The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1895-04-19
MACHA.
By ROSA MULH0LLAND.

There is lone upper world among
the Connemara hills seldom visited by
any wayfarer from the ordinary paths
of life. Mountains form bulwarks
around it; the gates into it are narrow
defiles between rugged crags; the CEN
ters of its silent valleys are deep lakes.
cold and gray as steel or black with the
shadow of the rainclouds By the wa
ter's margin the dark, sullen earth, with
its gorgeous clothing of purple and en-
broideries of emerald green, upheaves in
curious knolls and bosses or stretches
away in wind swept levels. The peaks
around take fantastic shapes, and in
twilight the place is like some region of
hades, where disembodied souls walk in
shadow and muse upon the mysteries
that death has unfolded to them.
Uncongenial as it appears to human
life, there are few inhabitants Of this
world of silent gloom and barren beauty.
Here and there the infrequent traveller
will come upon an isolated cabin built
of rude stone and rooted with the sod,
hardly distinguishable from the heather
capped rock except for the curl of smoke
that steals through hole from the
hearthstone within. On summer morn
ing an inquisitive explorer of this lone
some world passed by one Of these smok-
ing novels, and while gazing on it in
dismay, almost expecting to see gnome
or monster issue from it, was startled
by the appearance of an exquisite face
which shone ON him for moment and
vanished. The solitary rambler in SO
eerie spot was at the moment in an
imaginative mood, and open to all in
fiuences of the beautiful and supernat-
ural, and almost believed that a sprite
of the mountain had crossed his path.
and that she had fateful message for
him in her eyes. but shaking himself
into more rational frame of mind he
went on his way, with only lingering
look at the cabin, which seemed to re-
treat into the Businesses of the rock.
Yet, in spite of common sense, the wild
beautiful eyes of the mountain girl pur-
sued him, the message that lay mys-
terry in their depths bewitched him, and
finally, as the sun shot forth long shafts
of flame and glances of gold, setting
fierily behind cluster of blackening
mountain peaks, he turned upon his
heel and retraced his steps in the direc-
ton of the enchanted hovel.
Macha, the owner of the beautiful
face, had withdrawn it hastily into the
interior of the cabin. scared at the un-
wonted sight of stranger, as loWland
dwellers might be scared by ghost
The cabin was SO poor that, only for the
red hearth and the warm smell of smoke,
it might have been mistaken for a shed
for cattle. The earthen floor was un-
even and full Of holes; the roof, OF
heather and sticks, was blackened with
smoke; the hearthstone was broken.
One crazy table, one chair and two or
three other nondescript seats, a kettle,
a pot, battered tin can, and few
mugs and plates-these were the chief
contents of the dwellings, principal
room. Looking around, one might well
ask by what means life could be sup
ported in this place. Patches of pota-
toes that struggled for existence between
bog aud rock close by, and black cut
ting, that showed like an ugly wound
on the face of a distant leyel and was
the turf mine-these gave the only an
swer to such inquiry.
An old woman sat spinning in the
corner of the cabin. lean and smoke
dried, like mummy, her dark red gar
ment and the yellow handkerchief
wound turban wise round her head
making spot of subdued color in the
murky picture. The contents of a pot
of potatoes had been turned out on the
table, and Macha, who. with peculiar
cry, had summoned the family from
their work at the bog to dinner, stood
ON the middle of the floor, with slant
light falling on her from the sky, across
the mountain peaks, through the smoke
stained doorway. Her skirt of crimson
wool, spun by the grandame in the cor
ner, and dyed with madder by Macha
herself, was short enough to show her
white feet, shining on the earthen floor;
Over it she wore short brown bodice,
and few yards of coarse yellow white
calico were wound about her shoulders
and had been about her head, but the
drapery had fallen back in sort of
cowl behind her neck,
No white lily or golden rose was ever
so beautiful as the face of Macha,
crowned with its honey colored hair,
set with eyes dark and blue, with a
look half sweet, half troubled, a rose
red mouth, tinted to match flowers the
girl had never seen, and creamy, satin
smooth, dimpled cheeks. The way in
which her head was set on her shoul-
ders, the pose of her figure and the
movements of her white bare arms re-
called the goddesses in marble of the
early Greeks. With her almost super
human beauty, where had Macha come
from-to battle with the elements for
life, to grow sun tanned, weather beat
en-, lean and withered in the struggle to
force the potato out of the rock and
peat out of the reeking bog.
What was she doing in this dreary
upper world Of the barren Irish hills.
Low could she be the granddaughter of
the unlovely crone in the corner, and
why had generations of ignorance and
hunger and rude toll produced her? 1t
must be that nature had created her for
q whim, making her sort of image of
the wild beauty of this picturesque will
derness.
The afterglow of the sunset was
abroad when Macha went out again. to
roam round the lake in fashion Of her
own. A strange amber and red reflec-
ton illuminated one side of the sky and
A. ...o....4n;., .,nnlr ir,tonciGod H.