th his horrible
affliction; "if there was but any one fault of his that I could remimber
now, any one failin' that our treasure had--if I could think of a single
spot upon his little heart, it would relieve me; but, no, no, there's
nothin' of that kind to renumber aginst him. Oh, if he wasn't what he
was--if he wasn't what he was--we might have some little consolation;
but now we've none; we've none--none!"

As he spoke and wept, which he did with the bitterest anguish of
despair, his grief assumed a character that was fearful from the inward
effusion of blood, which caused him from time to time to throw it up in
red mouthfuls, and when remonstrated with by the doctor upon the danger
of allowing himself to be overcome by such excitement--

"I don't care," he shouted, "if it's my heart's blood, I would shed it
at any time for him; I don't care about life now; what 'ud it be to me
without my son? widout you, Atty dear, what is the world or all
that's in it to me now! An' when I think of who it was that cut you
down--cursed be the hand that gave you that unlucky blow, cursed may
it be--cursed be them that tempted me to drink--cursed may the drink be
that made me as I was, and cursed of God may I be that--"

"Art, Art," exclaimed Margaret, "any thing but that, remember there's a
God above--don't blasphame;--we have enough to suffer widout havin' to
answer for that."

He paused at her words, and as soon as the paroxysm was over, he sunk
by fits into a gloomy silence, or walked from room to room, wringing
his hands and beating his head, in a state of furious distraction, very
nearly bordering on insanity.

The next morning, we need scarcely assure our readers, that, as the
newspapers have it, a great and painful sensation had been produced
through the town of Bally-keerin by the circumstances which we have
related:--

"Art Maguire had broken the pledge, gone home drunk, and killed his only
son by the blow of an iron bar on the, head; the crowner had been sent
for, an' plaise God we'll have a full account of it all."

In part of this, however, common fame, as she usually is, was mistaken;
the boy was not killed, neither did he then die. On the third day, about
eight o'clock in the evening, he opened his eyes, and his mother, who
was scarcely ever a moment from his bedside, having observed the fact,
approached him with hopes almost as deep as those of heaven itself in
her heart, and in a voice soft and affectionate as e