The Volunteer's Wife.

An' ghure, I was tould to come here to your honor, To se if you'd write ft few words to me Tat; He's gone for a soger is ïlirtCT O'Conner, ■Vid a Btripe on his arm anti a band co nis hat. An' what'll you teil? tt ought to ba aisy Forsuch as your honor to spake wid tbe P6n, And say I'in all right, and that mavourneen, (TbeDbaV)y', yonr honor) is better agen. For Wto h went cff' it9 60 Bkk WaS Ule She niver lu'ld up her blue er, to ". And wfcia I'd be crying he d look all the wilder, , And eaid would I wiBh tot the country a diegra;e? So he left lier in danger, and me sorely grectAndfoilowed the flag wid au Irishmai's O.! ifsJoflonI dranieof the great drums a And a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy. And say will he send me a bit of his money, Foi the rint and the doctor's bilí, due iu a week? Well surely there's tears on your eyelashee, honey, Ah! faith Tve no right wid such freedom tospeak. You're overimich trifling- 111 not give you trouhle; I'll find some one willin';- oh! what can ít be? What's Uiat in Ihe newspfiper folded up doublé? Yer honor- don't hide it- but read ít to me. What! Patrick O'Conner?- no, no, it' BOine other; Dead ! dead ! no not him, 'tis a week eearce gone by; Dead ! dead !- wliy, the kias on the cheek of his mot her - It baant had lime yet, your honor, to dry. Don't tell me - it's not him - O God ! am I crazy? Shot dead !- oh, for the love of a reet heaven, ay no! An' whot'll I do in the world wid poor Drisyi O ! how will I live, and O ! where will I gu? The room is dark - I'm not seein'yonr honor; I think - I'll go home ; and a sob quick and dry "ame aharp fiom the boeom of Slary O'Conner, But never a tear-drop welled up to her eje.