s wanst young and active--here's
where the hair that's white as snow was fair an' curlin' like
goold--here's where I was young--here's where I grew ould--among these
dark hills and green fields--here you all know is where I was born; and,
in spite o' you all, here's where I'll die."

The old man was much moved by all these recollections; for, as he
proceeded, the tears fell fast from his aged eyes, and his voice became
tremulous and full of 'sorrow.

"Wasn't it here, too," he proceeded, "that Peggy Slevin, she that was
famed far an' near for her beauty, and that the sweet song was made
upon--'Peggy Na Laveen'---ay--ay, you may think yourselves fine an'
handsome; but, where was there sich a couple as grandfather and Peggy Na
Laveen was then?"

As he uttered these words, his features that had been impressed by
grief, were lit up by a smile of that simple and harmless vanity which
often attends us to the very grave; after which he proceeded:--

"There, on the side of that hill is the roofless house where she was
born; an' there's not a field or hill about the place that her feet
didn't make holy to me. I remember her well. I see her, an' I think I
hear her voice on the top of Lisbane, ringin' sweetly across the valley
of the Mountain Wather, as I often did. An' is it to take me away now
from all this? Oh! no, childre', the white-haired grandfather couldn't
go. He couldn't lave the ould places--the ould places. If he did, he'd
die--he'd die. Oh, don't, for God's sake, Tom, as you love me!"

There was a spirit of helpless entreaty in these last words that touched
his son, and indeed all who heard him, to the quick.

"Grandfather dear, be quiet," he replied; "God will direct all things
for the best. Don't cry," he added, for the old man was crying like an
infant; "don't cry, but be quiet, and everything will be well in time.
It's a great trial, I know; but any change is better than to remain
here till we come, like so many others, to beggary. God will support us,
father."

The old man wiped his eyes, and seemed as if he had taken comfort
from the words of his son; whereas, the fact was, that his mind had
altogether passed from the subject; but not without that unconscious
feeling of pain which frequently remains after the recollection of that
which has occasioned it has passed away.

It was evident, from the manner of the old man, that the knowledge
of their intended emigration had alarmed into action all the dormant