he spoke, and perceived that consciousness was
returning. The first thing she did was to put up her hand to her temple,
where she felt the warm blood. She gave him one look of profound sorrow.

"Oh, Art dear," she exclaimed, "Art dear--" her voice failed her, but the
tears flowed in torrents down her cheeks.

"Margaret," said he, "you needn't spake to me that way. You know any how
I'm damned--damned--lol de rol lol--tol de rol lol! ha, ha, ha! I have
no hope either here or hereafther--divil a morsel of hope. Isn't that
comfortable? eh?--ha, ha, ha"--another hideous laugh. "Well, no matter;
we'll dhrink it out, at all events. Where's Atty, wid the whiskey? Oh,
here he is! That's a good boy, Atty."

"Oh, mammy darlin'," exclaimed the child, on seeing the blood streaming
from her temple--"mammy darlin', what happened you?"

"I fell, Atty dear," she replied, "and was cut."

"That's a lie, Atty; it was I, your fine chip of a father, that struck
her. Here's her health, at all events! I'll make one dhrink of it; hoch!
they may talk as they like, but I'll stick to Captain Whiskey."

"Father," said the child, "will you come over and lie down upon the
straw, for your own me, for your own Atty; and then you'll fall into a
sound sleep?"

"I will, Atty, for you--for you--I will, Atty; but mind, I wouldn't do
it for e'er another livin'."

One day wid Captain Whiskey I wrastled a fall, But, t'aix, I was no
match for the Captain at all, Though the landlady's measures they wor
damnably small--But I'll thry him to morrow when I'm sober.

"Come," said the child, "lie down here on the straw; my poor mammy says
we'll get clane straw to-morrow; and we'll be grand then."

His father, who was now getting nearly helpless, went over and threw
himself upon some straw--thin and scanty and cold it was--or rather,
in stooping to throw himself on it he fell with what they call in the
country a soss; that is, he fell down in a state of utter helplessness;
his joints feeble and weak, and all his strength utterly prostrated.
Margaret, who in the meantime was striving to stop the effusion of blood
from her temple, by the application of cobwebs, of which there was no
scarcity in the house, now went over, and loosening his cravat, she got
together some old rags, of which she formed, as well as she could, a
pillow to support his head, in order to avoid the danger of his being
suffocated.

"Poor Art," she exclaimed, "if you knew what you did, yo