It is one of the great troubles of life that we ot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our ehat we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike. It is this enta of moods which makes us old, and puckers our brows and deepens the furrows about our eyes. If we could love and hate with as good heart as the faeries do, we might grow to be long-lived like them. But until that day their untiring joys and sorrows must ever be one-half of their fasation. Love with them never grows weary, nor the circles of the stars tire out their dang feet. The Donegal peasants remember this when they bend over the spade, or sit full of the heaviness of the fields beside the griddle at nightfall, and they tell stories about it that it may not be fotten. A short while ago, they say, two faeries, little creatures, one like a young man, one like a young woman, came to a farmer’s house, and spent the night sweeping the hearth aing all tidy. The nigh……（内容加载失败！）
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