ement. Still the terror lest this inhuman
agent might carry his resolution into effect on such a day, and under
such circumstances, gave to their pitiable sense of his loss a dark and
deadly hue of misery, at which the heart actually sickens. From the hour
of nine o'clock on that ominous morning, the inhabitants of Drum Dhu
were passing, despite the storm, from cabin to cabin, discussing
the probable events of the day, and asking each other if it could be
possible that M'Clutchy would turn them out under such a tempest. Nor
was this all. The scene indeed was one which ought never to be witnessed
in any country. Misery in all its shapes was there--suffering in its
severest pangs--sickness--disease--famine--and death--to all which was
to be added bleak, houseless, homeless, roofless desolation. Had the
season been summer they might have slept in the fields, made themselves
temporary sheds, or carried their sick, and aged, and helpless, to
distant places where humanity might aid and relieve them. But no--here
were the elements of God, as it were, called in by the malignity and
wickedness of man to war against old age, infancy, and disease.

For a day or two proceeding this, poor Torley thought he felt a little
better, that is to say, his usual symptoms of suffering were litigated,
as is sometimes the case when human weakness literally sinks below the
reach of pain itself. Ten o'clock had arrived and he had not yet awoke,
having only fallen asleep a little before daybreak. His father went
to his bed-side, and looking down saw that he was still asleep, with
a peaceful smile irradiating his features, as it were with a sense
of inward happiness and tranquility. He beckoned to his mother who
approached the bed, and contemplated him with that tearless agony which
sears the heart and brain, until the feeling would be gladly
exchanged for madness. The conversation which followed was in Irish, a
circumstance that accounts for its figurative style and tenderness of
expression.

"What is that smile," said the father. "It is the peace of God," said
the mother, "shining from an innocent and happy heart. Oh! Torley, my
son, my son!"

"Yes," replied the father, "he is going to meet happy hearts, but he
will leave none in this house behind him--even little Brian that he
loved so well--but where was there a heart so loving as his?" This we
need scarcely observe, was all said in whispers.

"Ah!" said the father, "you may well ask--but d