“Och! och! asthore, asthore! you're lyin' there--an', oh, Ellish, avourneen, could you think that I--I--would spare money--trash--to bring you to glory wid the angels o' heaven! No, no, Father dear. It's good, an' kind, an' thoughtful of you to put it into my head; but I didn't intind to neglect or forget it. Oh, how will I live wantin' her, Father? When I rise in the mornin', avillish, where 'ud be your smile and your voice? We won't hear your step, nor see you as we used to do, movin' pleasantly about the place. No--you're gone, avoumeen--gone--an' we'll see you and hear you no more!” His grief was once more about to burst forth, but the priest led him out of the room, kindly chid him for the weakness of his immoderate sorrow, and after making arrangements about the celebration of mass for the dead, pressed his hand, and bade the family farewell. The death of Ellish excited considerable surprise, and much conversation in the neighborhood. Every point of her character was discussed freely, and the comparisons instituted between her and Peter were anything but flattering to the intellect of her husband. “An' so Ellish is whipped off, Larry,” said a neighbor to one of Peter's laboring men, “Faix, an' the best feather in their wing is gone.” “Ay, sure enough, Risthard, you may say that. It was her cleverness made them what they are. She was the best manager in the three kingdoms.” “Ah, she was the woman could make a bargain. I only hope she hasn't brought the luck o' the family away wid her!” “Why, man alive, she made the sons and daughters as clever as herself--put them up to everything. Indeed, it's quare to think of how that one woman brought them ris them to what they are!” “They shouldn't forget themselves as they're doin', thin; for betune you an' me, they're as proud as Turks, an' God he sees it ill becomes them--sits very badly on them, itself, when everything knows that their father an' mother begun the world wid a bottle of private whiskey an' half a pound of smuggled tobaccy.” “Poor Pether will break his heart, any way. Oh, man, but she was the good wife. I'm livin' wid them going an seven year, an' never hard a cross word from the one to the other. It's she that had the sweet tongue all out, an' did manage him; but, afther all, he was worth the full o' the Royal George of her. Many a time, when some poor craythur 'ud come to ax whiskey on score to put over* some o' their friends, or for a weddin', or a christenin', maybe, an' when the wife 'ud refuse it, Pether 'ud send what whiskey they wanted afther them, widout lettin' her know anything about it. An', indeed, he never lost anything by that; for if they wor to sell their cow, he should be ped, in regard of the kindly way he gave it to them.” * To put over--the corpse of a friend, to be drunk at the wake and funeral. “Well, we'll see how they'll manage now that she's gone; but Pether an' the youngest daughter, Mary, is to be pitied.”