Sure it would have been all over with Keth Mac Maragh if, suddenly, there had not appeared before him a vision of Patrick, fearless in his great faith, casting down Cromm Cruach in the very prisince of King Laeghaire an’ the most powerful of the Druid wizards. The vision gave him strength to raise his voice to the glory of God an’ defiance of the divil, so that he no longer quaked with paralizin’ fear of the phantoms, an’ was near strugglin’ out of the bog. Thin it was that Lochru summoned Banba, queen of the Dedannan furies, an’ with her diabolical aid caused Keth to be set upon by sheevras, leprechauns an’ all manner of demoniac reptiles. All the bog about him was covered with thim, an’ all the air murmured and shrieked with the flapping of demon wings. Pookas came and sat upon his shoulders to priss him down into the mire, while the dread Badb, in the guise of a loathsome hag with the wings of a great bat, shut the air from his nostrils and clawed at his throat. Yet always, at what seemed the fatal momint, the voice of Keth, raised in praise of God an’ bowld defiance of the divil, so weakened the demoniac powers that old Lochru, raging in vain, saw the dawn approaching an’ his triumph unaccomplished. Indade, the triumph was Keth’s, for, by the blissin’ of heaven, he hild out. In fear of the blastin’ rays of the sun, all at wance his demon inemies disappeared with shrieks of baffled vengeance, an’ old Lochru with thim. An’ soon Keth, still praisin’ God an’ defyin’ the divil, was out of the bog an’ dryin’ himsilf in the sun. * * * * * Whin he was dry an’ somewhat risted an’ raycuperated after the long agonies of that night, he retraced his steps to the road where Lochru had beguiled him. Wan day an’ a night he spint at an inn for food an’ slape, while the maids claned the bog slime from his raimint, an’ thin proceeded on his way into the West. Not until he was out of Fermanagh an’ well into Roscommon did he come upon any clue to the whereabouts of Wurra-Wurra. ’Twas truly strange that the right direction should come from another shanachy—but a rale wan this time, none other than the great Dubthach Mac na Lugair, royal poet at the court of the King of Connaught.