Oh, what
wouldn't the mother give to have you back wid her; but it can't be--an'
what wouldn't I give to have you before my eyes agin, in health an'
in life--but it can't be. The lovin' mother sent this message to you,
Alley. Take it from her; she bid me tell you that we are well an' happy;
our name is pure, and, like yourself, widout spot or stain. Won't you
pray for us before God, an' get him an' his blessed Mother to look on
us wid favor an' compassion? Farewell, Alley asthore! May you slelp in
peace, an' rest on the breast of your great Father in Heaven, until we
all meet in happiness together. It's your father that's spakin' to you,
our lost flower; an' the hand that often smoothed your goolden head is
now upon your grave."
He wiped his eyes as he concluded, and after lifting a little of the
clay from her grave, he tied it carefully up, and put it into his
pocket.
Having left the grave-yard, he retraced his steps towards Frank
Farrell's house. The sun had now risen, and as Owen ascended the larger
of the two hills which we have mentioned, he stood again to view the
scene that stretched beneath him. About an hour before all was still,
the whole country lay motionless, as if the land had been a land of the
dead. The mountains, in the distance, were covered with the thin mists
of morning; the milder and richer parts of the landscape had appeared in
that dim gray distinctness which gives to distant objects such a clear
outline.
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