it was only a matter of consequence that he and his were well
to do in the world. It is not likely, however, that even a passing
acquaintance would ever have taken place between them, were it not for
the consideration of the blood which was known to flow in the veins
of the Fermanagh Maguires. Murray was a good deal touched with
purse-pride--the most offensive and contemptible description of pride
in the world--and would never have suffered an intimacy, were it not for
the reason I have alleged. It is true he was not a man of such stainless
integrity as Condy Maguire, because it was pretty well known that in
the course of his life, while accumulating money, he was said to
have stooped to practices that were, to say the least of them, highly
discreditable. For instance, he always held over his meal, until there
came what is unfortunately both too well known and too well felt in
Ireland,--a dear year--a year of hunger, starvation, and famine. For the
same reason he held over his hay, and indeed on passing his haggard you
were certain to perceive three or four immense stacks, bleached by the
sun and rain of two or three seasons into a tawny yellow. Go into his
large kitchen or storehouse, and you saw three or four immense
deal chests filled with meal, which was reserved for a season of
scarcity--for, proud as Farmer Murray was, he did not disdain to fatten
upon human misery. Between these two families there was, as we have
said, an intimacy. It was wealth and worldly goods on the one side;
integrity and old blood on the other. Be this as it may, Farmer Murray
had a daughter, Margaret, the youngest of four, who was much about the
age of Arthur Maguire. Margaret was a girl whom it was almost impossible
to know and not to love. Though then but seventeen, her figure was full,
rich, and beautifully formed. Her abundant hair was black and glossy as
ebony, and her skin, which threw a lustre like ivory itself, had--not
the whiteness of snow--but a whiteness a thousand times more natural--a
whiteness that was fresh, radiant, and spotless. She was arch and full
of spirits, but her humor--for she possessed it in abundance--was so
artless, joyous, and innocent, that the heart was taken with it before
one had time for reflection. Added, however, to this charming vivacity
of temperament were many admirable virtues, and a fund of deep and
fervent feeling, which, even at that early period of her life, had made
her name beloved by every one