Mave, there's sweet faces about me, sich as I seen in the shed; they're smilin' upon me--smilin' upon Sarah--upon poor, hasty Sarah McGowan--that would have loved every one.

Mave, think of me sometimes--an' let him, when he thinks of the wild girl that loved him, look upon you, dearest Mave, an' love you, if possible, better for her sake.

These sweet faces are about me again.
Father, I'll be before you--die--die like a man." While uttering these last few sentences, which were spoken with great difficulty, she began to pull the bedclothes about with her hands, and whilst uttering the last word, her beautiful hand was slightly clenched, as if helping out a sentiment so completely in accordance with her brave spirit.

These motions, however, ceased suddenly--she heaved a deep sigh, and the troubled spirit of the kind, the generous, the erring, but affectionate Sarah M'Gowan--as we shall call her still--passed away to another, and, we trust, a better life.

The storms of her heart and brain were at rest forever.
Thus perished in early life one of those creatures, that sometimes seem as if they were placed by mistake in a wrong sphere of existence.