small o' my back."

"Lie down a little, dear," she added, "its only the pain, poor boy, of
an empty stomach--lie down on your poor bed, God help you, and when the
supper's ready you'll be better."

"It's her," he replied--"it's her--I know it"--and as he uttered the
words, touched by her generosity, and the consciousness of his own
poverty, he wept bitterly, and then repaired to his miserable bed, where
he stretched himself in pain and sorrow.

"Now, Con," said his wife, in a tone of consolation and encouragement,
"will you ever despair of God's mercy, or doubt his goodness, after what
has happened?"

"I'm an unhappy man, Nancy," he replied, "but it never went to that with
me, thank God--but where is that poor wild boy of ours, Tom,--oh, where
is he now, till he gets one meal's mate?"

"He is up at the Murtaghs," said his sister, "an' I had better fetch
him home; I think the poor fellow's almost out of his senses since Peggy
Murtagh's death--that an' the dregs of the fever has him that he doesn't
know what he's doin', God help him."

CHAPTER XII. -- Famine, Death, and Sorrow.

It has never been our disposition, either in the living life we lead,
or in the fictions, humble and imperfect as they are, which owe their
existence to our imagination, to lay too heavy a hand upon human
frailty, any more than it has been to countenance or palliate vice,
whether open or hypocritical. Peggy Murtagh, with whose offence and
death the reader is already acquainted, was an innocent and affectionate
girl, whose heart was full of kind, generous, and amiable feelings. She
was very young, and very artless, and loved not wisely but too well;
while he who was the author of her sin, was nearly as young and artless
as herself, and loved her with a first affection. She was, in fact, one
of those gentle, timid, and confiding creatures who suspect not evil in
others, and are full of sweetness and kindness to every one. Never did
there live--with the exception of her offence--a tenderer daughter, or
a more affectionate sister than poor Peggy, and for this reason, the
regret was both sincere and general, which was felt for her great
misfortune. Poor girl! she was but a short time released from her early
sorrows, when her babe followed her, we trust, to a better world, where
the tears were wiped from her eyes, and the weary one got rest.

The scene in her father's house on this melancholy night, was such as
few hearts could bear unm