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"
"Make your mind easy on that point," replied the conjurer; "you swore
never to put a ring on man, but you did not swear that a man would never
put a ring on you. Go home," he continued, "and if you be advised by me,
you will marry Charley Mulvany without loss of time."
A man rather advanced in years next came in, and taking his seat, wiped
his face and gave a deep groan.
"Well, my friend," said the conjurer, "in what way can I serve you?"
"God knows it's hard to tell that," he replied--"but I'm troubled."
"What troubles you?"
"It's a quare world, sir, altogether."
"There are many strange things in it certainly."
"That's truth, sir; but the saison's favorable, thank God, and there's
every prospect of a fine spring for puttin' down the crops."
"You are a farmer, then; but why should you feel troubled about what you
call a fine season for putting down the crops?"
The man moved uneasily upon his chair, and seemed at a loss how to
proceed; the conjurer looked at him, and waited for a little that he
might allow him sufficient time to disclose his difficulties.


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