produce of the African coast-gold, ivory, gums, ostrich feathers, &c. &c. The crew next morning were put on shore at Baltimore-they made the best of their way to Cork-they complained to the authorities, and a Commissioner of Excise, with some soldiers, were sent to the wreck-but all the property was plundered, all, nothing but the shattered hull remained. But what became of the enriched people? Little good in troth, says John Bennett. Gold dust was easily secured, bags were buried, and their fortunes made; as for the ivory, the Guager might take that, it was no use to them; but the women wear the ostrich feathers unto this day, and many a year after, girls of the Mahonys of Castle-island were known at a patron or fair by an ostrich feather stuck to the side of their caps. And what good did all the gold to the Mahonys? Arra, they were worse off than their neighbours-what came over the devil's back went under his belly; they sold the gold to pedlars and shopkeepers, in Baltimore and Skibbereen, they bought tobacco by the roll, and whiskey by the hogshead, they brought a piper from Bantry, and a fidler from Clonakilty, they lived as well as a Priest at a station, every day eating bacon, swilling whiskey, dancing, and running lewdly to the devil, until at last, the fever came amongst them: they died like sheep of the red water. It was a bad day for the Mahonys that the Negers' gold came amongst them-the church-yard has them all now except an old man, who has no sons to carry him to the grave; what good does the Negers' gold do him?-Now as we approached Cape Clear island, the wind began to rise from the north-east, a sharp curl began to rise upon the sea, which one of the young men called in Trish the rootings of the pig. As we neared the island, we observed a snug little harbour defended from all winds, by high and caverned cliffs; to the right lay a castle called Dunanore, or the Golden Fort, a most picturesque object, built on a rock beneath a beetling precipice. Half of this structure lay in large masses of ruin, round which the sea rushed, growling as in triumph over its fallen honours; the remnant still stood, dark and shattered, the victim of some future storm. Just immediately over us, as we sailed under the island, and turned our helm into a snug cove sheltered from all winds, was an old church, clothed with ivy, lichens, and wall-pepper, and the first sight that met my eyes in landing directly under the church-yard, was a human skull, that lay tossing about, as idle as an egg shell. It has often struck me, what little consideration the Irish have for human bones; they seem to pay no regard to the remains of their once loved friends-for these memorials of their own mortality. I particularly remarked this, all through the county Cork, and nothing to me could be more revolting, than to see in all their burying grounds and abbeys, human bones heaped together in immense stacks, or tossed about mouldering, crumbling, and decomposing, covered with nettles, hemlock, and rank weeds. I observed to one of our rowers, that there was a large skull. O!

Sir, it is nothing to the skull and bones of Cornelis O'Driscol, whose thigh bones they keep for the people to kiss on the chapel altar. And who was Cornelis O'Driscoll? Oh the biggest man that ever was born, but the best natured fellow that ever supped milk. He could beat a whole faction at a fair, and he could kick a foot-ball as high as Mount Gabriel, but he never kilt a man that he was not sorry for it, and his heart was as tender as a sucking chicken, and then he was so huge and strong. One night, God rest his soul, he was lying along the fire-side, and his old father was sitting under the hob on the other side. The wind was strong from the south-west, there was a spring-tide, and it raining so, that you would think every cabin in Cape Clear would be washed away. Cornelis, says the old father, did you moor the launch well to the rock-my life to a hapworth of tabaccy you did not, you needle leg'd red shank; get up you spalpeen, and go moor her well, or the tide will toss her away, and what will we do to catch the hake and herrings for the wife and children next Summer. Up, without saying a word, got Cornelis, and out he went; it was well he was strong and long, for there was so high a wind, and a stream so strong from the rocks, that it would have driven or washed another man into the sea; but down went Cornelis, breasting the wind like a sea-gull; he caught up his father's launch, just as readily as I lift this spar, and clapping it under his left arm, he brought it up clean and clear, and laid it in the cabbage garden, behind the cabin; and so my dear soul, when the neighbours went out in the morning, they found the launch, which would have taken four good men to row out to sea, carried like a potatoe basket, and laid where boat was never seen before since Cape Clear was an island. While I was thus prating to poor Pat. Hayes, I was found by my friend, the Vicar of the island parish, out of which he receives the immense sum of £30. Yes, says he, it was a curious scene the day I was inducted into my Vicarage in this old ruin. The people, when they saw me with my surplice on, and reading prayers, thought I was come to change their religion-they thought I was come to invade the province of the Priest; old women came about the walls chattering Irish, and groaning, the boys howled, the men scowled, and looked gruff and angry, and perhaps something worse would have been done, if some one who could speak Irish had not explained, that there was no intention of doing them harm, or changing their religion. By the way, the Priest is a Prince here, absolute master of the bodies and souls of the islanders; none dare dispute his word, for heaven and supernatural powers are on his side. A very few years ago, some persons that the "Soggarth," or Priest, did not like, had established themselves in the Castle of Dunanore, which I have just spoken of: I did not hear exactly what way they offended, perhaps they were smugglers, and did not pay the regulated fees, or dues, but out of Dunanore they must come. Now you see how yonder castle is perched on a rock in the sea, the approach to it is by a narrow

:

causeway, the breadth of a man's, path; on either side is the boiling, tide dancing and springing about; a single stone thrown from the castle would have sent the Priest to purgatory; but on the Priest marched, who dare touch him; he bore a charmed life he walked on surrounded by the halo of reverential respect, and stouter than mortal, would he be that dare bar his entrance. Out of this, ye vermin-out of the castle, pack every mother's son of you : begone, or I will send the old walls tumbling about your ears. The mandate was obeyed, one took up a stool, another a bed-post, the children carried pots, porringers, and trenchers, and when all were gone, like the children of Israel departing out of Egypt, then it was that the Priest, taking out bell and breviary, pronounced his curse, and down with tremendous crash, and dash, went the half of the old castle into the sea, and there the remainder of it now stands, a mémorial and mark of priestly power. My good reader, do not be at all incredulous, for this must be quite true; every one on the Island believing it, except a few poor heretics of the water-guard. But you will ask, is this omnipotent Priest still in power on this island? No, he is not, it would have gladdened mine eyes to have beholden him. Alas! mortal man, even in the midst of his might, is given to faults, and must bend to fate, and our friend of the castle had one fail ing. In the dark and misty atmosphere that surrounded him, after his chilly walks over the barren heights of his parish, on returning home to his lonely parlour, with no companion but his breviary none of the charities of domestic life around him--no one in the world near him that had a claim to say, live for me; what wonder is it that he fled to his bottle for refuge from the sense of desolation and one-ness; what wonder that he sought in brandy for that artificial excitement of spirits, which could lift him up from the prostration of all that makes life to others desirable. His end was awful and sudden, he left his island parish either for the purpose of relaxation, or business, and landing at the town of Baltimore, he went to a public house, and called for a quantity of spirits; it was left with him in his apartment. In a few hours, those that came into the room found the liquor 'drank, but the Priest no more.

1

It is now time to think of the Water-guard: you know, says my friend, it was not to prate about old bones or castles I came with you; will you come about my business? Yes, certainly; I hope, though feeling an interest and amusement in old legendary stories, and the play of a people's superstition, I do not set the less value on the work, the efficiency, the furtherance of Divine truth: onward let us go. So we toiled along a craggy path, that led us to a hollow sort of ravine, that seemed to cut the island in two, and connected two coves, or bays-one on its north, and the other on its south side, In this sheltered hollow was the house of the Waterguard, a crew of about twenty sailors with their families, who are stationed here to put a stop to smuggling on the coast; and what a contrast was here between the hovels of the Irish, and

this neat little habitation: low and lonely as it was, it was trim and clean; and more than that, about men, women and children, there was a neatness and tidiness, a decorum and keeping in dress and furniture, that evinced, that wherever an English family is stationed, let it be cast where, or tossed how, still it retains the indelible character of superior civilization, and that irrepressible self-respect, that holds itself entitled to order, cleanliness, and decency; and it was quite delightful to see how respectfully they approached their minister- how the women came round him with their little ones-how the urchin “climbed his knee, the envied kiss to share,” all anxious to catch the good man's smile, all clamorous to bid him welcome; for indeed it is not often in the year that this island can be approached in an open boat- all through the winter it is impossible. You then, good reader, who enjoy the blessings of a preached Gospel, who have the word of Salvation delivered to you Sunday after Sunday, who experience fully "how beautiful are the feet of those who bring glad tidings of peace," you who thus in rich abundance hear "the ingrafted word which is able to save your souls;" what can you know of, how can you estimate the wants of these poor destitutes, condemned to see Sabbath after Sabbath pass silently away, without hearing the announcement of God's infinite love to poor sinners-no toll for them of the dear churchgoing bell-none of these greetings and Christian communings that congregating parishioners hold together; when taking sweet counsel together, they pass onwards towards the house of God. Indeed these poor secluded people seemed in the fullest extent to feel their deprivation, as, in the words of the Prophet, they felt a famine, "not of bread and water, but of hearing the word of the Lord." 4th Amos.

Well, in a short time all were assembled; the rough, but steady respectable seaman, his trim and tidy wife, the blushing, blooming girl, the bluff boy, with his catechism in his hand; all met in a comfortable room, that contained the well arranged furniture of a kitchen, with its cleanly moveables calling up the associations of good cheer, and at the same time displaying the neatness and snugness of a parlour. We will read first a chapter in the word of God, said the Vicar, and the 14th of John was opened. Reader, this dear consoling chapter must surely be familiar to you. If you have experienced your birthright of sorrow and suffering, you doubtless have made this chapter your friend, and have exercised yourself in it-if deprived of all the rest of the word of God, if but the one leaf of the Bible, containing this chapter, floated ashore, it were enough to console an exiled Emperor at St. Helena, or a deserted Selkirk on Juan Fernandez; amidst the solitariness of destitution, and the abandonment of the world, it would prove a castle of comfort. "Let not your heart be troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions ;" and thus the consoling Saviour proceeds, telling of all the fulness of his sufficiency, "the way, the truth, and

the life;" no where to go to but to me, no way to go but by me, that you may attain eternal life. Lord, then (as a Christian Saint has said,) we will follow thee, by thee, to thee. Thee, because thou art the truth, by thee, because thou art the way, to thee, because thou art the life. And so promising the Comforter, bequeathing peace, the Saviour concludes this precious chapter, rich as it is in glorious truth, and abundant in consolation, with his farewell words, "Arise, let us go hence."

The place, the occasion, the adaptation of the chapter to the wants, the feelings of these exiled people, connected perhaps with the visible excitement of him who communicated the exposition and prayed with his whole soul for grace, and peace, and salvation through the Lord our righteousness, gave such a tone of feeling to the whole transaction, that there was not a dry eye in company. One old seaman, with a countenance as weatherbeaten and time-furrowed as one of the cliffs of the isle he guarded, sat before us, the very personification of manly feeling-the big drops coursed down his cheek, and yet no change of countenance, like a summer shower falling on the sea-ward rock, only to cool and brighten it in its passage.

But it was time to depart;-and wont you come again to us soon; and sure, says an old motherly woman, your Reverence wont forget to bring a Testament with large print: and sure, says the mother of two beauteous children, you will not forget the catechism for Mary and Jane; and thus they followed with blessings and remindings, until we got out of sight. But it was a pity to depart without ascending the summit of the island, without looking down on the fine stretch of land and sea that the light-house hill presented; so on we toiled a devious track, up towards the summit. As we passed along, a girl of about fourteen passed us by; she appeared to be of the indigenous and peculiar breed of the island, as did the sheep and lambs. The lambs were like motherless kittens, with wiry and starvation hair, instead of wool; and this girl, I never saw such a specimen of an uncaught and untutored savage,-her hair was of a deep madder red, her eyes ferret-like, sparkled from under hair unacquainted with comb or cleanliness; when she neared us, apparently to avoid the stranger and the enemy, as she considered us, she ran off bare-footed on the stony rock, whining and gabbering Irish. Further on as we ascended the hill, we came into a snug hollow, in which was a low hut without a chimney, covered with a net work of ropes to save the thatch from the stripping of the storm; there came forth from this hive or hovel, a hum as from a wasp's nest. This may be the Cape Clear School, said my friend, let us go in and see the seminary; so bending double to pass, as through the apperture of a cavern's mouth, we descended into a hole, as dark, smoky, and smelly, as the cave of Cacus; but in a short time, our eyes assimilating themselves ton e palpable obscure, could observe about twenty children sitttighon stones, humming forth their lessons like hornets prepar