r man's family.

"Oh! no, they can't starve. Have you no valuables of any kind,
Jemmy!--ne'er a baste now, or anything that way?"

"Why, there's a young heifer; but I'm strugglin' to keep it to help me
in the rent. I was obliged to sell my pig long ago, for I had no way of
feedin' it."

"Well, bring me the heifer, Jemmy, an' I won't let the crathurs starve.
We'll see what can be done when it comes here. An' now, Jemmy, let me ax
if you wint to hear mass on last Sunday?"

"Troth I didn't like to go in this trim. Peggy has a web of frieze half
made this good while; it'll be finished some time, I hope."

"Ah! Jemmy, Jemmy, it's no wondher the world's the way it is, for indeed
there's little thought of God or religion in it. You passed last Sunday
like a haythen, an' now you see how you stand to-day for the same."

"You'll let me bring some o' the meal home wid me now," said the man;
"the poor cratures tasted hardly anything to-day yet, an' they wor
cryin' whin I left home. I'll come back wid the heifer fullfut. Troth
they're in utther misery, Darby."

"Poor things!--an' no wondher, wid such a haythen of a father; but,
Jemmy, bring the heifer here first till I look at it, an' the sooner you
bring it here the sooner they'll have relief, the crathurs."

It is not our intention to follow up this iniquitous bargain any
further; it is enough to say that the heifer passed from Jemmy's
possession into his, at about the fourth part of its value.

To those who had money he was a perfect honey-comb, overflowing with
kindness and affection, expressed in such a profusion of warm and sugary
words, that it was next to an impossibility to doubt his sincerity.

"Darby," said a very young female, on whose face was blended equal
beauty and sorrow, joined to an expression that was absolutely
death-like, "I suppose I needn't ax you for credit?" He shook his head.

"It's for the couple," she added, "an' not for myself. I wouldn't ax it
for myself. I know my fault, an' my sin, an' may God forgive myself in
the first place, an' him that brought me to it, an' to the shame that
followed it! But what would the ould couple do now widout me?"

"An' have you no money? Ah, Margaret Murtagh! sinful creature--shame,
shame, Margaret. Unfortunate girl that you are, have you no money?"

"I have not, indeed; the death of my brother Alick left us as we are;
he's gone from them now; but there was no fear of me goin' that wished
to go. Oh, if God i