Their daughter's letter was touching and simple, but unfortunately it contained, not the remittance they expected; a circumstance which, in their condition, was such a disappointment as cannot well be described. She stated that, in consequence of the absence from home, for some days, of the family with whom she lived, it was out of her power to send them the full amount of her first quarter's salary as she had intended, or any money at all, as they knew she had none except her salary to send. She wrote, however, lest they might think or suppose for a moment that she had forgotten them. She sent her warmest love and affection to them all, especially to Maria, whom she hoped her letter would find better. Here she mentioned them all by name, and concluded by saying, that the moment the family returned home, she would remit to her dear papa the amount of her whole quarter's salary. The youngsters all burst into tears, the fact being that they had not tasted food for more than eighteen hours. The mother, worn and pale with anxiety and distress, turned sorrowfully to her husband and said: “Charles, what is to be done? must our children die? must they perish with famine?” “Send Charles over to M'Mahon's,” replied her husband; “he is poor, it is true, but he is our next neighbor, and from him, if he will oblige us, relief will come soonest. Charles, go, my child, and ask Con M'Mahon if he will be good enough to send me a stone or two of potatoes for a few days; and I will feel obliged--your brother, poor child, is fatigued by his journey to the post-office, and from other causes--or being the elder I would make him go--if M'Mahon obliges me, tell him that I will thank him to send them, as I have no messenger to fetch them. I have always found poor M'Mahon respectful and neighborly, and I am certain he will not refuse us.” We shall not detail the distressing and melancholy conversation, in which they were engaged until the child's return. It is enough to say that, although he met with no refusal, the expected relief was not sent. “Well, my child,” inquired his anxious father, “what reply did he give?” “He said, papa,” returned the child, “that he would give you a whole sack of potatoes with pleasure, but that, to send them in the open day, would be more than his life is worth--he dare not do it.” The old man looked up, then clasping his hands together, and glancing at his unhappy family, a few bitter tears rolled down his cheeks. “But,” added the boy, “he said he would bring over as many as he could carry, about twelve o'clock to-night.”