I'm sorry, Lanty, that all the Roman Catholic peasantry of Ireland have not different notions-if they had, there would be no nightly meetings-no burnings-no destruction of life and property; for wherever there is a depraved standard of religious and moral duty wrought into any religious system, ignorance and crime must be the consequence: and wherever the Bible, Lanty, is not admitted as that standard, every other must be erroneous." "Only for the Bible, Sir," he replied, “I'd have still the ould notions-the same as Paddy-although, to tell the truth, I never was such a voteen as he is."

As I sat up that night, I went to bed as soon as I got home, having first desired Nolan to send Magrath the constable to me at two o'clock in the afternoon. Nolan, however, had given Magrath a knowledge of the business on which I intended to employ him, and the consequence was, that when the appointed hour came, I found Paddy Dimnick and the Pilgrim along with Magrath, waiting for me in my office. Magrath had informed them that I wished to see them at two o'clock, not letting them know that it was in the capacity of a magistrate-and they came without any trouble. The Pilgrim had dried his clothes and his bags, and appeared as if no disaster had happened him; but Dimnick had a green cloth over his eyes, which were dreadfully inflamed. I instituted a very severe and close scrutiny, with a view of ascertaining if they were concerned in the inhuman attack upon my cattle; but I could get nothing out of them, although I am still convinced, that their destruction was effected, if not by Dimnick and the Pilgrim personally, yet certainly at their instigation. In readiness of reply and sagacity, the latter had incomparably the advantage. After they were gone, I enquired from Magrath what had befallen Dimnick's eyes. "It appears, Sir," he replied, "that he was at a station yesterday, in Larry Linahan's, an' id seems he left id rather tossicated-nobody knows what happened him afther that; bud as he did'n't go home last night, Mrs. Dimnick raised a hue-an' cry afther him, this mornin'—an' he was found within a couple iv fields iv Tim Neal's craft, upon his knees an' him fast asleep, wud the bades in his hands, an' his thumb just turnin' the fifth decade; there happened to be a bit iv a frost, Sir, an' Paddy was nothing the betther iv havin' the sky for his blanket." In this remark, Magrath was certainly right, for Paddy got a defluxion in the eyes, by his devotion that night, which has since settled into a chronic complaint."

But poor Father Butler's everlasting departure was now at hand. I was indisposed this day, in consequence of having not slept the preceding night, so that I could only send to know how he felt. The answer was, " much weaker." The day following, in consequence of private business, I could not go to him sooner than four o'clock in the afternoon; but every message still was, When I entered his sick room, I found him just able to articulate; there was none with him but a servant woman, and she, poor creature, was in tears. "Ah!" said he, "I have suffered much bodily pain, since I saw you? but what is that-man is born to suffer." "Och! thin, acushla," said the poor woman,

"worse."

"its he that did suffer, Gold help 'im-an' God help 'im over again, for he has none bud strangers to make his moan to-there ye lie, a-vick machree, that never had the hard word on mortal. The friend iv them that was absent and ill-spoken iv. There ye lie avourneen deelish, an' doesn't id brake my heart to think, that a mother's hand is not about ye-nor the eye iv love to watch yer pale face wearin' away, thinner and paler, day afther day, till death is settled in id at last, avourneen machree, machree." I was affected at the artless sincerity of the woman's grief; but Father Butler, in consequence of another attack of inward pain, heard not what she said. I enquired as soon as it passed, what I could do to relieve him. "Will you," said I, "sit up in the bed, and I will raise and support you in my arms?" He could not then make a reply, but he caught my hand, and fixing his fine, but languid eyes upon me, gave it a faint pressure-I returned it—and in the emotion of the moment exclaimed, "God sees my heart is wrung to witness your sufferings; for though short our acquaintance, strong and affectionately was it bound to you, my Christian brother." "Och! then if ye knew 'im as I an' others did," sobbed the woman, 66 you wud feel ten times as much; bud it's no wondher that you loved 'im, for every wan that knew i'm, did socan I forget when he was a striplin', what he did for my sick husband an' dyin' child,-an' when I was not able to keep my house, or my garden; an' had neither kith nor kin to go to, after berryin' them both; did he not make his mother take me into the house to live wud her intirely-an' when they were lyin' stretched before me, an' me sick wud hunger, as well as wud griefa-chusla machree, id was yerself that, when other's like ye, war playin' about, thoughtless-poor young crathurs-iv the lone widow's affliction-a-chusla machree id was yerself that did not forget me: an' when I tould 'im the whole thruth, anʼ that I had ate nothing for that day an' the day before-how he put his handkerchief to his eyes, as if he wasn't crying; bud didn't I see the tears droppin' from his cheeks, though he thried to decave me." here continued to weep bitterly, I could not myself suppress the tears on hearing this-at length I enquired, "what's the matter with him? is he asleep or beginning to doze?" "Asleep, och! an' I wish id was sleep, poor thing; no, Sir, he has had these dozins now an' then, since about four o'clock yestherday, he's always wake an' worn, when he comes out iv them." "Where is old Mr. Butler ?" I enquired. "Poor ould gentleman, he was fallin' down asleep about an hour agone; an' Docthor Upton made 'im lie down on the bed awhile; bud himself gave me strict ordhers, if father James woud be goin' to depart, to come an' waken 'im." "I think," said I, in a low tone," he will soon go." "Oh! I hope he will, Sir," she replied, "though id's a cruel thing to hope id-bud id's worse to see 'im in pain; look, Sir, how his breast rises up inwardly, as if there was a lump rollin' up torst his throath-Och! och! alannah, if ye seen this in another, it's yourself that woud pity them from yer tendher heart; bud he was always good. When he was a boy, Sir, an' the others iv his own age playin' and runnin' about, he would go to

She

some lonely place, an' be musin', and musin'; and though I was always an arly riser, sometimes when I'd be up, he'd be afther comin' back from the hills, wud his sweet, bud sorrowful lookin' face; but I often thought myself he wasn't for this world, he used to spend so much iv his time wud 'imself in dark places about dusk; and Lord bless iz, about the very church-yard; bud he lov'd id, Sir, bekase somethin' tould 'im in his own mind, I'm thinkin', that he'd soon be there, a-cushla machree." "He is now," said I, "recovering from that stupor, in a few moments he will be better." "Father James, a chora," said the tender creature, putting her mouth in a kind of whisper near him, "are ye asier? Is that pain left you (an' bad end to id for a pain) is id gone from you, asthore ?" Yes, Nancy, dear, I am somewhat easier now," he replied; but almost the same moment his eyes closed again, and he relapsed into the same state.

The poor creature now hung over him, rocking herself for some time in the most heartfelt grief-at length, she exclaims, almost unconsciously-"Oh, Sir, isn't it a poor thing to be on the bed iv sickness or death, wudout the face of a mother, or a wife, or a sisther, about wan; och, bud ids the lonely thing to die wudout their breath, or their eye upon wan-what signifies strangers, let them be ever so kind? The heart can't warm to them as id does to a wife or a mother-bud that's bekase, I suppose, no wan else can love them so well-an' sure, Sir, we can't hate any wan, when we know they love iz-but any way, id's you that had the lonesome sick-bed, a vick machree!" His eyes opened again, and, I thought, were not so heavy as before.— Though very much exhausted by the stupor, he seemed more decidedly to have got over it. "Are these attacks, my dear Mr. Butler, painful?" I enquired. "Yes," he replied, "very." But this he spoke with much feebleness--he then looked earnestly at me for some time, before I was aware that there was any particular meaning in his look; "One office more, my kind friend, though it is not much you think me in pain-and I suffer in the body-but my Redeemer is with me," he said; "the hope of the dying Christian is within and upon me-the invisible supportthe inward light-oh, why-why does not all the world know that a Redeemer liveth-Now, as the last office to your living friend, place my Bible and my book-stand here, and then send Peggy for my father, for I feel that the veil of eternity is beginning to be raised before me-a few short minutes, my friend, and I will answer you no more-I will be at rest." As he uttered these words, a smile expressive of the most ineffable happiness lit up his pale interesting countenance. It happened very fortunately that the old man just entered the room, as he had uttered the last words, and was saved the terrible shock of such a message. He then sat down a little from the bed, as he saw him about to read: Father Butler desired me to open the Bible at the 19th chapter of Job-I did so -"Now father," said he, "hear the last words that my lips will ever read to you." He spoke this with great difficulty-but when his eye rested upon the words he was about to read, a new spirit seemed to pervade him-his voice became comparatively strong,

66

Oh,

and his articulation distinct. He then read these verses. "" that my words were now written! oh, that they were printed in a book! That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock for ever! For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day on the earth: And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another; though my reins be consumed within me." Open now," said he, the 7th chapter of Revelations." When I had done so, he continued, "After this, I beheld, and lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands And cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb. And all the angels stood round about the throne, and about the elders and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on their faces, and worshipped God, Saying, Amen: Blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and power, and might, be unto our God for ever and ever. Amen. And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, What are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they? And I said unto him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple : and he that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." When he had concluded-he looked towards his father, saying, "Come near me now, my father." The old man

went to him, and he then leaned himself over against his bosom, and looking into his face, whispered to him-for his voice had again become weak: "this is a Christian's hope, and a Christian's reward-oh! seek this, my father." His head then fell over on his father's neck, and he expired. Thus died he, of whom I may say with truth, as I do with tears,

"Green be the turf above thee,

Friend of my better days;
None knew thee but to love thee,

Or named thee but to praise."

WILTON.

MEMORANDA OF TRAVELS IN TURKEY.

We insert the following extract from the private memoranda of an Irish gentleman, who travelled over that part of the Turkish Empire, now the seat of war-written 25 years ago, and never

intended for publication. He has now, at our particular desire, permitted us to take advantage of it.

"Our Firman, Dragoman, Janissary, letters of introduction, and Bishifti were now ready for departure. A Bishifti is a Turkish boat of about thirty tons burthen, rigged in the worst possible manner, and with a height of only three feet and a half between the deck and the ballast. Here we were to take up our quarters, for a voyage of 150 miles to Varna, and were threatened with a confinement perhaps of a fortnight, as the wind at this time of year is almost always northerly in the Black sea. In the evening of the 28th of June, we paid our farewell visits, and after thanking our ambassador for the hospitality we had received, went towards our boat. We proceeded slowly up the Bosphorus, and the wind being contrary, were obliged to anchor all night under the most eastern of the Turkish castles that command the entrance of the straits. The certainty of being now on our way to England roused our energy ; yet we were not quite at ease in our minds when we considered our prospect of the Euxine, our crazy boat, and our ignorant seamen, who we had also too much reason to suspect had passed the preceding day at a village where the plague had broken out in the most alarming manner.

At day-break we entered the Euxine sea with the rare good fortune of a southerly wind-before evening, we had advanced 60 miles, and were already congratulating ourselves on the prospect of arriving next day at Varna, when we saw a thunder storm advancing from the north-east, and found that we were destined to undergo the discipline of the Black sea. I never before witnessed such violent and incessant thunder and lightning as we experienced for two hours. The conduct of our boatmen was not calculated to encourage us-they hauled down every sail, abandoned the rudder, and let the vessel drive exactly as she pleased. We began to be no longer astonished at the vast number of these vessels that are lost every year. If on a lee shore I do not see how they can escape; but we fortunately had abundance of sea room, being about 30 miles from land. The storm ceased soon after sunset, but it had changed the wind against us, and we advanced very little in the night, or in all the succeeding day. The night following, June 30th, we were assailed with another storm from the north-east, which, though without lightning, was far more violent than the former-it continued during the whole night. In a good vessel, with good sailors, I should have had no apprehension, but it was impossible to forget that we were in a Turkish boat, and we knew how lately twenty-five such had perished in one night. About midnight the sea ran so high, and the Bishifti laboured so excessively, that though not apt to despond, I almost gave up all hope of ever landing again. My companion and I were swinging in our cots, which were beating violently against the sides of the vessel, listening in silent anxiety to the wind whistling through the ropes, and the waves breaking over the vessel. Towards morning the gale abated, though it still blew so hard, that our sailors could not be per