Ypsilanti sentinel. [volume] (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw Co., Mich.) 1843-1900, 1848-02-16
From the Odd Fellows Offering.
The Irish Daughter.
By GRACE GREENWOOD.

"And so you @0at go with us, Jamle!
"Hush, darling-you know / cannot leave my.
ouId mother, lone widow that she is, even for
love and you, Mary; but if you'll not forget me,
in the far country you're going to, when God
wills, I'll follow your
"Oh, Jamie,Jamie, this parting is quite break
ing my heart-but don't ask me to stay again.
God bless you, and keep you thrue."
James Burke, was the only child of a poor
widow, living in the northern part of Ireland.
Mary Conway was the youngest daughter of an
inte lligent and respectable family, neighbors of
the Burkes. James and Mary had been lovers
from childhood, and at the time when they are
introduced to our reader, all who knew them
were smiling approvingly upon their fitting be-
throthal.
James was just ones ideal of a warm hearted,
high-spirited, frank, and handsome Irishman.-
Mary was a fair, blue-eyed girl of eighteen,
with much more of delicate tragility of figure
than often belongs to her country-women.
Some four years previous to the period of the
parting scene, with which we commenced this
sketch; Mary's only brother, Willie Conway,
went out TO America, to "seek his fortune
where he succeeded SO we'll in business that he
became anxious to be joined by his family
This consisted only of his parents, Mary, and
the orphan-boy of an elder sister, a fine little
fellow of eight or nine years. The noble young
man sent home nearly all his earnings to defray
the expenses of the voyage, and promised his
friends a snug and happy home, on their arrival
in the stranger-land. From their age and ma
ny infrmities, his parents were long averse to
going, but finally yielded to his earnest solici.
tations.
Poor Mary the same sense of flial duty
which babe her 60 with her parents, forbade hel
urging her lover to accompany her, for old Mrs
Burke could not risk the voyage, having been ar
invalid for many years; and so they part ed, ant
the emigrants took ship for Quebec.
For the first week of the voyage all was fai
above and calm below; but then came on squat
ly and tempestuous weather, and the mad wave,
tossed about the stout ship like a toy, and tn,
fierce winds drove her wildly on her way. Gu
poor emigrants had much to endure; Mary, il
herself, was yet unceasing in her attendance OF
hen aged parents, who became SO wasted ant
enfeebled by sea sickness, as at last hardly abb,
to rise from their berths. One night, wher
they had been about four weeks at sea, Mary
after watching till her dear ones slept, laid hel
aching head on its uneasy pillow, for a brie
rest. The tempest which had ragged through
out the day had somewhat abated, but a heavy
fog lay on the deep, like a milk white robe OF
the stormy bosom of a Medea. The ship still
rolled, and plunged, and groaned like som,
huge monster in the death-agony, and for ono,
in her life of simple piety, sweet Mary knel
not in her prisons. But, to use the expression
of one of her countrywomen, she " went on tn,
knees of her heart" and from the berth wher,
she lay, f~ervently arose the prayer of a subduet
and trusting spirit. She fell asleep with a tea
on her cheek, and Der heart with love and oil
Ireland.
She was awakened by a rush of feet on deck
and the cry of 'Let go the anchors!'' succeeded
by the rattle of chains-a heavy plunge-an
other-a silence as Of death, and then a Joyful
shout, "She holds! she holds.r-then a wild cry
o: aShe drifts" and then the ship seemed lifte'
out of the water, with a fearful crash, and
shock like that of an earthquake! She hat
struck! Then followed shoutings, and hurry
ing to and fro, the cries of terror, the clear,quicl
tones of command, and the sharp crack Of break