Defeat of any kind was a thing he could never think of; but for a Maguire--one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--to be beaten at a rascally game of Spoil Five, was not to be endured; the matter was impossible, unless by foul play, and as there was only one method of treating those who could stoop to the practice of foul play, why he seldom lost any time in adopting it. This was to apply the fist, and as he had generally three or four against him, and as, in most instances, he was in a state of intoxication, it usually happened that he received most punishment. Up to this moment we have not presented Art to our readers in any other light than that of an ordinary drunkard, seen tipsy and staggering in the streets, or singing as he frequently was, or fighting, or playing cards in the public-houses. Heretofore he was not before the world, and in everybody's eye; but he had now become so common a sight in the town of Ballykeerin, that his drunkenness was no longer a matter of surprise to its inhabitants. At the present stage of his life he could not bear to see his brother Frank; and his own Margaret, although unchanged and. loving as ever, was no longer to him the Margaret that she had been. He felt how much he had despised her advice, neglected her comfort, and forgotten the duties which both God and nature had imposed upon him, with respect to her and their children. These feelings coming upon him during short intervals of reflection, almost drove him mad, and he has often come home to her and them in a frightful and terrible consciousness that he had committed some great crime, and that she and their children were involved in its consequences. “Margaret,” he would say, “Margaret, what is it I've done aginst you and the childre? I have done some great crime aginst you all, for surely if I didn't, you wouldn't look as you do--Margaret, asthore, where is the color that was in your cheeks? and my own Art here--that always pacifies me when nobody else can--even Art doesn't look what he used to be.” “Well, sure he will, Art, dear,” she would reply; “now will you let me help you to bed? it's late; it's near three o'clock; Oh Art, dear, if you were----” “I won't go to bed--I'll stop here where I am, wid my head on the table, till mornin'. Now do you know--come here, Margaret--let me hear you--do you know, and are you sensible of the man you're married to?” “To be sure I am.” “No, I tell you; I say you are not. There is but one person in the house that knows that.” “You're right, Art darlin'--you're right. Come here, Atty; go to your father; you know what to say, avick.” “Well, Art,” he would continue, “do you know who your father is?” “Ay do I; he's one of the great Fermanagh Maguires--the greatest family in the kingdom. Isn't that it?” “That's it, Atty darlin'--come an' kiss me for that; yes, I'm one of the great Fermanagh Maguires. Isn't that a glorious thin', Atty?”