mile of hope and affection upon her children, then upon Owen.

"Arrah, thin, who knows, indeed!--who knows but he might do something
for us? And maybe we might be as well as ever yet! May the Lord put it
into his heart, this day! I declare, ay!--maybe it was God put it into
your heart, Owen!"

"I'll set off," replied her husband, who was a man of decision; "I'll
set off on other morrow mornin'; and as nobody knows anything about it,
so let there not be a word said upon the subject, good or bad. If I have
success, well and good; but if not, why, nobody need be the wiser."

The heart-broken wife evinced, for the remainder of the day, a lightness
of spirits which she had not felt for many a month before. Even Owen
was less depressed than usual, and employed himself in making
such arrangements as he knew would occasion his family to feel the
inconvenience of his absence less acutely. But as the hour of his
departure drew nigh, a sorrowful feeling of affection rising into
greater strength and tenderness threw a melancholy gloom around his
hearth. According to their simple view of distance, a journey to Dublin
was a serious undertaking, and to them it was such. Owen was in weak
health, just risen out of illness, and what was more trying than any
other consideration was, that since their marriage they had never been
separated before.

On the morning of his departure, he was up before daybreak, and so were
his wife and children, for the latter had heard the conversation already
detailed between them, and, with their simple-minded parents, enjoyed
the gleam of hope which it presented; but this soon changed--when he was
preparing to go, an indefinite sense of fear, and a more vivid clinging
of affection marked their feelings. He himself partook of this, and
was silent, depressed, and less ardent than when the speculation first
presented itself to his mind. His resolution, however, was taken, and,
should he fail, no blame at a future time could be attached to himself.
It was the last effort; and to neglect it, he thought, would have been
to neglect his duty. When breakfast was ready, they all sat down in
silence; the hour was yet early, and a rushlight was placed in a wooden
candlestick that stood beside them to afford light. There was something
solemn and touching in the group as they sat in dim relief, every face
marked by the traces of sickness, want, sorrow, and affection. The
father attempted to eat, but could not; Kathlee