Widow M’Carthy rented four or five acres of land, in a rural part of the county of Cork, in Ireland. She was a respectable, hard working, cleanly, honest, upright woman; and the landlord, seeing that she was likely to become quite as good a tenant as any one could be, and indeed, far better than most persons in her neighbourhood, allowed her to keep the little farm after her husband’s death. It was well in him to do so, for she managed the land properly, paid her rent, and every other debt, with punctuality and honour. The good widow had two daughters, the stay and comfort of her old age, the pride of the village, the pattern of all good and thrifty qualities to the neighbours. Their names were Betsey and Jill. They were young, good-looking, cheerful and industrious. Under their management the cottage became cleanly, neat and comfortable. The pigs and poultry were kept out of the house, in their proper places. The floors were regularly swept and scoured; the table, though it was only a deal table, was always so white, and clean, and sweet-looking, that positively it looked quite pretty. A neat Dutch clock stood over the dresser, among the shining crockery-ware; and click! click! click! it went, so cheerfully, that even the old hoary figure of Time with a scythe, which was painted on it, looked benignant and happy, as if well satisfied with his continual harvest of holy and profitable hours. Betsey, the elder of the two girls, was unfortunately lame, from an accident she had received in her babyhood. She could not, therefore, be so active as her sister, but she made up for it in the activity of her mind. She was wise and thoughtful, and her mother relied upon her much for advice and sympathy in times of difficulty. Jill, the younger, was the pride and joy of the neighbourhood. She was here, there, and everywhere, wherever there was work to be done. She milked the cow; she baked the bread, she could mend the thatch, and weed the garden. And then she had such a pretty face, such a neat little figure; her hair was always so clean and so nicely arranged. Many lads of the village were in love with her, and one among them was Jack Sullivan, the son of their nearest neighbour. He had known her for a great many years, without caring more about her than he did about other young maidens; but one day as he was passing the widow’s front garden, he saw Betsey leaning over the half-door of the cottage, and Jill mounted on a ladder, mending the thatch of the roof. There was a gentle breeze stirring, and it played and whispered about her little form very lovingly. The small check apron round her pretty waist, waved and fluttered about, and curled round behind, as if playing at hide-and seek with the morning breeze, and now and then a wavy movement of the neat stuff gown showed her well-turned ancles and little feet. The sunlight played upon her shining hair; her face was so rosy and full of smiles; her hands moved so nimbly at her work, and all the curves of