"Bekaise," added Davoren, "if it came from the misthress, the sorrow
foot either I or any one of my family would set near her; but from
himself, that's a horse of another color. Tell him, Barney, we'll be
there, and bring what we can to help the bonfire."

Until this moment the young fellow at the fire never uttered a syllable,
nor seemed in the slightest degree conscious that there was any
person in the house but himself. He was now engaged in masticating the
potatoes, and eggs, the latter of which he ate with a thin splinter of
bog deal, which served as a substitute for an egg-spoon, and which is
to-this day used among the poor for the same purpose in the remoter
parts of Ireland. At length he spoke:

"This won't be a good night for a bonfire anyhow."

"Why, Andy, _abouchal?_" (my boy.)

"Bekaise, mudher, _the storm was in the fire_* last night when I was
rakin' it."

* This is a singular phenomenon, which, so far as I am
aware, has never yet been noticed by any Irish or Scotch
writers when describing the habits and usages of the people
in either country. When stirring the _greeshaugh_, or red-
hot ashes, at night at the settling, or mending, or Taking
of the fire, a blue, phosphoric-looking light is distinctly
visible in the embers, and 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,