"Rose, dear," she said, as she appeared before her sister in the old wallsteads, "my mind's oneasy about them twa' red shawls that's in the basket. Matty Hunter and Jane Taggart paid me for them, an' I bought them wi' their money, Friday was eight days. Gie them the shawls the morrow. An' old Mosey McCorkell gied me the price o' a wiley coat; it's in under the other things in the basket. An' now farewell; I can get to my rest." "Grace, Grace, bide a wee minute," cried the faithful sister, as the dear voice grew fainter, and the dear face began to fade--"Grace, darling! Thady? The children? One word mair!" but neither cries nor tears could further detain the spirit hastening to its rest! [Footnote 16: When a large, round, flat griddle cake is divided into triangular cuts, each of these cuts is called a farrel, farli, or parli.] A LEGEND OF TYRONE. ELLEN O'LEARY. Crouched round a bare hearth in hard, frosty weather, Three lonely helpless weans cling close together; Tangled those gold locks, once bonnie and bright-- There's no one to fondle the baby to-night. "My mammie I want; oh! my mammie I want!" The big tears stream down with the low wailing chant. Sweet Eily's slight arms enfold the gold head: "Poor weeny Willie, sure mammie is dead-- And daddie is crazy from drinking all day-- Come down, holy angels, and take us away!" Eily and Eddie keep kissing and crying-- Outside, the weird winds are sobbing and sighing. All in a moment the children are still, Only a quick coo of gladness from Will. The sheeling no longer seems empty or bare, For, clothed in soft raiment, the mother stands there. They gather around her, they cling to her dress; She rains down soft kisses for each shy caress. Her light, loving touches smooth out tangled locks, And, pressed to her bosom, the baby she rocks. He lies in his cot, there's a fire on the hearth; To Eily and Eddy 'tis heaven on earth, For mother's deft fingers have been everywhere; She lulls them to rest in the low _suggaun_[17] chair. They gaze open-eyed, then the eyes gently close, As petals fold into the heart of a rose, But ope soon again in awe, love, but no fear, And fondly they murmur, "Our mammie is here." She lays them down softly, she wraps them around; They lie in sweet slumbers, she starts at a sound, The cock loudly crows, and the spirit's away-- The drunkard steals in at the dawning of day. Again and again, 'tween the dark and the dawn, Glides in the dead mother to nurse Willie Bawn: Or is it an angel who sits by the hearth? An angel in heaven, a mother on earth. [Footnote 17: Chair made of twisted straw ropes.] THE BLACK LAMB.[18] LADY WILDE.