“‘God love ye, Mr. Fitzgerald, poor English is gone! Indeed, then, it was the will of the Lord, and He’s taken him from us-poor English!’ says Mrs. McCarty. And Fitzgerald, and the gentleman with him, entered the den, and they shuddered and sat down at the sight of the face in the coffin. ‘Sit down, Mr. Fitzgerald, do!—and may the Lord love ye! There was a deal of good in poor English. He’s gone-so he is!’ said Mrs. McCarty, begging them to sit down, and excuse the disordered state of her few rags. She had a hard struggle to live, God knows. They took off their hats, and sat a few minutes in solemn silence. The rags moved at the gentleman’s side, which made him move towards the door. ‘What is there, my good woman?’ he inquired. ‘She’s a blessed child, Mr. Fitzgerald knows that same:’ says Mrs. McCarty, turning down the rags and revealing the wasted features of her youngest girl, a child eleven years old, sinking in death. ‘God knows she’ll be better in heaven, and herself won’t be long out of it,’ Mrs. McCarty twice repeated, maintaining a singular indifference to the hand of death, already upon the child. The gentleman left some money to buy candles for poor English, and with Mr. Fitzgerald took himself away. “Near midnight, the tall black figure of solemn-faced Father Flaherty stalked in. He was not pleased with the McCartys, but went to the side of the dying child, fondled her little wasted hand in his own, and whispered a prayer for her soul. Never shall I forget how innocently she looked in his face while he parted the little ringlets that curled over her brow, and told her she would soon have a better home in a better world. Then he turned to poor English, and the cross, and the candles, and the pictures, and the living faces that gave such a ghastliness to the picture. Mrs. McCarty brought him a basin of water, over which he muttered, and made it holy. Then he again muttered some unintelligible sentences, and sprinkled the water over the dying child, over the body of poor English, and over the living-warning Mrs. McCarty and her daughters, as he pointed to the coffin. Then he knelt down, and they all knelt down, and he prayed for the soul of poor English, and left. What holy water then was left, Mrs. McCarty placed near the door, to keep the ghosts out. “The neighbors at the Blazers took a look in, and a few friends at the house of the ‘Nine Nations’ took a look in, and ‘Fighting Mary,’ of Murderer’s Alley, took a look in, and before Father Flaherty had got well out of ‘Cow Bay,’ it got to be thought a trifle of a wake would console Mrs. McCarty’s distracted feelings. ‘Hard-fisted Sall’ came to take a last look at poor English; and she said she would spend her last shilling over poor English, and having one, it would get a drop, and a drop dropped into the right place would do Mrs. McCarty a deal of good.