Well hullo!

Sure an' 'tis meself agin, Seamus McTeaugue O'Flaherty, leprechaun, County Kerry born an' late o' that jewel o' the seas, second only to the Blessed Isles themselves, Ireland so-called and Erin by name. An' ye'll wonder not at my patriotic effusions, seein' as the loudest praises o' the Ould Sod were ever sung by the diaspora.

An' we'll be needin' no further introductions, for sure we've had much communication previous, though never face to face -- an' I'll thank ye not to take that amiss, for 'tis well known we appear only to those o' the Irish blood, an' that commonly only after they've imbibed deeply o' the uisgebaugh. But ah, could ye have seen me stretchin' me arms acrost your keyboard like the manuals of a great cathedral organ, or belike dancin' a jig upon the keys when me arms grew tired, 'twould have brought sich a smile to your face as it has not known o' late.

Which brings me to the purpose of me visit, which is consolation: for aye, the news o' your loss has spread even to the Little People, for we honor ye as one of the few who will let us speak our own peace in our own way. Sure an't should be but common courtesy to allow a soul a few short words, tho' I whist our kinds entertain differin' notions concernin' brevity, but for all that we've had an eye upon ye, if ye will, an' knew o' your loss almost as it happened. But I tarried, for I had yet one more piece o' bad news for ye, an' I waited till ye were strong enough to bear it. An' the long an' short of it is this: your friend the cockroach is dead.

Now this was the way of it: ye know of course that he'd set his cap, or turban or whatever it was he wore, for the little silverfish, an' if he spoke much o' her to you, 'twas not the third o' what he said to me. So it came upon a day that she returned to her dwellin', an' opened the door for him, an' I looked for an' found them some days later, dead an' -- how shall I say this delicately? -- still conj'ined. Aye, and just so we buried them, for even in death they could not be separated. Some loves, it seems, were not meant to be, an' hearts an' bodies join each by their separate rules.

Abundant strange it is, that that which we run to is ever that which does us in, but sich is this world. An' I could think the little heathen died with a smile upon his lips, but of course he had no lips atall an' as fer smilin' with what he did have, why, 'tis not to be thought of.

Yet I can find it in me heart to envy him, an' you too, sir, beggin' your pardon, for ye know where your wife is, an' ye'll be j'inin' her, not that I'd even say anything to hasten the journey, ye understand, in what for a leprechaun is an ungodly short time.

Now ye'll have noticed that in all representations o' us leprechauns, leastwise those seekin' to portray us approximately as we are, that we come forth as plump and bearded little men. An' so in truth we be: but once, long ago upon a time, there were lady leprechauns, our wives, an' though they had not the beauty nor aye the lustiness o' your human females, yet more affectionate an' long-sufferin' helpmeets could not be imagined, nay, not even by one whose imagination soared like a great ship upon the Water o' Life; fer that, an' ye knew it not, is the meanin' o' uisgebaugh in your Sassenach tongue.

Now the way we lost 'em was this: as I say, long long ago, when King Brian Boru's grandsire himself was but a gleam in his father's eye, when within the memory o' livin' men great Julius Caesar touched foot upon the shore o' Britain, found the local girls not to his liking, an' gave orders to come home -- then, in that time, was called a great meetin' an' conference an' congregation an' palaver o' all us leprechauns, an' the divinest brews were brought from all corners o' the island. Our mugs were never empty, nor did our pipes cease from fumin', an' the fiddles, aye, the fiddles would have called forth a smile from the face o' Melancholy herself. An' we drank an' smoked an' danced the jig an' told tall tales an' quite forgot our ladies, an' had sich a roarin' good time that even now none o' us can remember more than bits an' pieces of it. An' when we sobered up three days later, the leprechaun wives were all gone.

Well, all the joy was at once turned to sorrow an' sheepishness, an' we slunk home like Padraic McGillicuddy's dog with his tail between his legs, expectin' a royal verbal beatin' about the ears when we arrived. But they were not at home, nor next door, and not in the next town neither. An' we've found them not, though we've searched in everyplace we went, which is everywhere the Irish have gone.

So ye see, sir, that it could be far worse for you. An' now I must tell ye further that I'll be leavin' meself. Nay, not for the Blessed Isles, saints presarve us! but merely for Ireland, for 'tis gotten uncommonly lonely here o' late. Even the little colleen next door, why, she's growin' fast an' thinks only o' friends an' school. I passed right in front o' her the other day an' she failed to see me, an' in a few years she'll have eyes for naught but the boys, an' then I could cudgel her about the head with me shilleilagh (not that I'd do any sich thing, ye understand) an' she'd feel it not.

So I'm off to Ireland, for as even one of your own poets has said, an' what sort of Irishman would not love a poet, home is where, when ye go there, they have to take ye in. But I'd be leavin' ye summat afore I go. Not gold, fer gold is a miraculous help in time o' need, an' a boon companion in joy, but a cold comforter in sorrow. Nay, but we leprechauns have another thing in abundance -- luck. An' I tell ye, I've left a fair amount o' it in this house already, which of course ye can't see now, but when the sadness fades, then ye will. An' I'll leave yet more, an' when ye come upon it ye'll of course thank the Lord God, which is only proper an' fittin', for look ye, who d'ye think gave it to us leprechauns to free-gift it where we would? an' then ye'll think on Seamus acrost the sea, an' me heart will be glad within me.

Now I'm off, with a song on me lips, a blessin' in me heart, an' a flask o' me last distillin' in me back pocket. Long life an' health an healin' to ye, an' to all who shall read this when ye put it upon your website, the which ye'll do sure as my name is Seamus McTeague O'Flaherty. Sláinte!