"You all remember the Widow Dempsy. The first choice of her bosom was long gone, but the son she loved was left to her, and her heart was not quite lonely. And at the widow's hearth there was still a welcome for the stranger--and the son of her heart made his choice, like the father before him, and the joy of the widow's house was increased, for the son of her heart was happy.--And in due time the widow welcomed the fair-haired child of her son to the world, and a dream of her youth came over her, as she saw the joy of her son and her daughter, when they kissed the fair-haired child--But the hand of God was heavy in the land, and the fever fell hard upon the poor--and the widow was again bereft,--for the son of her heart was taken, and the wife of his bosom also--and the fair-haired child was left an orphan. And the widow would have laid down her bones and died, but for the fair-haired child that had none to look to but her. And the widow blessed God's name and bent her head to the blow--and the orphan that was left to her was the pulse of her heart, and often she looked on his pale face with a fearful eye, for health was not on the cheek of the boy--but she cherished him tenderly. "But the ways of the world grew crooked to the lone woman, when the son, that was the staff of her age, was gone, and one trouble followed another, but still the widow was not quite destitute.--And what was it brought the heavy stroke of distress and disgrace to the widow's door?--The tithe! The widow's cow was driven and sold to pay a few shillings; the drop of milk was no longer in the widow's house, and the tender child that needed the nourishment, wasted away before the widow's eyes, like snow from the ditch, and died: and fast the widow followed the son of her heart and his fair-haired boy. "And now, the home of an honest race is a heap of rubbish; and the bleak wind whistles over the hearth where the warm welcome was ever found; and the cold frog crouches under the ruins. "These stones are from that desolate place, and the curse of God that follows oppression is on them.--And let them be cast into the grave, and they will lie with the weight of a mountain on the monster that is buried for ever." So saying, he lifted stone after stone, and flung them fiercely into the pits then, after a moment's pause upon its verge, he suddenly strode away with the same noiseless step that he had approached, and left the scene in silence. [1] The _cabhien_ was an ancient head-dress of gorgeous material, and the name is applied in derision to a shabby hat. [2] The crop being often valued in a _green state_ in Ireland, the appraiser becomes a very obnoxious person. [3] Botany Bay. [4] The stump of pipe. [5] Excepting. [6] Keeners are persons who sing the Ulican, or death wail, round the coffin of the deceased, and repeat the good deeds of the departed. [7] I think Ware mentions an ancient crown being dug up at the "The Devil's Bit."