ir. At length he recovered, looked wildly about
him, then gazed up in the face of the stranger, and made one or two deep
respirations.

"I see," said he, "I remember--set me sittin' upon this little ditch
beside the door--but no, no--" he added, starting--"come away--I must
get them food--come--quick, quick, and I will tell you as we go along."

He then repeated the history of his ruin by Sir Thomas Gourlay, of the
robbery, and of the scene of death and destitution which drove him to
it.

"And was it from Sir Thomas you got this note?" asked the stranger, whose
interest was now deeply excited.

"From him I got it, sir; as I tould you," he replied, "and I was on my
way to the priest to give him up the money and the pistols, when the
situation of my children, of my family of the livin' and the dead,
overcame me, and I was tempted to break in upon one pound of it for
their sakes. Sir, my life's in your hands, but there is something in
your face that tells my heart that you won't betray me, especially
afther what you have seen."

The stranger had been a silent and attentive listener to this narrative,
and after he had ceased he spoke not for some time. He then added,
emphatically but quickly, and almost abruptly:

"Don't fear me, my poor fellow. Your secret is as safe as if you had
never disclosed it. Here are other notes for you, and in the meantime
place yourself in the hands of your priest, and enable him to restore
Sir Thomas Gourlay his money and his pistols, I shall see you and your
family again."

The man viewed the money, looked at him for a moment, burst into tears,
and hurried away, without saying a word, to procure food for himself and
his children.

Our readers need not imagine for a moment that the scenes with which we
have endeavored to present them, in,the wretched hut of Trailcudgel,
are at all overdrawn. In point of fact, they fall far short of thousands
which might have been witnessed, and were witnessed, during the years of
'47, '48, '49, and this present one of '50. We are aware that so many
as twenty-three human beings, of all ages and sexes, have been found by
public officers, all lying on the same floor, and in the same bed--if
bed it can be termed--nearly one-fourth of them stiffened and putrid
corpses. The survivors weltering in filth, fever, and famine, and
so completely maddened by despair, delirium, and the rackings of
intolerable pain, in its severest shapes--aggravated by thirst and