r visages were
white and stony as marble, and their eyes, now dead and glassy,
were marked by no appearance of distinct consciousness, or the usual
expression of reason. They had no sooner appeared, than the sympathies
of the assembled neighbors were deeply excited, and there was nothing
heard for some minutes, but groans, sobbings, and general grief. Both
stood for a short time, and looked with amazement about them. At length,
the old man, taking the hand of his wife in his, said--

"Kathleen, what's this?--what ails me? I want something."

"You do, Brian--you do. There s Peggy there, and her child, poor thing;
see how quiet they are! Oh, how she loved that child! an' see her
darlin'--see how she keeps her arm about it, for fear anything! might
happen it, or that any one might take it away from her; but that's her,
all over--she loved everything."

"Ay," said the old man, "I know how she loved it; but, somehow, she was
ever and always afeard, poor thing, of seemin' over fond of it before
us or before strangers, bekaise you know the poor unhappy--bekaise you
know--what was I goin' to say? Oh, ay, an' I'll tell you, although I
didn't let on to her, still I loved the poor little thing myself--ay,
did I. But, ah! Kathleen, wasn't she the good an' the lovin' daughter?"
The old woman raised her head, and looked searchingly around the room.
She seemed uneasy, and gave a ghastly smile, which it was difficult to
understand. She then looked into her husband's face, after which she
turned her eyes upon the countenances of the early dead who lay before
her, and going over to them, stooped and looked closely into their still
but composed faces, She then put her hand upon her daughter's forehead,
touched her lips with her fingers, carried her hand down along her arm,
and felt the pale features of the baby with a look of apparent wonder;
and whilst she did this, the old man left the room and passed into the
kitchen.

"For God's love, an' take her away," said a neighboring woman, with
tears in her eyes; "no one can stand this."

"No, no," exclaimed another, "it's best to let her have her own will;
for until they both shed plenty of tears, they won't get the betther of
the shock her unexpected death gave them."

"Is it thrue that Tom Dalton's gone mad, too?" asked another; "for it's
reported he is."

"No; but they say he's risin' the counthry to punish Dick o' the
Grange and Darby Skinadre--the one, he says, for puttin' his fat