"I'm tired," said the man who was digging the grave; "here, take the spade," addressing the big man, "it's your turn." "Faix an' troth, it's no my turn," replied he, as before. "There's Pat Diver in the tree, why wouldn't he come down and tak' his turn?" Pat came down to take the spade, but just then the cocks in the little farmyards and cabins round the abbey began to crow, and the men looked at one another. "We must go," said they, "and well is it for you, Pat Diver, that the cocks crowed, for if they had not, you'd just ha' been bundled into that grave with the corpse." Two months passed, and Pat had wandered far and wide over the county Donegal, when he chanced to arrive at Raphoe during a fair. Among the crowd that filled the Diamond he came suddenly on the big man. "How are you, Pat Diver?" said he, bending down to look into the tinker's face. "You've the advantage of me, sir, for I havna' the pleasure of knowing you," faltered Pat. "Do you not know me, Pat?" Whisper--"When you go back to Innishowen, you'll have a story to tell!" THE POOKA. The Pooka, _rectè_ Púca, seems essentially an animal spirit. Some derive his name from _poc_, a he-goat; and speculative persons consider him the forefather of Shakespere's "Puck." On solitary mountains and among old ruins he lives, "grown monstrous with much solitude," and is of the race of the nightmare. "In the MS. story, called 'Mac-na-Michomhairle,' of uncertain authorship," writes me Mr. Douglas Hyde, "we read that 'out of a certain hill in Leinster, there used to emerge as far as his middle, a plump, sleek, terrible steed, and speak in human voice to each person about November-day, and he was accustomed to give intelligent and proper answers to such as consulted him concerning all that would befall them until the November of next year. And the people used to leave gifts and presents at the hill until the coming of Patrick and the holy clergy.' This tradition appears to be a cognate one with that of the Púca." Yes! unless it were merely an _augh-ishka [each-uisgé]_, or Waterhorse. For these, we are told, were common once, and used to come out of the water to gallop on the sands and in the fields, and people would often go between them and the marge and bridle them, and they would make the finest of horses if only you could keep them away from sight of the water; but if once they saw a glimpse of the water, they would plunge in with their rider, and tear him to pieces at the bottom. It being a November spirit, however, tells in favour of the Pooka, for November-day is sacred to the Pooka. It is hard to realise that wild, staring phantom grown sleek and civil. He has many shapes--is now a horse, now an ass, now a bull, now a goat, now an eagle. Like all spirits, he is only half in the world of form. THE PIPER AND THE PUCA. DOUGLAS HYDE. Translated literally from the Irish of the _Leabhar Sgeulaigheachta_.