I'll kiss you, Harry--I'll kiss you, my heart's treasure, for your noble deed--but O Harry, you don't know the lips of sorrow that kiss! you now.

Sure they are the lips of your own Rose, that gave her young heart to you, and was happy for it.

Don't feel ashamed, Harry; it's a good man's case to die the death you did, and be at rest, as I hope you are, for you are not a murderer; and if you are, it is only in the eye of the law, and it was your love for Nannie that did it." This woeful dirge of the mother's heart, and the wife's sorrow, had almost every eye in tears; and, indeed, it was impossible that the sympathy for her should not be deep and general.

They all knew the excellence and mildness of her husband's character, and that every word she uttered concerning him was truth.
In Irish wakehouses, it is to be observed, the door is never closed.

The heat of the house, and the crowding of the neighbors to it, render it necessary that it should be open; but independently of this, we believe it a general custom, as it is also to keep it so during meals.