Year: 1875

| mourn 1Of nOtlfS as he lay alone, Will
out soul to hand him even a drink of
water. ''Sure, might have known it
would come"


At length the climax of Martin Mac
| Dermotts sufferiLgs was reached, the
measure of his punishment filed up.


For three years he had not paid six
pence of rent, he was dispossessed,
turned out of the house in which he
was born, and his father and grandfather
before him, to die by the way-left
homeless and friendless by the roadside
one dreary November morning.
Remembering his nhkindness to an
only brother, his harshness to his poor
timid patient wife, his blind indulgence
OF his son in the face of patent facts,
his total neglect of his only daughter,
and his mean scheaming character. there
were few to pity Martin MacDermott in
his trouble; and so lie was taken to the
workhouse, his house knocked down,
and not trace left of what had been a
happy homestead.


And Owen, when he left the tent that
ever memorable st. Patrick night, it was
with the resolve of going away forever
anywhere, so al he was far from the
place which had become hateful to HIM.
He walked all night, and at the break of
day found himself just outside the town
of Ballinasloe. There he had some
breakfast, and at the inn he entered into
conversation with some men who were
| in want of drover. Owen offered his
services, and, as he appeared a quiet,
respectable young man, they were ac-
cepted at once. They reached Dublin
| in three days, and then started for Liv-
erpool, where Owen said good-by to the
| cattle jobbers, and took a passage to
board he made himself so useful and
agreeable to the captain, that he gave
him recommendation to merchant in
New York, who took him into his office.


For five years Owen worked patiently
and steadily, and then his master pro-
NOTED him to be clerk and so on from
step to step, his patient honest industry
raised him, till he became partner in
one of the first firms in the great city.
Then, when he paused to consider that
he was rich and Independent, and gen.
tleman, came home longings. The Up
| land Farm, the lane where he last walk
ed with Julia, the quiet little market
town-all used to come before him as he
sat in his grand, lonely house, and at
last he resolved to pay his native place
visit.


He arrived at Gort late on the after
noon of March Is, and determined to
remain quiet till the next day, when he
felt pretty sure of meeting his brother
Martin. 1t was just thirty years since
Owen left his native place, and there
were fewer changes in the dull little
country town than he anticipated-far
fewer changes than there were in him
self. But when st. Patrick's day dawn
ed clear and frosty, he could not rest,
and started early in the e.well-remembered
direction of the Upland Farm. How
his heart beat as he drew near the old
cabin, weather stained and desolate,
which had been the home of Julia, and
how it stood still as he reached the level
field of oats which was just coming over
ground where his fathers house stood
| Efaiy, .aJr 1,o IL
cabin he came to, and asked for drink
of water. A wretched old woman seeing
how white he looked, asked him to take
O stool, which he did, and after few
minutes silence, he began to ask some
questions about the place. A young
girl, with face that would have been
pretty but for its sulky expression, and a
quantity of fair hair negligently hanging
over her shoulders, looked up from a
heap of flax she was carding, and exam
ined the stranger attentively, as he asked
the old woman what had become of the
MacDermotts.


"Come here, Judy, and tell his honor
what become Of Martin MacDermott
and his blessed family. This is his
daughter sir"


''And Martin, what has become of
him Is he dead % Owen asked breath
lessly.


s'No, it would be a good job if he
was," the girl said, sullenly she's in
the poorhouse !''


Owen buried his face in his hands and
wept aloud. Surely his curse had fallen
hot and heavy far, far hotter and heav-
ier than he meant it should. ''Girl, did
you ever hear of your uncle Owen I am
he. Take me to your father. And this
is Julia's daughter might have known
you you are so like her,"


| It was hard to make poor old Martin
MacDermotv underst tand that his brother
had come back and was rich, and was
willing to help him {; but when it did
dawn on his feeble mind, his sorrow and
his gratitude were touching to behold.
"Take me away, Owen-take me away
from Ballybane. I can never hold up
my head among the neighbors again
| Sure I'm broken-down old creature
but L have small taste of the spirit of
the MacDermott's left yet, in spite of
all my troubles. Take me an Julia
away, Ownie.'


There was now demonstrated beau
tiful instance of magnanimity. Owen