ions as these:--

"Poor Pether! he's nearly off; an' a dacent, kind neighbor he ever was.
The death of the wife broke his heart--he never ris his head since."

"Ay, poor man! God pity him! Hell soon be sleepin' beside her, beyant
there, where she's lyin'. It was never known of Peter Connell that he
offinded man, woman, or child since he was born, barrin' the gaugers,
bad luck to thim, afore he was marrid--but that was no offince. Sowl, he
was their match, any how. When he an' the wife's gone, they won't lave
their likes behind them. The sons are bodaghs--gintlemen, now; an'
it's nothin' but dinners an' company. Ahagur, that wasn't the way their
hardworkin' father an' mother made the money that they're houldin' their
heads up wid such consequence upon."

The children, however, did not give Peter up as hopeless. Father
Mulcahy, too, once-more assailed him on his weak side. One morning, when
he was sober, nervous, and depressed, the priest arrived, and finding
him at home, addressed him as follows:--

"Peter, I'm sorry, and vexed, and angry this morning; and you are the
cause of it"

"How is that, your Reverence?" said Peter. "God help me," he added,
"don't be hard an me, sir, for I'm to be pitied. Don't be hard on me,
for the short time I'll be here. I know it won't be long--I'll be wid
her soon. Asthore machree, we'll' be together, I hope, afore long--an',
oh! if it was the will o' God, I would be glad if it was afore night!"

The poor, shattered, heart-broken creature wept bitterly, for he felt
somewhat sensible of the justice of the reproof which he expected from
the priest, as well as undiminished sorrow for his wife.

"I'm not going to be hard on you," said the good-natured priest; "I only
called to tell you a dream that your son Dan had last night about you
and his mother."

"About Ellish! Oh, for heaven's sake what about her, Father, avourneen?"

"She appeared to him, last night," replied Father Mulcahy, "and told him
that your drinking kept her out of happiness."

"Queen of heaven!" exclaimed Peter, deeply affected, "is that true? Oh,"
said he, dropping on his knees, "Father, ahagur machree, pardon me--oh,
forgive me! I now promise, solemnly and seriously, to drink neither
in the house nor out of it, for the time to come, not one drop at all,
good, bad, or indifferent, of either whiskey, wine, or punch--barrin'
one glass. Are you now satisfied? an' do you think she'll get to
happiness?"

"All will be