Many of the tales in this book were told me by one Paddy Flynn, a little bright-eyed old man, who lived in a leaky and one-roomed in the village of Ballisodare, which is, he was wont to say, “the most gentle”—whereby he meant faery—“pla the whole of ty Sligo.” Others hold it, however, but sed to Drumcliff and Drumahair. The first time I saw him he was cooking mushrooms for himself; the ime he was asleep under a hedge, smiling in his sleep. He was indeed always cheerful, though I thought I could see in his eyes (swift as the eyes of a rabbit, when they peered out of their wrinkled holes) a melancholy which was well-nigh a portion of their joy; the visionary melancholy of purely instinctive natures and of all animals.
Ahere was mu his life to depress him, for iriple solitude of age, etricity, and deafness, he went about much pestered by children. It was for this very reason perhaps that he ever reended mirth and hopefulness. He was fond, for insta……（内容加载失败！）
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