felt happiness before.

Such are the respective states of feeling in which our readers find
Fardorougha Donovan and his wife, upon an occasion whose consequences
run too far into futurity for us to determine at present whether they
are to end in happiness or misery. For a considerable time that evening,
before the arrival of Mary Moan, the males of the family had taken up
their residence in an inside kiln, where, after having kindled a fire
in the draught-hole, or what the Scotch call the "logie," they sat and
chatted in that kind of festive spirit which such an event uniformly
produces among the servants of a family. Fardorougha himself remained
for the most part with them, that is to say except while ascertaining
from time to time the situation of his wife. His presence, however, was
only a restraint upon their good-humor, and his niggardly habits raised
some rather uncomplimentary epithets during his short visits of inquiry.
It is customary upon such occasions, as soon as the mistress of the
family is taken ill, to ask the servants to drink "an aisy bout to the
misthress, sir, an' a speedy recovery, not forgettin' a safe landin' to
the youngsther, and, like a Christmas compliment, many of them to
you both. Whoo! death alive, but that's fine stuff. Oh, begorra, the
misthress can't but thrive wid that in the house. Thank you, sir, an'
wishin' her once more safe over her troubles!--divil a betther misthress
ever," etc., etc., etc.

Here, however, there was nothing of the kind. Fardorougha's heart, in
the first instance, was against the expense, and besides, its present
broodings resembled the throes of pain which break out from the stupor
that presses so heavily upon the exhausted functions of life in the
crisis of a severe fever. He could not, in fact, rest nor remain for any
length of time in the same spot. With a slow but troubled step he walked