Bradford opinion. [volume] (Bradford, Vt.) 1874-1881, 1875-02-13
reach the house the performance
had already begun.
think I sea thu whole RCaliA fhis

reach the house the performance
had already begun.
l think l see tho whole scene thi
instant before my eyes, as l sat o.
a little window with one broker
pane, and surveyed tho proceeding
1t was a large room, and at one enc
of which was D bed, and beside il
was table with physic, bottles
spoons and tea.cups. A little fnr
ther off was another table, at which
sat Billy Scanlan, with all manner
Of writing materials before him.
The country people sat two, and
sometimes three deep around the
walls, all intentIy eager and anxious
for the coming event. Peter him.
self went from place to place, try.
ing to smother his grief, aud occa.
sionally helping the company to
whiskey, which was supplied with
more than accustomed liberality.
All my consciousness of the de-
ceit and trickery could not deprive
the scene of a certain solemnity.
The misty distance of the halflight.
ed room; the highly wrought ex.
preston Of the country peoples
faces, never more intensely excited
than at some moment of this kind !;
the low, deep-drawn breathings, un-
broken save by sigh or a sob-the
tribute Of affectionate sorrow to
some lost friend, whose memory was
thus forcibly brought back these
were all so real, that, as l looked, a
thrilling seuse of awe stole over
me, and l actually shook with fear.
A low, faint cough from the cor.
ner where the bed stood seemed to
cause even a deeper stiffness ; and
then, in a silence where the buzzing
of fly would have been heard, my
father said, in scarcely articulate
tone -
"Where's Billy Scanlan I I want
to make my will"
"He's here, father" said Peter,
taking Billy by the hand and lead
ing him to the bedside.
"Write what l bid ye, Billy, and
be quick, for 1 haven't q long time
before me here. l die a good Gath
olic, though Father O'Ratferty won't
give me the rites"
A general chorus of muttered,
"Oh musha musha !" was heard
throughout the room but whether
in grief over the dying man, or the
unflinching severity of the priest, is
hard to say.
~ die in peace with all my neigh
bors, and all mankind"
Another chorus of the company
seemed to approve these charitable
expressions.
II bequeath to my son Peter-and
never was there q better son or a
decenter boy! Have you that down I
II bequeath unto my son Peter the
whole of my two farms of Killmun.
doonery and Knockshedooa, with
the fallow meadows behind Lynch's
house, the forge, and right of tuft
on the Doorac bog. give him
and much good may it do him =
Kanty Kaskarn's acre, and the
Luray field with the limekiln. And
that reminds me that mouth is dry.
Let me taste what ye have in the
Jug" here the dying man took
hearty pull, and seemed consider
ably refreshed by it.
"Where was l, Billy Scanlan I"
said he: "Oh, remember, at the
limekiln. leave him-that's Peter,
I mean-the two potato gardens at
Noonan's Well; and it is the ele-
giant, fine crops grow there"
Saint you getting wake. father
darlin' I" says Peter, who began to
feel afraid of my fathers loquacious-
ness, for, to say the truth the punch
got into his head, and he was great
ly disposed to talk.
~ am, Peter, my son." says he,
'I am getting wake. just touch
my lips again with the jug. All
Peter, Peter, you watered the drink"
"No, indeed, father, but it's the
taste that is leaving you," says Pc
ter e; and again low chorus Of COM
passionate pity murmured through
the wide cabin.
"Well, am nearly gone now,"
says my father. "There's one little
spot of ground remaining, and put
it on you, Peter-as ye wish to live
q good man, and die with the same
easy heart that do now-that ye
mind my last words to ye here. Are
ye listeningi Are the neighbors