Deep indeed was the distress that rested upon unhappy Ireland. And Patrick’s fears for his friends at home were but too well founded. Sickness and famine invaded the district in which Patrick was born; and though his old master at first was bountiful to those around him, stern necessity at last brought its admonition that he must hold his hand. There is distress that opens the heart; but when it comes to dividing your living with your neighbor, to become at last fellow in his need, the instinct of self-preservation chills charity. Nevertheless, the good farmer gave—and gave a day too long; for the time came when he could count his own scanty provision in food and in purse. Impoverished, he learned at last to suffer and to sicken. He buried his wife out of his sight, and his children sunk one after another into the grave. He denied himself bread to feed his famishing family—almost rejoicing, while the dead lay unburied in his house, that with the release of child after child, the need of food and the wail of hunger diminished. And now at last Norah and himself only remained of all that happy household; and they had but to prepare their last food and die. The immense demand which had been made upon the charitable had proved too great for the supply; and men had ceased at last to think it a strange thing that people died of hunger. Often did Norah think in her distress of him who was now far away. And heartily she rejoiced for his sake, that he had not remained to add another claimant on the public charity, to the thousands who pleaded unavailingly for it. But it was sad to think that he must one day hear that her he loved had sunk into the grave, the last of her house, for to death she firmly looked as the only hope of release from suffering. A footstep broke the silence; but it hardly disturbed her revery. It was the kind ecclesiastic who had been present at the death of her mother and her brothers—who had seen her sister’s eyes closed, and to whom she herself looked, at no distant day for the last offices of the church. His frequent visits had become part of her daily experience, but she saw now that his face wore something more than the usual calm expression. She looked up inquiringly, and he placed in her hands a letter, addressed to his care for her. She knew the handwriting, and could scarce command firmness to break the many seals and wafers with which over caution had secured the letter. It was from Patrick, and enclosed more money than she had before seen for many weeks. “Now, God be praised,” she cried, “my father shall find comfort again!” “He has found it, daughter!” said the priest in a solemn voice from the bedside. Norah hurried there, to receive, in the last faint smile, a father’s inaudible blessing. * * * * *