an ould Irish air that Peggy used to sing for
me--I thought I heard her often singin' it of late--did I?"

"I suppose so, darlin'," replied his mother; "I suppose you did."

"Mary, here," he proceeded, "sings it; I would like to hear it before I
go; it's the air of _Gra Gal Machree_."

"Before you go, _alanna!_" exclaimed his father, pressing him tenderly
to his breast. "Oh! but they're bitther words to us, my darlin' an' my
lovin' boy. But the air, Mary, darlin', strive an' sing it for him as
well as you can."

It was a trying task for the affectionate girl, who, however, so far
overcame her grief, as to be able to sing it with the very pathos of
nature itself.

"Ay," said he, as she proceeded, "that's it--that's what Peggy used to
sing for me, bekaise she knew I liked it."

Tender and full of sorrow were the notes as they came from the innocent
lips of that affectionate sister. Her task, however, was soon over; for
scarcely had she concluded the air, when her poor brother's ears and
heart were closed to the melody and affection it breathed, forever.

"I know," said she, with tears, "that there's one thing will give
comfort to you all respecting poor Tom. Peter Rafferty, who helped
him home, seein' the dyin' state he was in, went over to the Car, and
brought one of Father Hanratty's curates to him, so that he didn't
depart without resaving the rites of the Church, thank God!"

This took the sting of bitterness out of their grief, and infused
into it a spirit that soothed their hearts, and sustained them by that
consolation which the influence of religion and its ordinances, in the
hour of death and sorrow, never fail to give to an Irish family.

Old Dalton's sleep was sound that night; and when he awoke the next
morning the first voice he heard was that of our friend Toddy Mack,
which, despite of the loss they had sustained, and its consequent
sorrow, diffused among them a spirit of cheerfulness and contentment.

"You have no raison," said he, "to fly in the face of God--I don't mane
you, Mrs. Dalton--but these youngsters. If what I heard is thrue that
that poor boy never was himself since the girl died, it was a mercy for
God to take him; and afther all He is a betther judge of what's fit for
us than we ourselves. Bounce, now, Mr. Dalton; you have little time to
lose. I want you to come wid me to the agent, Mr. Travers. He wishes, I
think, to see yourself, for he says he has heard a good account o' you,
an