the
color that was in your cheeks? and my own Art here--that always pacifies
me when nobody else can--even Art doesn't look what he used to be."

"Well, sure he will, Art, dear," she would reply; "now will you let me
help you to bed? it's late; it's near three o'clock; Oh Art, dear, if
you were----"

"I won't go to bed--I'll stop here where I am, wid my head on the table,
till mornin'. Now do you know--come here, Margaret--let me hear you--do
you know, and are you sensible of the man you're married to?"

"To be sure I am."

"No, I tell you; I say you are not. There is but one person in the house
that knows that."

"You're right, Art darlin'--you're right. Come here, Atty; go to your
father; you know what to say, avick."

"Well, Art," he would continue, "do you know who your father is?"

"Ay do I; he's one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--the greatest family
in the kingdom. Isn't that it?"

"That's it, Atty darlin'--come an' kiss me for that; yes, I'm one of the
great Fermanagh Maguires. Isn't that a glorious thin', Atty?"

"Now, Art, darlin', will you let me help you to bed--think of the hour
it is."

"I won't go, I tell you. I'll sit here wid my head on the table all
night. Come here, Atty. Atty, it's wondherful how I love you--above all
creatures livin' do I love you. Sure I never refuse to do any thing for
you, Atty; do I now?"

"Well, then, will you come to bed for me?"

"To be sure I will, at wanst;" and the unhappy man instantly rose and
staggered into his bedroom, aided and supported by his wife and child;
for the latter lent whatever little assistance he could give to his
drunken father, whom he tenderly loved.

His shop, however, is now closed, the apprentices are gone, and the last
miserable source of their support no longer exists. Poverty now sets
in, and want and destitution. He parts with his tools; but not for the
purpose of meeting the demands of his wife and children at home; no;
but for drink--drink--drink--drink. He is now in such a state that he
cannot, dares not, reflect, and consequently, drink is more necessary
to him than ever. His mind, however, is likely soon to be free from
the pain of thinking; for it is becoming gradually debauched and
brutified--is sinking, in fact, to the lowest and most pitiable state of
degradation. It was then, indeed, that he felt how the world deals with
a man who leaves himself depending on it.

[Illustration: PAGE AM1018-- They immediately expel