LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2231, 27 May 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

TOM OONLAN’S TRYSTE, ‘Spake the words afthir me, Mary; sure they’re gey and easy. Come, now, darlin’, this is what ye’re to say, takin’ my ban’, an’ lookin’ me in the face * I gie to thee my plighted troth, My faith an’ troth an’ my right han’, — That if you’ll marry nae ither woman, Then I will marry nae ither man.’ A couple who were poor, aa their coarse dress testified, but rich in youth and love, stood close together on the chapel road, halfway between Maasmount and the little village of Tamney, so engrossed with each other that they did not notice the gronps of men in grey frieze, and women in scarlet homespnn, who passed by. It was in the dead of winter, and piercing winds swept across the Lough, causing the dark water to crash upon the shingle almost at their feet. Masses of heavy clouds hung low in the heavens, resting on tho gigantic mountains on the further aide of Mulroy ; the boats that had conveyed part of the congregation to mass were dancing up and down at the end of the pier beyond the chapel, and their passengers were assembling In the graveyard, which bristled with rude, black wooden crosses. The chapel, a largo plain building had in Itself nothing to attract the eye, bnt its situation on a mount overhanging the Lough was picturesque in the extreme.

Women were keening their piteous wail rising above the wind, and the bell was tolling, for a coffin wag being carried into the graveyard. This was the reason that the horses were still fastened Id a long row to rings in the' wall; that the empty boats rooked at the pier, and that our young couple lingered in the distance. The youth must needs accompany the party in the last boat, his home lying beyond the hills that loomed so darkly on the opposite side of Lough. He heard the wom=n keen and clap their hands ; he heard the ominous tolling of the boll, but he heeded those sad sounds very little; his heart was warm with love, and his hopes brightened the gloomy landscape. He was so young ! It did not grieve him to think that he must live in an obscure corner of Donegal all his life—that he mast work hard winter and summer, and that the best fare he could hope to earn would be oaten cake and buttermilk, potatoes and salt herring, with a morsel of bacon on Sundays and holidays. Perhaps he did not look forward at all, but was satisfied with the present, so long, at least, as Mary's plump hand lay In his own. ‘ Weel, dear, he hanna said the words yet,’ said he, bending his handsome head to look under the hood of the cloak at her downcast face. ‘Sure, Mary, you like me? The whole townland o’Tamney allows that we’re sweethearts, an’ it’s true we ha' been speaking cince we were that big, ‘pntting his hand on a level with Mary's shoulder.’ ‘Ay, Tom, dear knows I like yon!’ replied the maiden, glancing at him with a charming mixture or affection and coquetry in her gray eyes. She knew she was bonnie in the estimation of the country youths, who also prefer her style of good looks, viz., red cheeks, black hair, and sturdy, well rounded figure, to the moat Intellectual i or refined beauty.

* Mick Scanlon and that Duggan boy has been trying to speak to me, an’ I would na’ look ane o’ them; but I’m timo enough—sure I’m weal done for wi’ the mistress; dinna be for marrying yet, Tom.’ ‘God send me patience!’ ejaculated fhe wooer ; ‘that’s what you’ve said any time these four year, when I fleechod you to fix the day. It’s ‘ the mistress,’ an’ ye couldn’ think on laving the mistress.’ I know Mrs MoGarvey’s gude, an’ very’gnde, an’ we’ve a right to respect her, for she showed you great gratitude, but she wadna’bo again ycur taking me at last an’ at long.’ ‘No, then, that’s nne word o’ a lie,’ said a cheerful voice, and Mrs McGarvey joined them. She was a pleasant looking middleaged woman, whose comfortable dress told ot easy circumstances.

Mary had never had any mistress, or, indetd any other mother. Exactly eighteen years previously, the good woman, going out to her cowhouse one evening, had discovered a small bundle, which she unfolded, and saw little Mary, so enfeebled by cold and hunger that she could scarcely cry. The widow carried the poor foundling into the kitchen and fed and clothed it before her vast, warm chimney. Her yeungest child was almost the same age of the stranger; she nursed them together. Iho child turned out grateful. She loved her mistress and the children dearly, and tried to serve them in every way. She worked indefatigably—milked the cows, made tho butter, knitted the socks, and patched the well-worn garments of Joe and Willy, Ann and Matty She was ten years old when Joe went to America, and Mrs McGarvey found it neces sary to hire a lad to herd, and make himself otherwise useful on the farm, Tom Conlan, then a little follow of twelve years old, was the son of a small farmer who lived across the water, almost opposite Massmoanth in a straight line, bnt a considerable distance away among the hills. Tom’s father was glad to let one of his large family begin to earn wages, bo the boy became Mrs McQarvey’a servant and Mary’s companion. A dear friendship arose between the two children, which gradually aa the year* went on, ripened into something more tender than friendship. When Tom was eighteen ho was summoned home to the farm across the water. One of his brothers was dead, the other gone to America, and he was required to assist his father in working the little farm. He then asked Mary to marry him, and in reply she said she loved him“dearly, but could not think of leaving her mistress just yet. Over and over again, during the two following years, had the persevering suitor made his way to Tamney, to ask the same question, and to receive the same answer ; bnt he was now resolved to make a last appeal to the young girl’s affection, and should she remain obdurate, to threaten to break the net she had cast ever him.

‘You see, my father says we maun bae a woman in the bouse; there’s twa pigs wow, an’ a big whean o’ turkeys, forbye the hens to look after, an’ we’er ain meat to mak’ ready, an’ he’s aye threeping on met) g«t married. If I dinna bring a wife to the bonse, he’ll hire a servant.

Mary was beginning her usual excuse, when Tom interrupted her indignantly : ‘lf you say “No ” this time. Maty, I’ll never ax you again. By the Blessed Virgin and all the saints—’

* Whisht, then, whisht!’ cried Mrs MoGarvey, laying her hand on his arm ; ‘ Mary ’ll no say thon foolish word. Where would she got a boj like yoursel’ ? Not in the townland o’ Tamney, I’m thinking. An’ I maun die some day an’ lave her ; the be to look out for a wee spot o’ her ain then.’ The kind woman turned from the lover to her dear foundling, and said fondly : ‘ Ay, dear, yon ha’ been a gude daughter to mo since the day I found you a wee starved creathure at my door-stane, an’ I know you’d stop wi’ me if I said the word ; bnt I dinna say it, Mary. You maun join the world ( i.e ., marry) soon or syne ; better soon nor syne 1 Take this decent boy, that likes you weel, an’ has the snug place to tak’ you till, an’ my blessing go wi’ you !’ {To be Continued .)