“He's taking his own time this evening, I'll say that; for the sun's as good as set, and no signs of him yet. Can you spy him out?”

“No, colleen; how d'ye think my ould eyes could see him whin yours can't? But, Anty, honey, ye're mighty unasy about the postman; dy'e expict a new riban’, or a piece o’ tape, or some sugar-candy, or – a love letther, Anty? Oh! Anty, Anty! – don't blush after that fashion; ould as my eyes are, I can see yer rosy cheek getting quite scarlet,”

“I'll tell ye what, Grey Lambert,” replied the lassie to the old man, who was literally leaning on “the top of his staff,” under the shadow of the walls of a singularly fine and perfect castle of ancient days; “I'll jist tell ye, it 'll be long enough before I'll come to see ye agin, out o’ pure good-natur, in yer unchristian-like ould place, if ye talk afther that fashion to a young cratur like me, that niver turned to the like; d'ye think I've no dacency? Sure ye're ould enough to forget love letthers, any way.”

“That's true, Anty; an ould man of three score and sixteen hasn't much to do wid what are called love letthers; but, may-be there's a differ betwixt love letthers and letthers o’ love; and sure there's one still that sinds that last to his poor grandfather; and from beyant the salt seas too.”

“Well, 'tis a comfort, sure enough; but I often wonder that ye a'n't affeard to stay in such a place as this, widout anything wid ye, but Bang, the baste, that's almost as ould as yerself – poor Bang!” And Bang pushed his nose into Anty's hand.

There was something picturesque in the appearance of the pair, who awaited the postman's coming – for such was really the case; the young maiden expected a lover's letter; the aged man hoped for a remembering token from a solitary descendant.