I see her, an' I think I hear her voice on the top of Lisbane, ringin' sweetly across the valley of the Mountain Wather, as I often did.

An' is it to take me away now from all this?
Oh! no, childre', the white-haired grandfather couldn't go.

He couldn't lave the ould places--the ould places.

If he did, he'd die--he'd die.

Oh, don't, for God's sake, Tom, as you love me!" There was a spirit of helpless entreaty in these last words that touched his son, and indeed all who heard him, to the quick.
"Grandfather dear, be quiet," he replied; "God will direct all things for the best.