It was not to be wondered at, then, that in addition to the reluctance which a heart naturally affectionate, like Art’s, should feel on leaving his relations for the first time, he should experience much secret sorrow at being deprived of the society of this sweet and winning girl.

Matters now, however, were soon arranged, and the time, nay, the very day for their departure was appointed.  Art, though deeply smitten with the charms of Margaret Murray, had never yet ventured to breathe to her a syllable of love, being deterred naturally enough by the distance in point of wealth which existed between the families.  Not that this alone, perhaps, would have prevented him from declaring his affection for her; but, young as he was, he had not been left unimpressed by his father’s hereditary sense of the decent pride, strict honesty, and independent spirit, which should always mark the conduct and feelings of any one descended from the great Fermanagh Maguires.  He might, therefore, probably have spoken, but that his pride dreaded a repulse, and that he could not bear to contemplate.  This, joined to the natural diffidence of youth, sufficiently accounts for his silence.

There lived, at the period of which we write, which is not a thousand years ago, at a place called “the Corner House,” a celebrated carpenter named Jack M’Carroll.  He was unquestionably a first-rate mechanic, kept a large establishment, and had ample and extensive business.  To him had Art and Frank been apprenticed, and, indeed, a better selection could not have been made, for Jack was not only a good workman himself, but an excellent employer, and an honest man.  An arrangement had been entered into with a neighboring farmer regarding their board and lodging, so that every thing was settled very much to the satisfaction of all parties.

When the day of their departure had at length arrived, Art felt his affections strongly divided, but without being diminished, between Margaret Murray and his family; while Frank, who was calm and thoughtful, addressed himself to the task of getting ready such luggage as they had been provided with.

“Frank,” said Art, “don’t you think we ought to go and bid farewell to a few of our nearest neighbors before we lave home?”

“Where’s the use of that?” asked Frank; “not a bit, Art; the best plan is jist to bid our own people farewell, and slip away without noise or nonsense.”

“You may act as you plaise, Frank,” replied the other; “as for me, I’ll call on Jemmy Hanlon and Tom Connolly, at all events; but hould,” said he, abruptly, “ought I to do that?  Isn’t it their business to come to us?”

“It is,” replied Frank, “and so they would too, but that they think we won’t start till Thursday; for you know we didn’t intend to go till then.”

“Well,” said Art, “that’s a horse of another color:  I will call on them.  Wouldn’t they think it heartless of us to go off widout seein’ them?  An’ besides, Frank, why should we steal away like thieves that had the hue and cry at their heels?  No, faith, as sure as we go at all, we’ll go openly, an’ like men that have nothing to be afraid of.”