on the nail, or maybe bring
you both to live wid 'em."

"My sowl to glory, Fardorougha," said the wife, "but you're a bigger an'
cunninner ould rogue than I ever took you for! By the scapular upon me,
if I had known how you'd turn out, the sorra carry the ring ever you'd
put on my finger!"

"Father," said Connor, "I must be disobedient to you in this at all
events. It's plain you'll do nothing for us; so there's no use in sayin'
anything more about it. I have no manes of supportin' her, an' I swear
I'll never bring her to poverty. If I had money to carry me, I'd go to
America an' thry my fortune there; but I have not. Father, it's too hard
that you should stand in my way when you could so easily make me happy.
Who have you sich a right to assist as your son--your only son, an' your
only child too?"

This was spoken in a tone of respect and sorrow at once impressive
and affectionate. His fine features were touched with something beyond
sadness or regret, and, as the tears stood in his eyes, it was easy to
see that he felt much more deeply for his father's want of principle
than for anything connected with his own hopes and prospects. In fact,
the tears that rolled silently down his cheeks were the tears of shame
and sorrow for a parent who could thus school him to an act of such
unparalleled baseness. As it was, the genius of the miser felt rebuked
by the natural delicacy and honor of his son; the old man therefore
shrunk back abashed, confused, and moved at the words which he had
heard--simple and inoffensive though they were.

"Fardorougha," said the wife, wiping her eyes, that were kindling into
indignation, "we're now married goin' an--"

"I think, mother," said Connor, "the less we say about it now the
better--with my own good will I'll never speak on the subject."

"You're right, avourneen," replied the mother; "you're right; I'll say
nothing--God sees it's no use."

"What would you have me do?" said the old man, rising and walking' about
in unusual distress and agitation; "you don't know me--I can't do it--I
cant do it. You say, Honor, I don't care about him--I'd give him my
blood--I'd give him my blood to save a hair of his head. My life an'
happiness depinds on him; but who knows how he an' his wife might
mismanage that money if they got it--both young an' foolish? It wasn't
for nothing it came into my mind what I'm afeard will happen to me yet."

"And what was that, Fardorougha?" asked the wife.

"S