of both events upon his heart, he had seldom, if ever, by a
single act or expression, afforded any proof that his avarice survived,
or was able to maintain its hold upon him, against the shock which
awakened the full power of a father's love.

About ten o'clock, a. m., on the fourth day after their arrival, Connor,
who had run over to the Bodagh's, was hurriedly sent for by his mother,
who desired Nelly M'Cormick to say that his father incessantly called
for him, and that he must not lose a moment in coming. He returned
immediately with her, and found the old man reclining in bed, supported
by his wife, who sat behind him.

"Is my boy comin'?" he said, in a thin, wiry, worn voice, but in words
which, to any person near him, were as distinct almost as ever--"is my
boy Connor comin'?"

"I am here, father," replied Connor, who had just entered the sick room;
"sure I am always with you."

"You are, you are," said he, "you were ever an' always good. Give me
your hand, Connor."

Connor did so.

"Connor, darlin'," he proceeded, "don't be like me. I loved money too
much; I set my heart on it, an' you know how it was taken away from me.
The priest yesterday laid it upon me, out of regard to my reignin' sin,
as he called it, to advise you afore I die against lovin' the wealth o'
this world too much."

"I hope I never will, father, your own misfortune ought to be a warnin'
to me."

"Ay, you may say that; it's I indeed that was misfortunate; but it was
all through P----an' that nest o' robbers, the Isle o' Man."

"Don't think of him or it now, my dear father--don't be discomposin'
your mind about them."

Connor and his mother exchanged a melancholy glance; and the latter,
who, on witnessing his frame of mind, could not help shedding bitter
tears, said to him--

"Fardorougha dear, Fardorougha asthore machree, won't you be guided by
me? You're now on your death--bed, an' think of God's marcy--it's that
you stand most in need of. Sure, ayourneen, if you had all the money you
ever had, you couldn't bring a penny of it where you're goin'."

"Well, but I'm givin' Connor advice that'll sarve him. Sure I'm not
biddin' him to set his heart on it, for I tould the priest I wouldn't;
but is that any raison why he'd not save it? I didn't tell the priest
that I wouldn't bid him do that."

"Father," said Connor, "for the love o' God will you put these thoughts
out o' your heart and mind?"

"So Connor dear," proceeded the old ma