duct during these severe and terrible trials was not
noble and heroic, we know not what could be called so. The affection
which she exhibited towards her husband overcame everything. When Art
had got about half way in his mad and profligate career, her friends
offered to support her, if she would take refuge with them and abandon
him; but the admirable woman received the proposal as an insult; and the
reply she gave is much the same as the reader has heard from her lips,
with reference to the girl's message from her sister.

Subsequently, they offered to take her and the children; but this also
she indignantly rejected. She could not leave him, she said, at the very
time when it was so necessary that her hands should be about him. What
might be the fate of such a man if he had none to take care of him?
No, this almost unexampled woman, rather than desert him in such
circumstances, voluntarily partook in all the wretchedness, destitution,
and incredible misery which his conduct inflicted on her, and did so
patiently, and without a murmur.

In a few days after the night we have described, a man covered with
rags, without shoe, or stocking, or shirt, having on an old hat, through
the broken crown of which his hair, wefted with bits of straw, stood
out, his face shrunk and pale, his beard long and filthy, and his eyes
rayless and stupid--a man of this description, we say, with one child in
his arms, and two more accompanying him, might be seen begging
through the streets of Ballykeerin; yes, and often in such a state of
drunkenness as made it frightful to witness his staggering gait, lest he
might tumble over upon the infant, or let it fair out of his arms. This
man was Art Maguire; to such a destiny had he come, or rather had he
brought himself at last; Art Maguire--one of the great Maguires of
Fermanagh!

But where is she--the attached, the indomitable in love--the patient,
the much enduring, the uncomplaining? Alas! she is at length separated
from him and them; her throbbing veins are hot and rife with fever--her
aching head is filled with images of despair and horror--she is calling
for her husband--her young and manly husband--and says she will not be
parted from him--she is also calling for her children, and demands to
have them. The love of the mother and of the wife is now furious; but,
thank God, the fury that stimulates it is that of disease, and not of
insanity. The trials and privations which could not overcom