the more visible in proportion to the feebleness of the light emitted by the fire.  It is only during certain states of the atmosphere that this is seen.  It is always considered as as prognostic of severe weather, and its appearance is termed as above.

“Then we’ll have rough weather,” said his father; “no doubt of that.”

“Don’t be afeard,” said Barney, laughing; “take my word for it, if there’s to be rough weather, and that some witch or wizard has broken bargain with the devil, the misthress has intherest to get it put off till the bonfire’s over.”

He then bade them good-by, and took his departure to fulfil his agreeable and welcome mission.  Indeed, he spent the greater portion of the day not only in going among the tenants in person, but in sending the purport of the said mission to be borne upon the four winds of heaven through every quarter of the barony; after which he proceeded to the little market-town of Rathfillan, where he secured the services of two fiddlers and two pipers.  This being accomplished, he returned home to his master’s, ripe and ready for both dinner and supper; for, as he had missed the former meal, he deemed it most judicious to kill, as he said, the two birds with one stone, by demolishing them both together.

CHAPTER V. The Bonfire—­The Prodigy.

Andy Davoren’s prognostic, so far as the appearance of the weather went, seemed, at a first glance, to be literally built on ashes.  A calm, mild, and glorious serenity lay upon the earth; the atmosphere was clear and golden; the light of the sun shot in broad, transparent beams across the wooded valleys, and poured its radiance upon the forest tops, which seemed empurpled with its rich and glowing tones.  All the usual signs of change! or rough weather were wanting.  Everything was quiet; and a general stillness was abroad, which, when a sound did occur, caused it to be heard at an unusual distance.  Not a breath of air stirred the trees, which stood as motionless as if they had been carved of marble.  Notwithstanding all these auspicious appearances, there were visible to a clear observer of nature some significant symptoms of a change.  The surfaces of pools and rivers were covered with large white bubbles, which are always considered as indications of coming rain.  The dung heaps, and the pools generally attached to them, emitted a fetid and offensive smell; and the pigs were seen to carry straw into their sties, or such rude covers as had been constructed for them.

In the meantime the dinner party in Lindsay’s were enjoying themselves in a spirit quite as genial as his hospitality.  It consisted of two or three country squires, a Captain Dowd—­seldom sober—­a pair of twin brothers, named Gumming, with a couple of half sirs—­a class of persons who bore the same relation to a gentleman that a salmon-trout does to a salmon.  The Protestant clergyman of the parish was there—­a jocund, rattling