Fardorougha hated this lovely and delightful boy; on the contrary, earth contained not an object, except his money, which he loved so well.  His affection for him, however, was only such as could proceed from the dregs of a defiled and perverted heart.  This is not saying much, but it is saying all.  What in him was parental attachment, would in another man, to such a son, be unfeeling and detestable indifference.  His heart sank on contemplating the pittance he allowed for Connor’s education; and no remonstrance could prevail on him to clothe the boy with common decency.  Pocket-money was out of the question, as were all those considerate indulgences to youth, that blunt, when timely afforded, the edge of early anxiety to know those amusements of life, which, if not innocently gratified before passion gets strong, are apt to produce, at a later period, that giddy intoxication, which has been the destruction of thousands.  When Connor, however, grew up, and began to think for himself, he could not help feeling that, from a man so absolutely devoted to wealth as his father was, to receive even the slenderest proof of affection, was in this case no common manifestation of the attachment he bore him.  There was still a higher and nobler motive.  He could not close his ears to the character which had gone abroad of his father, and from that principle of generosity, which induces a man, even when ignorant of the quarrel, to take the weaker side, he fought his battles, until, in the end, he began to believe them just.  But the most obvious cause of the son’s attachment we have not mentioned, and it is useless to travel into vain disquisitions, for that truth which may be found in the instinctive impulses of nature.  He was Connor’s father, and though penurious in everything that regarded even his son’s common comfort, he had never uttered a harsh word to him during his life, or denied him any gratification which could be had without money.  Nay, a kind word, or a kind glance, from Fardorougha, fired the son’s resentment against the world which traduced him; for how could it be otherwise, when the habitual defence made by him, when arraigned for his penury, was an anxiety to provide for the future welfare and independence of his son?

Many characters in life appear difficult to be understood, but if those who wish to analyze them only consulted human nature, instead of rushing into far-fetched theories, and traced with patience the effect which interest, or habit, or inclination is apt to produce on men of a peculiar temperament, when placed in certain situations, there would be much less difficulty in avoiding those preposterous exhibitions which run into caricature, or outrage the wildest combinations that can be formed from the common elements of humanity.

Having said this much, we will beg our readers to suppose that young Connor is now twenty-two years of age, and request them, besides, to prepare for the gloom which is about to overshadow our story.