, and they waste away. Death is no escape from her. She is the Gaelic muse, for she gives inspiration to those she persecutes. The Gaelic poets die young, for she is restless, and will not let them remain long on earth--this malignant phantom. Besides these are divers monsters--the _Augh-iska_, the Waterhorse, the Payshtha (_píast = bestia_), the Lake-dragon, and such like; but whether these be animals, fairies, or spirits, I know not. THE LEPRACAUN; OR, FAIRY SHOEMAKER. WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. I. Little Cowboy, what have you heard, Up on the lonely rath's green mound? Only the plaintive yellow bird[11] Sighing in sultry fields around, Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!-- Only the grasshopper and the bee?-- "Tip tap, rip-rap, Tick-a-tack-too! Scarlet leather, sewn together, This will make a shoe. Left, right, pull it tight; Summer days are warm; Underground in winter, Laughing at the storm!" Lay your ear close to the hill. Do you not catch the tiny clamour, Busy click of an elfin hammer, Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill As he merrily plies his trade? He's a span And a quarter in height. Get him in sight, hold him tight, And you're a made Man! II.