s neck, and said she would not let him go; Denis pressed her
to his heart, and the grief which he felt, seemed to penetrate his very
soul.

"Susan," said he, "Susan, may the blessing of God rest upon you till I
see you again!"--and the affectionate girl was literally torn from his
arms.

But how came the most affecting part of the ceremony. His parents had
stood apart--their hands locked in each other, both in tears, whilst
he took leave of the rest. He now approached his mother, and reverently
kneeling down, implored in words scarcely intelligible, her blessing
and forgiveness; he extended both his hands--"Mother," he added, "I
ask--humbly and penitently, I ask your blessing; it will be sweet to me
from your beloved lips, dear mother;--pardon me if I ever--as I feel I
often did--caused you a pang of sorrow by my disobedience and folly. Oh,
pardon me--pardon me for all now! Bless your son, kindest of mothers,
with your best and tenderest blessing!"

She threw herself in his arms, and locking him in her embrace, imprinted
every part of his face with kisses. "Oh, Denis," she exclaimed, "there
is but one more who will miss you more nor I will--Oh, my darlin'
son--our pride--our pride--our heart's pride--our honor, and our credit!
Sure, _anim machree_, I have nothin' to forgive you for, my heart's
life; but may the blessin' of God and of a happy mother light on you!
And, Denis _asthore_, wasn't it you that made me happy, and that made us
all happy. May my blessin' and the blessin' of God rest upon you--keep
you from every evil, and in every good, till my eyes will be made glad
by lookin' on you agin!"

A grief more deep, and a happiness more full, than had yet been felt,
were now to come forth. Denis turned to his father--his companion
in many a pastime, and in many a walk about their native fields. In
fair--in market--at mass--and at every rustic amusement within their
reach--had he been ever at the side of that indulgent father, whose
heart and soul were placed in him. Denis could not utter a word, but
kept his streaming eyes fixed upon the old man, with that yearning
expression of the heart which is felt when it desires to be mingled
with the very existence of the object that it loves. Old Denis advanced,
under powerful struggles, to suppress his grief; he knelt, and, as the
tears ran in silence down his cheeks, thus addressed himself to God:--

"I kneel down before you, oh, my God a poor sinner! I kneel here in you