up?"

"I have no such friends," replied the poor woman, "them that would,
arn't able; and them that are able, won't; and, that's only the way of
the world, sir."

"It's too true, indeed, Mrs. Tyrrell; I am very sorry, exceedingly
sorry, for what must be done. It is such circumstances as these that
make me wish I never had become an agent."

"For God's sake, sir, have patience with me for about a month or six
weeks, and I will be able to pay it all easily."

"If I was my own master," returned Val, "it would give me pleasure to do
so, but I am not."

Here there was a groan from Solomon of compassion for the poor widow,
followed by a second, which was clearly a comment upon the first. What
a pity, said the first, to see so interesting a young widow without the
means of paying her rent--and is it not a wicked and hard-hearted world,
said the second that has not in it one individual to befriend her! Mrs.
Tyrrell looked round on hearing an expression of sympathy, and there was
Solomon gazing on her with a look, in which admiration and sympathy were
so well feigned, that she felt grateful to Solomon in her heart. As for
Phil, whether he gazed at her, his father, or at the attorney, such
was the comprehensive latitudinarianism of his squint, that she felt it
impossible to tell; neither, indeed, did she care. She was now in tears,
and Val having declared his determination to proceed, was silent, as if
out of respect to her feelings. At length she rose up, and when on the
eve of going out, she asked for the last time:--

"Mr. M'Clutchy is there no hope? I trust, sir, that when you consider
how long my family and my husband have been living on this property,
you'll think better of it than to bring myself and my poor orphan boy to
beggary and ruin. What will become of him and myself!"

"D--n my honor, Mrs. Tyrrell, but I feel for you," said Phil, eagerly,
as if rushing head foremost into a fit of the purest humanity.

"Do not be cast down, Mrs. Tyrrell," said Solomon, "there is one who can
befriend the widow, and who will be a father to the fatherless. Rely
on Him!--who knows but an instrument may be raised up for your relief.
Don't be thus cast down."

"No," said Phil, "do not, or you will only spoil them devlish fine eyes
of yours, Mrs. Tyrrell, by crying. Come, come, father, you must
give her,the time she asks; upon my honor, I'll guarantee she, won't
disappoint.

"And, if he is not sufficient, I will join him," sai