“Then where’s your harp?” said Mick, “and what’s that ugly outlandish thing you’ve got under your arm?”
“Oh! it’s my fiddle,” said the little man, “and you shall bear me play it, presently.”
And now Mick saw hundreds of little spirits ascending the mountain; some of them carrying glow-worms in their hands for torches; some dressed in white, some in green, and some in brown. But all the females were in white, and on they came, dancing and singing; but so lightly did they trip, that not a drop of dew was seen to be displaced by their weight; and every one saluted Mick with a “good night to ye, Mick Mallow,” and to every one he made a suitable reply, marvelling how so many well dressed spirits should know him so well; and he was, to say the truth, greatly frightened and astonished at his new acquaintance.
At length the little man, who had invited him to remain where he was, drew his bow thrice across the strings of his instrument and produced such exquisite tones, that Mick opened his eyes still wider, and pricked up his ears with delight. This multitude of spirits had now ranged themselves in fantastic groups, forming altogether a spacious circle round the stone upon which their musician stood, who then waved his fiddle stick, and striking three chords on the fiddle, away they went dancing round and round, slowly at first, and Mick thought Peg Willis, the drover’s daughter, couldn’t hold a candle to any one of them, though she was generally considered the best dancer at any festival for many miles round. Now Mick was fond of a dance himself, and could hardly forbear joining them; but his fears prevented him, for he thought that dancing on a mountain at night, to perhaps the devil’s fiddle, was not the likeliest way to get to heaven. But, when the dance became more spirited, he felt his heels knocking together, and he snapped his fingers and joined in the air with his voice.
“Well done, well done,” cried the little man who played, “come and join in the dance Mick, I’ll warrant you never saw such dancing at any wedding, as you see here!”
“Never! never! never!” cried Mick, and all the company laughed softly, and danced faster and faster.
“Come and join us,” cried they; and Mick rubbed his head, while his heels kept time; at length, he was so delighted by the motions of a fairy, who threw her bright glances at him now and then, that with an irresistable desperation he called out for them to stop, till he got into the centre of them, which he had no sooner done than he roared out, “Now, you old devil, play up Brimstone and Water!”
No sooner had he uttered these words, than the figure of the little man underwent a change! The yellow cap vanished from his head, and a pair of goat’s horns, branched out from his head; his face turned black as soot, his leafy coat, heather-bloom waistcoat and moss breeches, with shining stockings, vanished, and left a black body with a long tail! while his beetle-wing shoes disappeared as suddenly and left nothing but the cloven feet. Mick’s heart was heavy, but his heels were light; horror was in his breast, but mirth was in every motion. The fays assumed a variety of forms, some like goats, others like crows; some changed to beetles and others to batts! all the varieties of flesh and fowl seemed to be the grand movers of the revel, from the moment he entered the enchanted circle. The dance, at length, became so furious that he could not perceive the forms of the dancers distinctly. The rapidity with which they flew round and round made them resemble a wheel of fire at a white heat. Still he danced on, although he would very willingly have stopped, but his legs capered in spite of his will, while old Nick, in the centre, continued to play with unceasing vigour and seemingly much diverted with the entertainment.
Mick’s master, an honest early-rising man, roamed up the mountain, at break of day, to view his sheep and goats, which he saw quietly browsing in various parts, but, on nearing this spot, you may imagine his astonishment, when he beheld his shepherd dancing in that most extraordinary manner; leaping, twisting and turning in every direction; for some time, he stood mute with astonishment. At length, he drew near, and no sooner did Mick perceive his master, than he roared out. “Stop me! stop me! oh master, stop me!” upon which the master came close up to him, and was knocked down by an extra fling of Mick’s leg, as he roared still louder, “Stop me, master, stop me!”
Having recovered his feet, the old man stared quite bewildered and exclaimed, “Why, what in the name of the Virgin!—”