n sat at the meal, but
could taste nothing; the children ate, for hunger at the moment was
predominant over every other sensation. At length it was over, and Owen
rose to depart; he stood for a minute on the floor, and seemed to take a
survey of his cold, cheerless house, and then of his family; he cleared
his throat several times, but did not speak.

"Kathleen," said he, at length, "in the name of God I'll go; and may his
blessin' be about you, asthore machree, and guard you and these darlins
till I come back to yez."

Kathleen's faithful heart could bear no more; she laid herself on his
bosom--clung to his neck, and, as the parting kiss was given, she wept
aloud, and Owen's tears fell silently down his worn cheeks. The children
crowded about them in loud wailings, and the grief of this virtuous and
afflicted family was of that profound description, which is ever the
companion, in such scenes, of pure and genuine love.

"Owen!" she exclaimed; "Owen, _a-suilish mahuil agus machree!_ (* light
of my eyes and of my heart) I doubt we wor wrong in thinkin' of this
journey. How can you, mavourneen, walk all the way to Dublin, and you so
worn and weakly with that sickness, and the bad feedin' both before and
since? Och, give it up, achree, and stay wid us, let what will happen.
You're not able for sich a journey, indeed you're not. Stay wid me
and the childher, Owen; sure we'd be so lonesome widout you--will you,
agrah? and the Lord will do for us some other way, maybe."

Owen pressed his faithful wife to his heart, and kissed her chaste lips
with a tenderness which the heartless votaries of fashionable life can
never know.

"Kathleen, asthore," he replied, in those terms of endearment which flow
so tenderly through the language of the people; "sure whin I remimber
your fair young face--your yellow hair, and the light that was in your
eyes, acushla machree--but that's gone long ago--och, don't ax me to
stop. Isn't your lightsome laugh, whin you wor young, in my ears? and
your step that 'ud not bend the flower of the field--Kathleen, I can't,
indeed I can't, bear to think of what you wor, nor of what you are now,
when in the coorse of age and natur, but a small change ought to be upon
you! Sure I ought to make every struggle to take you and these sorrowful
crathurs out of the state you're in."

The children flocked about them, and joined their entreaties to those of
their mother. "Father, don't lave us--we'll be lonesome