It troubled us and the young ladies greatly that she would not eat. It was almost impossible to get her to taste a morsel; indeed the only thing she would let inside her lips was a bit of a little white bun, like those her poor mother used to bring her. There was nothing left untried to please her. I carried her up to the big house, thinking the change might do her good, and the ladies petted her, and talked to her, and gave her heaps of toys and cakes, and pretty frocks and coats; but she hardly noticed them, and was restless and uneasy until she got back to her own low sunny door-step. Every day she grew paler and thinner, and her bright eyes had a sad fond look in them, so like her mother’s. One evening she sat at the door later than usual. “Come in, _alannah_,” I said to her. “Won’t you come in for your own Sally?” She never stirred. I went over to her; she was quite still, with her little hands crossed on her lap, and her head drooping on her chest. I touched her—she was cold. I gave a loud scream, and Richard came running—he stopped and looked, and then burst out crying like an infant. Our little sister was dead! Well, my Mary, the sorrow was bitter, but it was short. You’re gone home to Him that comforts as a mother comforteth. _Agra machree_, your eyes are as blue, and your hair as golden, and your voice as sweet, as they were when you watched by the cabin-door; but your cheeks are not pale, _acushla_, nor your little hands thin, and the shade of sorrow has passed away from your forehead like a rain-cloud from the summer sky. She that loved you so on earth, has clasped you for ever to her bosom in heaven; and God himself has wiped away all tears from your eyes, and placed you both and our own dear father far beyond the touch of sorrow or the fear of death. A GREAT MAN DEPARTED. There was a festive hall with mirth resounding; Beauty and wit, and friendliness surrounding; With minstrelsy above, and dancing feet rebounding. And at the height came news, that held suspended The sparkling glass!—till slow the hand descended— And cheeks grew pale and straight—and all the mirth was ended. Beneath a sunny sky, ’twas heard with wonder, A flash had cleft a lofty tree asunder, Without a previous cloud—and with no rolling thunder. Strong was the stem—its boughs above all ’thralling— And in its roots and sap no cankers galling— Prosperity was perfect, while Death’s hand was falling. Man’s body is less safe than any tree; We build our ship in strong security— A Finger, from the dark, points to the trembling sea. Man, like his knowledge, and his soul’s endeavour, Is framed for no fixed altitude—but ever Moves onward: the first pause, returns all to the Giver.