She looked up, with streaming eyes, as he spoke, and replied to him in a manner so exquisitely affecting, when the circumstances of the boy, and the tender allusion made by the sorrowing mother, are considered--that in point of fact no heart--certainly no Irish heart--could withstand it. There is an old Irish melody unsurpassed in pathos, simplicity, and beauty--named in Irish “_Tha ma mackulla's na foscal me,_”---or in English, “I am asleep, and don't waken me.” The position of the boy caused the recollection of the old melody to flash into the mother's heart,--she simply pointed to him as the words streamed in a low melodious murmur, but one full of heartrending sorrow, from her lips. The old sacred association--for it was one which she had sung for him a thousand times,--until warned to desist by his tears--deepened the tenderness of her heart, and she said with difficulty, whilst she involuntarily held over the candle to gratify the father's heart by a sight of him. “I was keepin' him before my eye,” she said; “God knows but it may be the last night we'll ever see him undher our own roof! Dominick, achora, I doubt I can't part wid him from my heart.” “Then how can I, Vara?” he replied. “Wasn't he my right hand in everything? When was he from me, ever since he took a man's work upon him? And when he'd finish his own task for the day, how kindly he'd begin an' help me wid mine! No, Vara, it goes to my heart to let him go away upon sich a plan, and I wish he hadn't taken the notion into his head at all.” “It's not too late, maybe,” replied his mother: “I think it wouldn't be hard to put him off of it; the crathur's own heart is failin' him to lave us. He has sorrow upon his face where he lies.” The father looked at the expression of affectionate melancholy which shaded hia features as he slept; and the perception of the boy's internal struggle against his own domestic attachments in accomplishing hia first determination, powerfully touched his heart. “Vara,” said he, “I know the boy--he won't give it up; and 'twould be a pity--maybe a sin--to put him from it. Let the child get fair play, and thry his coorse. If, he fails, he can come back to us, an' our arms an' hearts will be open to welcome him! But, if God prospers him, wouldn't it be a blessin' that we never expected, to see him in the white robes, celebratin' one mass for his parents. If these ould eyes could see that, I would be continted to close them in pace an' happiness for ever.” “An' well you'd become them, _avourneen machree!_ Well would your mild and handsome countenance look wid the long heavenly stole of innocence upon you! and although it's atin' into my heart, I'll bear it for the sake of seein' the same blessed sight. Look at that face, Dominick; mightn't many a lord of the land be proud to have sich a son? May the heavens shower down its blessin' upon him!”