Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1875-02-05

more than accustomed liberality.
All my consciousness of deceit
and trickery could not deprive the
scene of certain solemnitY. The
tmisty distance of the half lighted
room, the highly wrought express
sion of the country peoples faces
never more intensely excited than
at some moment of this kind; the
low, deep drawn breathings, unspo-
ken save by sigh or sob-the trib-
ute of affection sorrow to some lost
friend whose memory was thus for
cibly brought back; these were all
so real that, as l looked, thrilling
sense of awe stole over me, and ]
actually shook with fear.
A low, faint cough from the dark
corner where the bed stood seemed
to cause even a greater stiffness
where the buzzing of fly could have
been heard, my father said:
Wher's Billy Scanlon? Iwant to
make my will.
He's here, father! said Peter, ta-
king Billy by the hand, and leading
him to the bedside.
1 Write what l bid ye Billy and be
quick-for 1 haven't a long time
afore me here. 1 diea good Cath.
olic, though Father o. Rafferty, won't
4 give me the rights.
A general chorus of muttered
sOh! musha! mushap was heard
through the room, but whether in
grief over the sad fate of the dying
man, or the unfinching severity of
the priest it is hard to say.
l die in peace with all my neigh.
bors and all mankind.
Another chorus of the company
seemed to prove these charitable ex'
pressions.
| / bequeath unto my son Peter
and never was there a better OF
more decenter boy! Have you that
down? 1 bequeath unto my SOD Pc
ter the whole of my two farms oi
Killimundoonery and Knocksheboo-
ra, with the fallow meadows behind.
Lyneh's house, the forge and all OF
turf on the Doorac bog-I give him
and much good may it do him
Lanty Cassarn's acre and the Daury
field with the imekiln. And that
minds me my mouth is dry. Let
me taste what ye have in that jug.
The dying man took a very hearty
pull, and seemed considerably re
freshed by it.
Where was /, Billy Seanloni
says he. Oh! 1 remember-at tx
limekiln. ] leave him-that's Pc,
| ter mean-the potato garden al
Noonan's Well; and It's the elegant
fine crops that grow there!
hAin't you getting wake, father
dsrlin'? says Peter, who began tC
be afraid of my fathers Ioquacious
ness-for, to tell the truth, the punch
| got into his head, and he was great
| ly disposed to talk.
| / am Peter, my SON says he,
am getting wake. Just touch my
lips again with the jug. All, Peter
you wattered the drink!
No, indeed, father! But it's the
tast is lawn you? says Peter, and
again a low chorus of compassionate
pity murmured through the wide
cabin.
Well, Pm nearly done, now, say
my father. There's only one little
spot of ground remaining, and / pu
it on you, Peter, as ye wish to livc
a good man and die with the same
easy heart as 1 do now, and ye naint
my last words to ye here. Are y,
listeningP Is Billy Scanlon listen
ing?
Yes sir! Yes, father, we're al
minding! chorused the audience.
Well, then, its my last will ant
testament, and may the blessed Ii
quor be poison to me if / am not a
eager about this as every part of tn,
will! l say, then, l bequeath tn,
little plot at the cross roads to poo
Con Cregan, for he has a heavy
charge and is as honest and hard
, working man as ever knew. B,
a friend to him, Peter, dear. Neve
let him want while you have i
. yourself. Think of me on my death
: bed whenever he asks you for an,
triie. Is it down, Billy Scanlon
, The two acres at the crossroads t,
: Con Cregan and his heirs forever
All, blessed be the saint! but I fee
: my heart growing lighter after al
that! says he. A good work make
an easy conscience. And now II
! drink all the company's good healtl
| and many happy returns
What he was going to add there
: no saying; but Peter, who was ten
| ribly frightened at the lively ton
3 the sick man was assuming, hurrie
! the people into another room to le
) his father die in peace.
t When they were all gone, Pete
t slipped back TO my father, who wa
putting on his brogans in corner
5 Con says he, 'ye did it all WE'LL
But shure that was a joke about th
o two acres at the cross
g OF course, it was all joke. Won
a they laugh when 1 tell them abol
). it?
What! exclaimed Peter, in amaz
IT ment. Tell 'em all about it?
d Faith, and why shouldn't l? r
= piled my father dryly.
" Sure ye wouldn't be mean enoug
= to go against yer fathers dyin
70 words? says my father-the Ia
words he ever spoke. And here
gave low wicked laugh that mat
70 me shake with fear.
d Very well, Con, says Peter, hol
p ing out his hand; bargains ba
Q. gain. You're a deep fellow, that
d all!
s. Father only chuokled a little
Y this, but said nothing. And so
o ended, and my father slipped quie
e. ly over the bog, mighty well please
d with the legacy he left himself
Il And thus we became the owner
a. the little spot known to this day
/ Cons Acre.
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