ver melted into a
human ear--

"Atty, treasure of my heart, how do you feel?"

The child made no reply, but as his eye had not met hers, and as she had
whispered very low, it was likely, she thought, that he had not heard
her.

"I will bring his father," said she, "for if he will know or spake to
any one, he will, spake to him."

She found Art walking about, as he had done almost ever since the
unhappy accident, and running to him with a gush of joyful tears, she
threw her arms about his neck, and kissing him, said--

"Blessed be the Almighty, Art--" but she paused, "oh, great God, Art,
what is this! merciful heaven, do I smell whiskey on you?"

"You do," he replied, "it's in vain, I can't live--I'd die widout it;
it's in vain, Margaret, to spake--if I don't get it to deaden my grief
I'll die: but, what wor you goin' to tell me?" he added eagerly.

She burst into tears.

"Oh, Art," said she, "how my heart has sunk in spite of the good news I
have for you."

"In God's name," he asked, "what is it? is our darlin' betther?"

"He is," she replied, "he has opened his eyes this minute, and I want
you to spake to him."

They both entered stealthily, and to their inexpressible delight heard
the child's voice; they paused,--breathlessly paused,--and heard him
utter, in a low sweet voice, the following words--

"Daddy, won't you come to bed wid me, wid your own Atty?"

This he repeated twice or thrice before they approached him, but when
they did, although his eye turned from one to another, it was vacant,
and betrayed no signs whatsoever of recognition.

Their hearts sank again, but the mother, whose hope was strong and
active as her affection, said--

"Blessed be the Almighty that he is able even to spake but he's not well
enough to know us yet."

This was unhappily too true, for although they spoke to him, and placed
themselves before him by turns, yet it was all in vain; the child knew
neither them nor any one else. Such, in fact, was now their calamity,
as a few weeks proved. The father by that unhappy blow did not kill
his body, but he killed his mind; he arose from his bed a mild, placid,
harmless idiot, silent and inoffensive--the only words he was almost
heard to utter, with rare exceptions, being those which had been in his
mind when he was dealt the woful blow:--"Daddy, won't you come to bed
wid me, wid your own Atty?" And these he pronounced as correctly as
ever, uttering them with the same emphas