prevent it from feeling the full force of the calamity or sorrow which comes upon us; no, but whilst we experience it in all the rigor of distress, it teaches us to reflect that suffering is our lot, and that it is our duty to receive these severe dispensations in such a manner as to prevent others from being corrupted by our impatience, or by our open want of submission to the decrees of Providence.  When the agony of the Man of Sorrow was at its highest, He retired to a solitary place, and whilst every pore exuded water and blood, he still exclaimed—­“Not My will, but Thine be done.”  Here was resignation, indeed, but at the same time a heart exquisitely sensible of all it had to bear.  And much, indeed, as yet lay before that of the pious mother of our unhappy hero, and severe was the trial which, on this very night, she was doomed to encounter.

When Fardorougha awoke, which he did not do until about three o’clock in the morning, he looked wildly about him, and, starting up in the bed, put his two hands on his temples, like a man distracted by acute pain; yet anxious to develop in his memory the proceedings of the foregoing day.  The inmates, however, were startled from their sleep by a shriek, or rather a yell, so loud and unearthly that in a few minutes they stood collected about his bed.  It would be impossible, indeed, to conceive, much less to describe, such a picture of utter horror as then presented itself to their observation.  A look that resembled the turbid glare of insanity was riveted upon them whilst he uttered shriek after shriek, without the power of articulating a syllable.  The room, too, was dim and gloomy; for the light of the candle that was left burning beside him had become ghastly for want of snuffing.  There he sat—­his fleshless hands pressed against his temples; his thin, gray hair standing out wildly from his head; his lips asunder; and his cheeks sucked in so far that the chasms occasioned in his jawbones, by the want of his back teeth, were plainly visible.

“Chiemah dheelish,” exclaimed Honor, “what is this? as Heaven’s above me, I believe he’s dyin’; see how he gasps!  Here, Fardorougha,” she exclaimed, seizing a jug of water which had been left on a chair beside him, but which he evidently did not see, “here, here, darlin’, wet your lips; the cool water will refresh you.”

He immediately clutched the jug with eager and trembling hands, and at one rapid draught emptied it to the bottom.

“Now,” he shouted, “I can spake, now I can spake.  Where’s my son? where’s my son? an’ what has happened me? how did I come here? was I mad? am I mad? but tell me, tell me first, where’s Connor?  Is it thrue? is it all thrue? or is it me that’s mad?”

“Fardorougha, dear,” said his wife, “be a man, or, rather, be a Christian.  It was God gave Connor to us, and who has a better right to take him back from us?  Don’t go flyin’ in His face, bekase He won’t ordher everything as you wish.  You haven’t taken off of you to-night, so rise, dear, and calm yourself; then go to your knees, lift your heart to God, and beg of Him to grant you stringth and patience.  Thry that coorse, avoumeen, an’ you’ll find it the best.”