CONTENTS


[ PART I. ]

[ PART II. ]

[ PART III. ]

[ PART IV. ]

[ PART V. ]

[ PART VI. ]

[ PART VII. ]

[ PART VIII. AND LAST. ]



List of Illustrations

[ Page 191— Imprinted the Father's First Kiss ]

[ Page 245— He Rattled, and Thumped, And Screamed ]

[ Page 282— O'donovan Took the Beloved One in his Arms ]

[ Page 311— Most Frightful of All Precipices—death ]

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PART I.

Fardorougha, the Miser.

It was on one of those nights in August, when the moon and stars shine through an atmosphere clear and cloudless, with a mildness of lustre almost continental, that a horseman, advancing at a rapid pace, turned off a remote branch of road up a narrow lane, and, dismounting before a neat whitewashed cottage, gave a quick and impatient knock at the door. Almost instantly, out of a small window that opened on hinges, was protruded a broad female face, surrounded, by way of nightcap, with several folds of flannel, that had originally been white.

“Is Mary Moan at home?” said the horseman.

“For a miricle-ay!” replied the female; “who's down, in the name o' goodness?”

“Why, thin, I'm thinkin' you'll be smilin' whin you hear it,” replied the messenger. “The sorra one else than Honor Donovan, that's now marrid upon Fardorougha Donovan to the tune of thirteen years. Bedad, time for her, anyhow,—but, sure it'll be good whin it comes, we're thinkin'.”