That must be kept a secret from him, an' it's likely he won't notice the change." Kitty then went over, and laying her hand on her father's arm, said: "Father, for the love of God, don't take us from Carriglass and Ahadarra:--whatever the world has for us, whether for good or evil, let us bear it here." "Father, you won't bring us nor you won't go," added Dora; "sure we never could be very miserable here, where we have all been so happy." "Poor Dora!" said Bryan, "what a mistake that is! I feel the contrary; for the very happiness that I and all of us enjoyed here, now only adds to what I'm sufferin'." "Childre'," said the father, "our landlord has broken his own father's dyin' promise--you all remember how full of delight I came home to you from Dublin, and how she that's gone"-- he paused;--he covered his face with his open hands, through which the tears were seen to trickle.
This allusion to their beloved mother was too much for them.

Arthur and Michael sat in silence, not knowing exactly upon what grounds their father had formed a resolution, which, when proposed to him by Bryan, appeared to be one to which his heart could never lend its sanction.
No sooner was their mother named, however, than they too became deeply moved, and when Kitty and Dora both rushed with an outcry of sorrow to their father, exclaiming, "Oh, father dear, think of her that's in the clay--for her sake, change your mind and don't take us to where we can never weep a tear over her blessed grave, nor ever kneel over it to offer a prayer within her hearin' for her soul!" "Childre," he exclaimed, wiping away his tears that had indeed flowed in all the bitterness of grief and undeserved affliction; "childre'," he replied, "you must be manly now; it's because I love you an' feels anxious to keep you from beggary and sorrow at a future time, and destitution and distress, such as we see among so many about us every day in the week, that I've made up my mind to go.

Our landlord wont give us our farm barrin' at a rent that 'tid bring us down day by day, to poverty and distress like too many of our neighbors.

We have yet some thrifle o' money left, as much as will, by all accounts, enable us to take--I mane to purchase a farm in America--an' isn't it betther for us to go there, and be independent, no matther what it may cost our hearts to suffer by doin' so, than to stay here until the few hundre' that I've got together is melted away out of my pocket into the picket of a landlord that never wanst throubles himself to know how we're gettin' on, or whether we're doin' well or ill.

Then think of his conduct to Bryan, there; how he neglected him, and would let him go to ruin widout ever movin' a finger to save him from it.