it might, to evade such an oath.

"Why, Connor," said he, "surely, if you go to that, we can have no
ill-will against the d--n villain; an' as you don't wish it, we'll
dhrop--the thing; so now make your mind aisy, for another word you or
any one else won't ever hear about it."

"And you won't injure the man?"

"Hut! no," replied Nogher, with a gravity whose irony was barely
perceptible, "what would we murdher him for, now that you don't wish it?
I never had any particular wish to see my own funeral."

"And, Nogher, you will do all you can to prevent him from being
murdhered?"

"To be sure, Connor--to be sure. By He that made me, we won't give pain
to a single hair of his head. Are you satisfied now?"

"I am," replied the ingenuous young man, who was himself too candid to
see through the sophistry of Nogher's oath.

"And now, Nogher," he replied, "many a day have we spent together--you
are one of my oldest friends. I suppose this is the last time you will
ever see Connor O.'Donovan; however, don't, man--don't be cast down; you
will hear from me, I hope, and hear that I am well too."

He uttered this with a smile which cost him an effort; for, on looking
into the face of his faithful old friend, he saw his muscles working
under the influence of strong feeling--or, I should rather say, deep
sorrow--which he felt anxious, by a show of cheerfulness, to remove. The
fountains, however, of the old servant's heart were opened, and, after
some ineffectual attempts to repress his grief, he fell upon Connor's
neck, and wept aloud.

"Tut, Nogher," said Connor, "surely it's--glad you ought to be, instead
of sorry. What would you have done if my first sentence had been acted
upon?"

"I'm glad for your sake," replied the other, "but I'm now sorry for my
own. You will live, Connor, and you may yet be happy; but he that often
held you in his arms--that often played with you, and that, next to your
father and mother, you loved betther than any other livin'--he, poor
Nogher, will never see his boy more."

On uttering these words, he threw himself again upon Connor's neck, and
we are not ashamed to say that their tears flowed together.

"I'll miss you, Connor, dear; I'll not see your face at fair or market,
nor on the chapel--green of a Sunday. Your poor father will break his
heart, and the mother's eye will never more have an opportunity of being
proud out of her son. It's hard upon me to part wid you, Connor, but it
can't