A Lone Woman In Ireland.

As soon as I approached, Magraw’s head came out, and I tapped it with my blackthorn stick, and he dropped. I cried out, ‘That’s the principal, and if you’ll stand up I’ll give you the interest.’ And then half the fair gathered round and cried, “Tis Tim Ryan come from America to beat Magraw.” And they made a ring for us, and although I shouldn’t say it myself, ma’am, they told me afterward that it was as pretty a light as they had ever seen. The whole fair was talking about it. Indeed, I did give him principal and interest, and he’s now laid up in his cabin to count them. So now I am going to see my mother, and can then return to America with nothing on my mind.”

After a while the rain ceased, and the clearer air freshened up our spirits. As we ascended a little hill we saw a group of people, dressed mostly in holiday attire, huddled together and impressed with a certain air of subdued emotion. A little further stood half a dozen cabins—some roofless, and more to be so, I thought, after I had learned the occasion of the assemblage. An old man in frieze coat and knee-breeches, mounted on a frowzy horse of the color known in the Southern States of America as ginger sorrel, was certainly the loftiest, and therefore the most prominent, figure of the party. A strong-limbed barefooted country girl, attired in red petticoat, with a white flannel over-skirt tucked up in front, a bundle of clothes in one hand and a package of tea in the other, went from one person to another with a flurry and noise that but ill concealed her anxiety, bidding them good-by, and they in turn, wishing her godspeed. She was going to America, and these were her friends and family gathered to bid her adieu and wave their handkerchiefs after her for the last time as she disappeared over the hill.

At last she came to the aged mother, and to the hearts of both came the thought that they never were to look into each other’s eyes again. Then the tears streamed down the poor girl’s white cheeks, and her lips became speechless, while the poor old woman sank to the earth and rested her gray head against the stone wall by the road. The girl mounted with the aid of her friends behind her father, who did not cease in his endeavors to fill the horrid silence made by grief with his incessant and unnecessary chidings. The old man and the sorrel horse were to escort her to the nearest railway town; and as the emigrant disappeared over the neighboring hill her head was resting on the back of the frieze coat, shutting out the scene that would never again appear to her in reality.