About a fortnight ago a low-sized wretched old woman was observed lurking about the the rere [sic] of the residence of a highly respectable solicitor, in the neighbourhood of this town. One of the domestics, the cook, desired her to go around to the master at the hall-door if she wanted charity. ‘Charity!’ retorted the old crone, with an indignant toss of the head: ‘I want no charity. Instead of looking for any thing of that nature, it is in my power to make any one I choose as wealthy as a Queen. Don’t you know me?’ ‘In troth, I don’t’, said the astonished cook; ‘how would I know you’. ‘Well,’ continued the old woman ‘I don’t wonder at that, for I have been so long among the fairies; and I am so strangely altered, that, bad scran to me if I knew myself this morning when I was looking at my face in St Winifred’s Well at Wales. ‘In Wales!’ Ejaculated the cook. ‘Aye, in Wales!’ retorted the old woman. ‘Is there anything extraordinary in it? Didn’t I dine with the Queen of Spain last Friday: but not matter about that; I am inclined to do you some trifling service. Do you see this spot on which I am now standing?’ Here the cook closed up to the old crone with an air of intense interest, saying, ‘I do’. ‘Well’, continued the frequenter of St. Winifred’s Well ‘there is a ‘crock of gold’ buried there; and I am sent by the fairies to make you a present of it. Your brother is in the ‘good people’ – (the cook’s brother died in his infancy) – and so are a great number of your friends and relations.’ The cook here commenced rummaging her deep pockets, and made motions as if she was about bestowing some pecuniary reward on her communicative companion. ‘Don’t attempt it’, said the old woman, ‘for it wasn’t for the likes of that I came here at all’. ‘Come into the kitchen at any rate’, said the cook, using one of her most interesting smiles. ‘I can’t go into the house al all, at all, this turn,’ said the old woman. ‘I’m to take tay with the Queen of Amerikay to-morrow morning; so you see I have a long journey before me: at all events, I will be with you next Sunday – (the 26^th ultimo) – so trust nobody with the secret, for the fairies would be amazing angry with you if you told anybody about your good fortune.’ The fairy-woman departed; and the cook rejoiced in her heart at the hopes of becoming mistress of the promised treasure. The week passed slowly by, and she not unfrequently numbered the long lingering hours. So pregnant was she with the important secret, she would have actually died if she hand not disburthened her mind. The nurse was the confidante chosen by her, and to her she  communicated her good fortune, and expatiated freely and warmly on the many ways in which she would distribute the crock of precious meal. The most gorgeous dresses were to be purchased – castles were to be built – and ‘a husband’ was not forgotten; for what would a woman with a crock of gold be without a husband? Twelve o’clock on Sunday the 26^th January arrived; it was the day and hour of assignation, and the fairy-woman was punctual to her promise. The cook and nurse ushered her into the kitchen, placed her before a large blazing fire, and regailed her with the best dainties the larder could afford. O, what a flattering opportunity to play upon frail woman’s weak credulity! She of the power unhallowed, assumed absolute dominion over the minds of  over the minds of her dupes. So profuse and brilliant were her promises, the realization of one-half of them would have cast in the shade the glories of Aladden’s extraordinary lamp, and the wonders of his genii-commanding ring. Had the weird [sic] woman’s words been pearls of great value, like those of the fairy of old, they could not have been treasured up with deeper devotion or more highly appreciated by her infatuated admirers. As the sunniest day will have an end, and the brightest illusions of the mind will in time fade away, so the fairy-woman descended from the cloudy heights of promissory greatness to plan matter-of-fact business. It was mutually agreed upon that at the hour of twelve o’clock on the night of the second of February, one thousand eight hundred and forty, the bosom of the earth. Matters being thus arranged, the fair woman departed or rather disappeared, for the cook and nurse aver that they watched her exit, but that from the moment she crossed the threshold of the door they couldn’t get a sight of her no more than if the ground had opened and swallowed her. There are one or two matters connected with this  singular and ‘ow’r true tale’ which we had nearly neglected to notice; this first is, that the fairy-woman was exceedingly inquisitive as to what mass the master (Mr Dillon) was in the habit of attending on Sundays; the next is, that she insinuated to the cook and the nurse that their courage would be put to an extremely trying test, as hidden treasures were generally guarded by fiery dragons, who would not give up their charge without a desperate struggle. ‘But’, she added, ‘No harm will come on you, as I will have on my red cap and scarlet vestments, and will have nine invisible men to assist me!! When once one of ye touch the ‘crock of gold’ the enchantment will be broken, and ye will have nothing to do but to take it in and count it!’ On the night after the interview neither the cook nor the nurse slept a wink. Innumerable plans for future life were suggested and unceremoniously rejected; and to crown the matter, they differed between themselves as to who would first lay hands upon the charmed crock; for superstition had whispered, that it had been remarked form time immemorial that the first person that disturbed a fairy ‘rath’, or laid a plundering hand upon fairy treasure, that he or she was sure to be visited with a sudden and an unprovided death before the lapse of twelve months. The nurse maintained it was the cook’s right to touch it first, as it was to her the golden present was made; and the cook argued that to raise it up was the least the nurse could do for halving the treasure with her. From this difference there arose a disagreement; and the next morning they appealed to the butler, who laughed at their incredulity and very judiciously informed his master of the whole transaction. Mr Dillon seemed to look on the matter in a different light from his servants, and he gave positive orders to have the beldame, the next time she came to the house, detained until he would have an interview with her. ‘Detain her!’ ejaculated the cook with a look of horror. ‘Sure a fairy can’t be detained. Didn’t she say the other night that she had a long journey before her, but that she didn’t matter it, as she could ride through the air on a broomstick!’ While the cook and the nurse were loud and vehement in the objurgations, the following singular scene took place at Island Bawn Cottage, which lies about a mile and a half east of Mr Dillon’s residence. A poor wretched looking old creature came to the cottage door and claimed charity, and its amiable mistress invited her in, and supplied her wants with no niggard hand. After some time the old beggarwoman said that she had been many seasons amongst the ‘good people’, and although forced to live upon the charity of Christians, still she was gifted with a knowledge not belonging to a mere mortal. She could point out the spot where fairy treasures were deposited, and could tell people what was to happen to them. The servant-girl laughingly challenged her for a sample of her fairy power, upon which the old woman turned to the mistress and said, ‘a great accident is to be befal [sic] you soon; it is not in my power to remove it from your door; and all I can do is to give you the choice of having it happen by day or by night.’ ‘If anything bad is to happen to me’, said the mistress ‘in God’s name, let it happen with daylight.’ ‘And by daylight it shall happen’, returned the old beggarwoman, arising from the chimney corner and departing. When Mrs S. bethought of herself she laughed at the prediction of the old woman, and considered her to be at best but a vagrant impostor. On the afternoon the day became very wild and windy, and the cottage door had to be shut against the pelting of the pitiless storm. About four o’clock there was a knock at the door, and upon its being opened two men entered, while a third stood outside. Mrs S. asked them what wanted. One of them approached her, presented a pistol at her head, and demanded ‘fire-arms’; his companion assumed a similar threatening attitude towards the servant girl. Mrs S nothing daunted, flung her keys to the ground, and in a tone of bitter irony desired them to rob the house, and then to shoot herself and the girl, two defenceless women!! The man who held the pistol to her head said he did not come with any evil intention towards her, that he wanted nothing but ‘fire arms’. He then ordered ‘Number Five’ to do his duty. The man who had previously stood outside the door now entered, went into the bedroom and took a fowling piece (the only fire-arms in the house) off the rack. The gun being obtained, the three fellows deliberately departed, without offering any farther molestation. They had not gone six yards when Mrs S. followed them to the door and exclaimed ‘Well, boys! When will ye pay me another visit? Will the fairy-woman come any more?’ In answer to this, the leader said that the fairy woman would come to her no more – that neither he nor any of his party would ever again disturb her, and that as for the gun it would be returned in a few days. The foregoing took place on Monday 27^th January last, and on the evening of the next day the fairy-woman presented herself at the rere of the solicitor’s residence. The cook and the nurse thought to warn her of impending danger, but the butler was before hand with them in informing his master of the arrival of the expected visitant. Mr. D. then sent for the police, and her consigned to Nenagh Bridewell for vagrancy. On last Friday she was identified as being the prophetic precursor of the Rockite visitors of Island Bawn Cottage. There can be no doubt of this beggarwoman being the vigilant emissary of Captain Rock in the two Ormonds, and that she has in many cases been successful in setting fire-arms for the sue of the gallant captain’s sharp-shooters, many cases of which we have recorded in our journal from time to time. It is our opinion that were it not for Mr Dillon’s timely interference, the searching for the ‘crock of gold’ would terminate in the plunder of that gentleman’s fire-arms, and perhaps other valuable property. Anon, ‘The Rockite Emissary from Fairy Land’, 1840