The Leprechaun

The story

He is a solitary fairy, no taller than a child, and he is a cobbler by trade — the tapping of his hammer is traditionally how you find him. He keeps a pot of gold, and the rule is absolute: catch him and stare at him without blinking and he must give it up. Nobody ever manages it, because he is very good indeed at making people look away.

Where it actually comes from

The leprechaun comes from Irish folklore, the name usually traced to the Old Irish luchorpán, “small body”. Early accounts describe him as solitary, ill-tempered and frequently drunk — far from the cheerful mascot of later postcards — and dressed in red as often as green. The shoemaking is the constant: he is a craftsman, and his wealth is explained as the fee for it. His association with St Patrick’s Day and the color green is largely a product of Irish-American celebration from the nineteenth century onward, and many people in Ireland regard the cartoon version with some weariness.

What it does for a child

The leprechaun is the one keeper who is openly a trickster, and that makes him unusually good fun to build a game around — the trap, the mess in the morning, the evidence of a near miss. Underneath it is a genuinely good idea for a child: the thing at the end of the rainbow moves when you move, and the satisfying life is the one spent doing the work well rather than chasing the pot.

The Little Shoe

A story to read aloud · about 4 minutes

Long ago in Ireland, near the old stone gateways of the town of Kilmallock, there lived a farmer who spent his days cutting turf in the bog and carting it home for the fire. It was hard work for him, and it was hard work for his old mare, too.

One evening, after a long day, the farmer went out to the stable to see that the tired mare was eating her hay. But when he came to the stable door, he stopped. From inside came a sound: hammering, hammering, hammering, just like a shoemaker making a shoe. And along with the hammering came whistling, the prettiest tune he had ever heard in his whole life.

“That’s the Cluricaune,” the farmer whispered to himself, “the little fairy shoemaker! I’ll catch him if I can, and then I’ll have money enough always.” For everyone knew that the little shoemaker carries a purse full of money, and that he has crocks of gold hidden all over the land. Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks, the old song says, hidden in mountains, woods and rocks, each of them filled full to the brim with gold!

So the farmer opened the door very quietly, without making a bit of noise. He looked all about, but he couldn’t see the little man anywhere, though he could still hear him hammering and whistling away. He looked and looked, until at last he spied him. And where was he, do you think? Sitting in the strap right underneath the mare!

There he was, no bigger than a man’s hand is long, in a little leather apron, with a hammer in his hand and a little red nightcap on his head. He was making a shoe, and as he worked, he sang:

“Tip tap, rip-rap, Tick-a-tack-too! Scarlet leather, sewn together, This will make a shoe.”

He was so busy hammering and singing that he never noticed the farmer until the farmer had caught him fast in his hand.

“I have you now!” said the farmer. “And I’ll never let you go till I get your purse. So hand it over at once!”

“Stop, stop,” said the little shoemaker. “Stop, stop, till I get it for you.”

So the farmer, like a fool, opened his hand just a little. Quick as a wink, the little fellow jumped out and away, laughing, and the farmer never saw him again. He never got the purse, either. All the little man left behind was the tiny shoe he had been making.

The farmer was cross with himself for a long time after that. But he kept the little shoe all his life, and everyone who held it said it was the prettiest little shoe they had ever seen. People in Kilmallock told the story for years and years. And far away in Tipperary, people used to show visitors another little shoe, forgotten by another little shoemaker in a hurry.

In different parts of Ireland the little shoemaker has different names. In Cork he is the Cluricaune, in Kerry the Luricaune, and in Tipperary the Lurigadaune. But the name you probably know best is the leprechaun. Some say that name comes from old Irish words meaning “one-shoemaker,” because whenever anyone sees him, he is always working on just one shoe.

So if you are ever out in the green fields and you hear a tiny tip-tap, rip-rap, lay your ear close to the hill and keep very still. And if you ever do catch him, whatever you do, don’t loosen your grip!

Adapted from T. Crofton Croker, The Little Shoe (Legends of the Cluricaune), in Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland (1825). Public domain. Read the original.

More from the story

A few more pictures to look at together.