The better class of fairies are fond of human society and often act as guardians to those they love. In parts of Donegal and Galway they are believed to receive the souls of the dying and escort them to the gates of heaven, not, however, being allowed to enter with them. On this account, fairies love graves and graveyards, having often been seen walking to and fro among the grassy mounds. There are, indeed, some accounts of faction fights among the fairy bands at or shortly after a funeral, the question in dispute being whether the soul of the departed belonged to one or the other faction. [Illustration: Music: Fairy Dance] The amusements of the fairies consist of music, dancing, and ball-playing. In music their skill exceeds that of men, while their dancing is perfect, the only drawback being the fact that it blights the grass, "fairy-rings" of dead grass, apparently caused by a peculiar fungous growth, being common in Ireland. Although their musical instruments are few, the fairies use these few with wonderful skill. Near Colooney, in Sligo, there is a "knowlageable woman," whose grandmother’s aunt once witnessed a fairy ball, the music for which was furnished by an orchestra which the management had no doubt been at great pains and expense to secure and instruct. "It was the cutest sight alive. There was a place for thim to shtand on, an’ a wondherful big fiddle av the size ye cud slape in it, that was played be a monsthrous frog, an’ two little fiddles, that two kittens fiddled on, an’ two big drums, baten be cats, an’ two trumpets, played be fat pigs. All round the fairies were dancin’ like angels, the fireflies givin’ thim light to see by, an’ the moonbames shinin’ on the lake, for it was be the shore it was, an’ if ye don’t belave it, the glen’s still there, that they call the fairy glen to this blessed day." The fairies do much singing, seldom, however, save in chorus, and their songs were formerly more frequently heard than at present. Even now a belated peasant, who has been at a wake, or is coming home from a fair, in passing a rath will sometimes hear the soft strains of their voices in the distance, and will hurry away lest they discover his presence and be angry at the intrusion on their privacy. When in unusually good spirits they will sometimes admit a mortal to their revels, but if he speaks, the scene at once vanishes, he becomes insensible, and generally finds himself by the roadside the next morning, "wid that degray av pains in his arrums an’ legs an’ back, that if sixteen thousand divils were afther him, he cudn’t stir a toe to save the sowl av him, that’s phat the fairies do be pinchin’ an’ punchin’ him for comin’ on them an’ shpakin’ out loud."