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Price Five Cents,
HONOR OF BAULYGARRY.
A CHARMING IRISH LOVE STORY,
L
ALLYGARRY is a secluded little fishing village situated on the
southeast coast of Ireland. It is not a very picturesque coast
perhaps, for there are no precipitous cliffs or bold headlands; but in
their place there are low sand-hills covered with bent, and a long
stretch of hard yellow strand, with sharp masses of rock cropping up
here and there,
The village, which consists of about_twenty small cottages, a ball-
_ alley, and a large house—once inhabited by an elderly maiden lady,
but since her death let out in rooms to different poor families—lies a
long way from any town or railway station; consequently its inhab-
itants, a race of hardy fishers, are somewhat quaint and Old World
in their habits. But if they are deprived of some of the advantages
which might be theirs were they more in the gangway of modern im-
provement, they are also free from many of the faults engendered by
contact with the world.
It was a July evening, and the sun was setting with a somewhat
lurid brightness. In the background was the sea—quiet indeed, but
giving what to experienced ears was an ominously moaning sound.
In the middle distance lay the sand-hills and the village, with its
windows sparkling from the reflection of the setting sun; in the fore~
ground was a field of new-mown hay and a gate leading into it, on
which leant a man and a girl—evidently, from their dress, fishers
from Ballygarry.
The latter, a fine specimen of her class, was tall and strongly built,
with a small scarlet shawl over her shoulders, and with a tight, dark
dress, the skirt of which was pinned back so as to show a red petti~
coat—rather stained indeed from contact with the salt water: the
sleeves were turned back, too, displaying a pair of well-shaped, dim-
pled, and pretty arms, fully developed from constant use and
browned by exposure to the sun and wind, as were. also the girl's
* rosy cheeks, She had a low, broad brow, from which rippled back
waying hair of the color of autumn leaves; large gray coquettish
eyes, the darkness of which was enhanced by the thick curling black
lashes which surrounded them; a short straight nose; a mouth rather
large perhaps, but with firm, full, red, curving lips and rows of
strong, sound, white teeth, and a prominent chin expressive of great
determination. Altogether, when pleased, the girl had a very win-
some face, but just now it was darkened by anger and annoyance, as
ag also that of her companion, a strapping young fisherman,
strong and broad-shouldered, over six feet in height, with curly dark
hair and honest, comely features.
‘*So ye won't do what I ax ye, Honor?” he asked, after a pause,
PICTURES OF OLD IRELAND: ABBEY OF CORCOMROE, COUNTY CLARE.
“Ye don’t mane it, Honor—ye can't mane it?”
“Yes, I do; I like John Murphy and Pat Dempsey a sight better;
an’ they both spoke to me father about me, I'd never have taken ye
at all, only ye bothered an’ pesthered me so I said I'd marry ye to
get rid o! ye.”
The strong man’s face blanched and quivered at the words.
““Ye'd never have a word to say on that score agin,” he replied;
“for I promise ye I'll never bother nor pesther ye any more, Honor;’»
and he turned away and set off with long strides towards the strand,
Had he looked back he would have seen that which would of a
certainty have stayed his steps, for Honor gazed after him, her face
full of an agony of love, regret,
lespair; he did not turn, however,
“How can I? I promised Misther Arthur to dance with him this
evening, an’ I can't go back o’ me word.” Then the girl's anguish broke out.
“I niver axed ye to, Honor, an’ ye knows it. I’ve no objection to ‘*Oh, what am I todo at all? Sure ye didn’t think I was in earn-
ye dancin’ onst or twiste naythur with the young masthur; but I ax est, me darlint, me darlint! An’ it’s meself that loves yer little finger
ye not to dance oftener than that with him. It does no dacent girl or the laste bit of a curl from the head o' ye betther than John Mur-
any good to be spoken of with a gintleman; an’ it made me heart- phy or Pat Dempsey, or even’ Misther Arthur himself, Why, I'd
sick to see ye last autumn at the harvest-home dancin’, six, or I give the last drop o’ me blood for ye, Wat, Wat, me darlint!” and,
b'lieve twas siven, times with’ Misther Arthur, an’ then to see him lowering her face on her clasped hands, she wept bitterly.
bendin’ over ye until his mustache was touchin’ yer hair, He Then, looking up, she grew more cheerful as she, thought that,
wouldn't dare to do it to a lady, ye knows it, an’ why should you put after all, she would meet Walter at the dance to be given that eve~
up with it? Ihad to, - I had noright to spake thin; but I havenow, ning in the servants’ hall at Ballygarry House in honor of the com-
that ye're to be the wedded wife a fortnight come Tuesday next.” ing of age of Mr. Arthur Adair, the eldest son of the landlord of all
“T don’t want to be your wife at all at all,” she answered petu- the houses in the village. She would show her lover them how sorry
lantly. she was for her behavior, and how anxious to make amends, for she
but strode away fiercely until he was out of sight.
would dance only once with Mr. Arthur, and not with anyone else,
unless Wat himself would forgive her and ask her.
Atte chéered by this thought, she hurried home and dressed
herself for the evening in a sprigged muslin, putting 00 ornament
into her hair, except a bit of blue ribbon which Walter had once
given her; and disdaining to make use of a lovely cream-colored rose
which Mr. Arthur Adair had left for her whilst she was out.
After all, there was very little harm in the young man'sattentions.
He was her foster brother, and during their childhood Honor had
often been brought up to the * big house” to play with little Hester
Adair, who had always been a delicate girl, and had died three years
before; and for the sake of the love she had had for Honor all the
house of Adair cared for the fisher’s motherless daughter and made
much of her.
Perhaps her gala dress scarcely suited her style of good looks as
well as did her ordinary, attire;. nevertheless, as she entered the hall
al Ballygarry House, there were: several admiring glances cast on
her, and would-be partners Sought her out and begged her to dance
with them; but she refused them all, with the exception of young
Mr. Adair, to whom she had previously been engaged for a country
dance, and, this being over, she went and stood beside her father.
‘Why don’t yé have another step, me girl?” he asked, as he heard
her dismissing some importunate swain.
“(Pye akind of headache, father,” she answered, whilst her eyes
wandered round the room in search of an absent face. ‘* Why—ob,
why doesn’t he come?” she thought. Will he never forgive me?”
She stole away to hide herself ia a window-seat half shaded by a
curtain, from which she could watch the door—alas, in vain! And
then she listened to.the rain, which had begun to beat against the
panes, and the wind, which sobbed and shrieked round the corners
of the house, scarcely remembering where she was, until she heard
the voices of two men who had stopped near her,
“It’s a fearful gale,” one of them said; “it's a providence we're
not at say.”
““Thrue for ye,” the other returned ; ‘but it’s an awful thing to
think of that poor boy, Walter Brian, out ail by himself this night!”
Ye don't mane it! ’ Why, I thought he war here, an’ that he an?
Honor Lacy had gone off into one o' the other rooms for a bit o
courtin’ maybe—for I don’t see her naythur.”
“Whisht man, I'm thinkin’ her's had abitof a fight. with the
sweetheart, for 1 met him this evenia’ comin’ down on the strand,
lookin’ as black as thunder. ‘ Sinnot,’ ses he, ‘ give me a hand with
the boat.’. ‘Where are ye goin’ ?’ ses I. ‘I’m goin’ for a spree,’ ses
he. . ‘ Ye'd betther not,’ ses I, ‘ for it's lookin’ mighty bad out yond-
her, let alone the sunset, an’ I wouldn’t wondher if there war a storm
before mornin’,’ “So much the betther,’ ses he ; ‘the worse weather
there is for a spree like mine the betther.’ An’ with that he pushed
the boat well out, ah’ in he lepped, an’ away with him all by him-
self.’ Poor Wat, he war a good boy! An’ to think we'll never see
him agin—for no boat could live in such a say "
Honor heard it all, and grew faint and cold in her misery. With
difficulty she crept round the room to old Lacy.
“Will you come home father ?” she asked.
“Ay, an’ welcome,” said he; ‘a dance isa hard place on ould
fellas like me.
But I was thinkin’ you'd be up for stayin’.”
‘*No,” she answered,
cos PICTURES OF OLD IRELAND :: DUMBRODY
ABBE
Y, CO, W.
EXFORD,
on vat
“I'd like to go home,”—Continued om
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