An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West

One of the convicts who was shot and died almost instantly was Philip Rutley.

When last heard of, Jack Shore was still serving his time in an industrial department, devoting his talents to the manufacture of stoves, and reducing his sentence by good behavior.

The first act of Mr. Thorpe after his happiness had been restored was to recognize substantially Smith’s invaluable service to the family. Sufficient to say that Smith was presented with a ticket good for one first-class passage to the “Emerald Isle” and return, and in addition to his four months’ vacation on full pay, a goodly sum in cash for incidental expenses.

That Smith appreciated Mr. Thorpe’s generosity, is begging the question. On arrival in the old country, he found conditions had changed since he left there thirty years ago. The old haunts of his boyhood days had been transformed. The old folks had long since departed this life – “God rest their souls!” His friends and acquaintances had disappeared from the county or were no more – strange faces everywhere – all had changed save the old parish church; that alone remained undefined by the ravages of time.

“And now, my duty done, Oi’ll go back to America.” On taking his farewell, sad and impressive thoughts occupied his mind. “Shall I niver see the ould sod again, the dear ould land that gave me birth, the grain ave its hills, and the dear little shamrock – long life to it.” And as a mist gathered in his eyes, he reverently knelt, lower he bent, till his lips touched the grassy ground, which he lovingly kissed.

“Farewell, an’ may it plaise God to bring yees from the gloom ave tribulation into the sunshine ave happiness and prosperity. Farewell, dear ould Erin, my heart’ll be wid ye always.”

The End