s that's happenin' every
day in the country. Grantin' that he didn't sarve me with this notice
to quit, an' supposin' he let me stay in the farm, he'd rise it on me in
sich a way as that I could hardly live in it; an' you know, Dora, that
to be merely strugglin' an' toilin' all one's life is anything but a
comfortable prospect. Then, in consequence of the people depondin upon
nothing but the potato for food, whenever that fails, which, in general,
it does every seventh or eighth year, there's a famine, an' then the
famine is followed by fever an' all kinds of contagious diseases,
in sich a way that the kingdom is turned into one great hospital and
grave-yard. It's these things that's sendin' so many thousands out of
the country; and if we're to go at all, let us go like the rest, while
we're able to go, an' not wait till we become too poor either to go or
stay with comfort."

"Well, I suppose," replied his sister, "that what you say is true
enough; but for all that I'd rather bear anything in my own dear country
than go to a strange one. Do you think I'd not miss the summer sun
rising behind the Althadawan hills? an' how could I live without seein'
him set behind Mallybeney? An' then to live in a country where I'd not
see these ould hills, the green glens, and mountain rivers about us,
that have all grown into my heart. Oh, Bryan, dear, don't think of
it--don't think of it."

[Illustration: PAGE 603-- country where I'd not see these ould hills]

"Dora," replied the other, his fine countenance overshadowed with, deep
emotion as he spoke, "you cannot love these ould hills, as you cull
them, nor these beautiful glens, nor the mountain rivers better than I
do. It will go to my heart to leave them; but leave them I will--ay, and
when I go, you know that I will leave behind me one that's dearer ten
thousand times than them all. Kathleen's message has left me a heavy and
sorrowful heart."

"I pity her now," replied the kind-hearted girl; "but, still, Bryan, she
sent you a harsh message. Ay, I pity her, for did you observe how the
father looked when he said that she bid him tell you her happiness was
gone, and her heart broken; still, she ought to have seen yourself and
heard your defence."

"I can neither blame her, nor will; neither can I properly justify my
vote, I grant; it was surely very wrong or she wouldn't feel it as she
does. Indeed. I think I oughtn't to have voted at all."

"I differ with you there, Bryan," r