His brother Charles, after what appeared to be a satisfactory convalescence, began to relapse, and a fresh fever to set in.

The first person to communicate the melancholy intelligence to Woodward happened to be Barney himself, who, on meeting him early in the morning, said,-- "I am sorry, Mr.Woodward, to tell you that Masther Charles is a great deal worse; he spent a bad night, and it seems has got very feverish." A gleam of satisfaction--short and transient, but which, however, was too significant to be misunderstood by such a sagacious observer as Barney--flashed across his countenance--but only for a moment.

He recomposed his features, and assuming a look expressive of the deepest sorrow, said,-- "Good heavens, Casey, do you tell me that my poor brother is worse, and we all in such excellent spirits at what we considered his certain but gradual recovery ?" "He is much worse, sir; and the masther this morning has strong doubts of his recovery.

He's in great affliction about him, and so are they all.

His loss would be felt in the neighborhood, for, indeed, it's he that was well beloved by all who knew him." "He certainly was a most amiable and affectionate young fellow," said Woodward, "and, for my part, if he goes from us through the means of that murdering blow, I shall hunt Shawn-na-Middogue to the death." "Will you take a friend's advice ?" replied Barney: "we all of us wish, of coorse, to die a Christian death upon our beds, that we may think of the sins we have committed, and ask the pardon of our Saviour and inthersessor for them.