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'Now to let you know the raison why I cannot have my way, Nor bid my heart decide the part the lover must obey-- The calves and kine of Kate are nine, while Moya owns but eight, So with all my love for Moya I'm compelled to marry Kate!' I gave Moya a lace neckerchief the other day, and she was rarely pleased, running into the cabin with it and showing it to her mother with great pride.

After we had walked a bit down the boreen she excused herself for an instant, and, returning to my side, explained that she had gone back to ask her mother to mind the kerchief, and not let the 'cow knock it'! Lady Kilbally tells us that some of the girls who work in the mills deny themselves proper food, and live on bread and tea for a month, to save the price of a gay ribbon.

This is trying, no doubt, to a philanthropist, but is it not partly a starved sense of beauty asserting itself?
If it has none of the usual outlets, where can imagination express itself if not in some paltry thing like a ribbon?
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