then flew out into the sunshine, and up into the blue heaven, away! KATHLEEN OF KILLARNEY. Not many years ago there lived at Glena, the loveliest spot in all Killarney, a small farmer, by the name of Mickey, or Michael More, his wife, and one daughter. Though Mickey was a poor, hard-working man, he boasted that he was descended from a regular Irish chieftain, the great MacCarty-Mor, and held his head up accordingly. But his wife, Bridget O'Dogherty, that was--used sometimes to put him down a little, by boasting that her great ancestor of all, was "a mighty king, or monarch, that ruled over the biggest part of Ireland, shortly after the flood,--long before the MacCartys-Mor were ever heard of. Why man, it took all the lakes of Killarney to water his cattle--and the bog of Allen was only his potato-patch." In truth, Mrs. More was but a silly, ignorant woman, and her husband was not much better, though he thought himself infinitely more clever and sensible. In one thing, however, this couple were perfectly agreed: it was in thinking their daughter, Kathleen, the most beautiful and bewitching creature that the sun ever shone upon. They were so foolishly proud of her that they resolved and declared that no one short of a lord, or a rich baronet should ever marry her--that she should become "my lady" somebody, or remain Kathleen More, to the day of her death. They were strengthened in this resolution by a famous fortune-teller, who foretold that Kathleen would become a grand lady--live in a castle, ride in a coach, and have jewels and fine dresses, ponies, pages, parrots, and poodle-dogs to her heart's content. So they kept as keen a watch over her as though she had been a royal princess, whose marriage was a great affair of state. They would hardly allow her to speak to the young people of her own rank, but were always telling her to hold her head high, and remember that she was "a mate for their betters."