ich destroy its purity,
is a beautiful thing to contemplate among the virtuous poor; and, where
the current of affection runs deep and smooth, the slightest incident
will agitate it. So it was with Owen M'Carthy and his wife. Simplicity,
truth, and affection, constituted their character. In them there was no
complication of incongruous elements. The order of their virtues was not
broken, nor the purity of their affections violated, by the anomalous
blending together of opposing principles, such as are to be found in
those who are involuntarily contaminated by the corruption of human
society.

Owen had not gone far, when Kathleen called to him: "Owen,
ahagur--stand, darlin'; but don't come back a step, for fraid o' bad
luck."*

* When an Irish peasant sets out on a journey, or to
transact business in fair or market, he will not, if
possible, turn back. It is considered unlucky: as it is
also to be crossed by a hare, or met by a red-haired
woman.

"Did I forget anything, Kathleen?" he inquired. "Let me see; no; sure
I have my beads an' my tobaccy box, an' my two clane shirts an'
handkerchers in the bundle. What is it, acushla?"

"I needn't be axin' you, for I know you wouldn't forget it; but for
'fraid you might--Owen, whin you're at Tubber Derg, go to little Alley's
grave, an' look at it; an' bring me back word how it appears. You might
get it cleaned up, if there's weeds or anything growin' upon it; an'
Owen, would you bring me a bit o' the clay, tied up in your pocket. Whin
you're there, spake to her; tell her it was the lovin' mother that bid
you, an' say anything that you think might keep her asy, an' give her
pleasure. Tell her we're not now as we wor whin she was wid us; that we
don't feel hunger, nor cowld, nor want; an' that nothin' is a throuble
to us, barrin' that we miss her--ay, even yet--_a suillish machree_ (*
light of my heart), that she was--that we miss her fair face an' goolden
hair from among us. Tell her this; an' tell her it was the lovin' mother
that said it, an' that sint the message to her."

"I'll do it all, Kathleen; I'll do it all--all, An' now go in, darlin',
an' don't be frettin'. Maybe we'll soon be near her, plase God, where we
can see the place she sleeps in, often."

They then separated again; and Owen, considerably affected by the
maternal tenderness of his wife, proceeded on his journey. He had not,
actually, even at the period of his leaving home, been