“Why, thin, Tom,” said he, after the first salutations had passed, “you look like a man that had jist put a tough journey over him.” “An' so I ought, Peety,” he replied, “for I have put a tough journey over me.” “Musha where were you, thin, if it's fair to ax?” inquired Peety; “for as for me that hears everything almost, the never a word I heard o' this.” “I was in Dublin, thin, all the way,” replied the farmer, “strivin' to get a renewal o' my laise from ould Squire Chevydale, the landlord; an' upon my snuggins, Peety, you may call a journey to Dublin an' home agin a tough one--devil a doubt of it. However, thank God, here we are at home; an' blessed be His name that we have a home to come to; for, afther all, what place is like it? Throth, Peety, my heart longed for these brave fields of ours--for the lough there below, and the wild hills above us; for it wasn't until I was away from them that I felt how strong the love of them was in my heart.” M'Mahon was an old but hale man, with a figure and aspect that were much above the common order even of the better class of peasants. There could be no mistaking the decent and composed spirit of integrity which was evident in his very manner; and there was something in his long flowing locks, now tinged with gray, as they rested upon his shoulders, that gave an air of singular respect to his whole appearance. On uttering the last words he stood, and looking around him became so much affected that his eyes filled with tears. “Ay,” said he, “thank God that we have our place to come to, an' that we will still have it to come to, and blessed be His name for all things! Come, Peety,” he added, after a pause, “let us see how they all are inside; I'm longin' to see them, especially poor, dear Dora; an'--God bless me! here she is!--no, she ran back to tell them--but ay--oh, ay! here she is again, my darlin' girl, comin' to meet me.” He had scarcely uttered the words when an interesting, slender girl, about eighteen, blushing, and laughing, and crying, all at once, came flying towards him, and throwing her white arms about his neck, fell upon his bosom, kissed him, and wept with delight at his return. “An' so, father dear, you're back to us! My gracious, we thought you'd never come home! Sure you worn't sick? We thought maybe that you took ill, or that--that--something happened you; and we wanted to send Bryan after you--but nothing happened you?--nor you worn't sick?” “You affectionate, foolish darlin', no, I wasn't sick; nor nothing ill happened me, Dora.” “Oh, thank God! Look at them,” she proceeded, directing his attention to the house, “look at them all crowdin' to the door--and here's Shibby, too, and Bryan himself--an' see my mother ready to lep out of herself wid pure joy--the Lord be praised that you're safe back!”