occasionally suffer great privations; yet, with all this, they appeared happy and contented, and evinced no desire, in answer to my questions, to leave their sea-girt and rocky home; so true is it "We live to love, whate'er may be around." greater part of which time we had been climbing up a nearly perpendicular face of rock, the ruggedness of which formed the only means of conquering the difficulty. Here we were, then, on the Great Skellig, within a few feet of the cross, standing, or rather balancing on a crag about a couple of feet broad, and some eight or ten long, and at an elevation of nearly fifteen hundred feet. The stones, as they were loosened from the us. which is upwards of ninety fathoms deep around the rock. We sat down with our feet dangling over the precipice in a line, one before the other, the guide being outside, and the apex of the cone immediately above The far-famed cross was constructed in the rudest manner, and was affixed to the extremity of the crag on which we were, by means of a large iron staple encircling the lower limb. The wood was blanched by time and exposure to the weather, and exhibited on that part nearest the rock several specimens of the ingenuity, and at the same time, rashness of various individuals, in the shape of initials, and in some few instances, whole names carved on its surface. We paused here a few minutes; and with recruited strength and braced nerves proceeded to the more adventurous part of our enterprise. The path which I mentioned as lead-giddy height, fell vertically into the sea, ing from the base of the rock, ceased at the light-house; and it was now that the services of our guide became essential. Casting off his frieze coat, and seizing the ever faithful shillelagh, he led us upwards with an alacrity requiring all our strength and activity to emulate; now surmounting the shoulders of huge crags, and then worming his way through fissures occasioned by the strange disposition of the rocks. Path, indeed, there was none, or even the faintest track; and it was literally climbing, by dint of the combined efforts of hands, knees, and feet, the face of a jagged precipice. Up, up we went, higher and higher still, until we came to the base of the highest peak, which consists principally of immense masses of rotten slaty substance, apparently decomposed by the electric fluid. Our progress now became really difficult, and even dangerous, and I may truly say without exaggeration, that ined with the strength and energy of youth, I all my rambles on foot through Switzerland, I never encountered anything so formidable as the ascent to the cross on the Great Skellig. Once or twice I felt half inclined to yield, when the voice of our guide, who was still holding on with all the apparent ease of a mountain goat, reassured me. "Now, yer honor," he exclaimed, ever and anon, "give me yer hand,-that's it,-now yer fut, there; and don't look down; niver look down. I always till gintlemin so, but some will take a peep over their shouldher; but oh! sir, if ye could only see their faces, as pale as buttermilk, and their knees trimbling under them, when they see the boats and birds below, for all the world like nutshells and flies." And so went on Tim, encouraging and amusing by turns, until we arrived under the projecting crag overhanging the sea: It was no easy matter to attain this; however, by the help of our guide we finally prevailed, and had the satisfaction of standing on the narrow ledge within a few feet of the summit, which was a mere point. The ascent had occupied upwards of half an hour, during the VOL. XXV. NO. II. I no longer wondered at what I had heard concerning a pilgrimage to the cross on the Great Skellig, and the many difficulties and dangers attendant thereon, for, though bless more than once quailed when the giving way of some faithless stone occasioned a false step, and all the terrors of the depth below flashed before me. Who is there that has not felt his blood grow cold, as, standing on some giddy height, he has gazed at the deep abyss, whose gloomy terrors fascinate while they appal? There is no situation, perhaps, in which the mind exhibits so great an ascendency over the body as the above; and we have all heard, or read, of the most extraordinary effects from such a cause. I was sitting entranced as it were, my eyes riveted beneath, or following the mazy flight of some sea-bird, that seemed like a flake of snow borne on the breeze, when the voice of our guide, who had been hitherto engaged in the preparation of his dudeen, or short pipe, roused me. Well, gintlemin, I hope ye like yer quarthers? they're airy enough, anyhow." 'You may say that, Tim; and high enough too," responded my companion; "and now suppose we drink her Majesty's health? You are a royal subject, I hope, Mr. Healey ?" "Oh! to be sure, yer honor, and why not? we're all loyal men in Kerry, as the girls will tell ye." 15 "You must know, gintilmen, that some years ago, when I was a bit of a gossoon, that crass before yez was one of the holy crasses of Ireland. Indeed, according to Father O'Toole-who, rest his sowl! is now dead and gone-it was accounted the holiest crass in Kerry, and hundreds used to come from far and near to kiss it. A priest thin lived in one of the cells below, and used to give every one who had made pinance a paper wid absolution for their sins; and, by all accounts, he had a fine busy time of it, anyhow. Now it happened, just thin, whin the crass was in its glory, that one of the tightest and gayest lads in the barony lost hist heart to a girl who might have bothered an older head than Barney Dempsey's. She was, indeed, a lovely crathur, wid eyes for all the world like two diamonds; and it would have done your heart good to have seen thim going to mass on a Sunday morning. Well, the coortin' wint on smooth and fair, and it was sittled that they were to be married at the end of the year, by which time Barney would be masther of a snug little farm, when, all of a sudden, Mary-for such was her name-tuk sick, and all the beauty faded from her cheeks, and she grew thin and pale. Ov coorse they sint for the docthor, and he gave her some physic, but all to no good, as she grew worse and worse, until poor Barney gave her up for all the same as dead. Well, they at length went to his riverence, Father O'Toole, and asked him to come and see Mary To be sure, he did come, and afther confessing her, he called Barney, and towld him he thought he could do her good, if he would only do what he said. Yez may be sure Barney promised to do anything he could, quick enough. "Well, thin,' said his riverence, 'you must go to the crass on the Great Skellig, and afther kissing it twice, rub a small cru cifix, which I will give you, agin it, and whin you come back, you must give it to Mary to kiss, and thin come to me.' "Away wint Barney that very night, and the following morning he crassed to the island, ascended to the crass, and did all his riverence tould him. Well, when he returned he gave Mary the small crucifix, and she had no sooner kissed it than-glory be to God!— she was like a new girl, and at the end of a month was as blooming as if she had niver been ill at all at all. Barney wint to his riverence, and tould him how much better his Mary was, and was going to thank him, whin his riverence bid him hould his tongue -for it was the blessed crass there before yez that had done all. Well, yer honors, time wore on, and the day settled for the marriage was close at hand, whin, ov coorse, Barney went to be confessed, and tould his riverence that he was going to be married. "Fair and aisy,' said Father O'Toole ; all in good time, Barney; but you must first do pinance for your sins.' 66 6 666 By all means,' said Barney. "Well, thin,' said his riverence, what would you think of a pilgrimage to the Great Skellig, and the more so seeing that you ought to return thanks to the crass for its miraculous cure in regard of Mary, and take care to rimimber the chapel, Barney.' "Barney was but too well pleased to be able to get so clane absolution, and the following morning, after bidding Mary a tinder farewell, he hurried off, and the weather being calm, arrived at the rock early in the afternoon. As the year was in its fall, there was but little light in the evening, so that Barney had to make great haste. On his' way up he stopped to talk to the priest for a few minutes, and, promising to return soon, commenced his perilous pinance. The priest watched him as he climbed the precipice with youthful energy, and saw him gain the ledge in safety. His anxiety was so great to embrace the holy object, that he ran hastily forward, whin the priest suddenly missed him, and had barely time to run to the edge of the plain, when a heavy body darted past him, and in a moment more the waters opened to receive poor Barney. He had made a false step, and fell from the spot where yer honor is now sitting." 66 And poor Mary, what became of her?" I asked. suspense, she rushed to the coast, and ere long her straining eyes beheld a boat fast approaching the shore from the island. It drew near, but her lover was not therein. She questioned the crew, wildly, concerning him they knew her, and endeavored, at first, to conceal the thruth-each shrinking from disclosing the fatal reality. But 'twas of no use; she read it in the looks of all. The dreadful certainty came before her in all its horrors. She died, sir, bereft of reason; and should ye ever visit the village of Killimly, you will see in the churchyard a small tombstone, inscribed to the memory of Barney Dempsey, and his bethrothed Mary." "A fatal pilgrimage, indeed," I exclaimed, as the guide concluded the foregoing tale, which we have given to our readers nearly as we heard it."And you say it was from this spot he was precipitated?" "Yes, yer honor, just here; and he fell beyant that big black rock." I cast my eyes below, but quickly withdrew them from the fearful depth. The huge waves, as they broke angrily against the gloomy cliffs, seemed yawning for their prey. "Let us leave this," I said; a proposition which my friend gladly echoed. "Ov coorse yer honors will kiss the crass first?" exclaimed our guide. An involuntary shudder came over me, and I felt, if my very existence had been depending upon it, I could not have advanced another step on the crag. "Not I, Tim !"-" Nor I !" said my friend. "And wouldn't be afther going away without touching it even ?" you I fear our resolutely declining to make any further acquaintance with the holy relic, tended to alter Mr. Healey's opinion of our courage considerably; at least so I deduced from two or three hints he threw out. "If it was only to say you had touched it, yer honor!" It was, however, out of the question; and we put an end to our guide's entreaties by at once commencing the descent. This occupied even more time than the ascent, but was accomplished in safety. The fact was, Tim's story had a strange effect on our nerves, and I often wished he had indulged us with it when we were in a less perilous position. We found our crew waiting in the boat, and were soon gazing upwards at the cross, which was fast dwindling to a mere speck. The evening was just closing as we pulled into the harbor of Valentia. That night the cross on the Great Skellig was often before me, and more than once I felt as if some irresistible impulse urged me towards it; and, advancing to embrace it, my foot made a false step, and I woke in perfect agony. Never did poor mortal welcome the first rosy streaks of morning more than I did. I jumped up, hurried on my clothes, and rushing to the beach, was soon breasting the waves as they came rolling in from the Atlantic. ROMANCE IN REAL LIFE. THE late Mr. Basil Montague, Q.C., whose, death, at the advanced age of 82, is recorded to have occurred at Boulogne-sur-Mer on the 27th ult., was formerly a Commissioner in Bankruptcy, and was so eminent a practitioner in such matters that for many years he was regarded as an oracle of the bankrupt laws. So little had been heard of him of late years, that many of his quondam friends labored under the impression that he had long ago discharged the debt of nature. It s not generally known that this distinguished awyer was the fourth son of John, fourth Earl of Sandwich, by Miss Margaret Reay, a celebrated beauty of her day. The melancholy fate of this lady inspired the deepest public interest at the time, and the whole affair has been justly styled one of the most romantic and extraordinary love tales ever recorded, so much so that it has often struck us with astonishment that, in these novel manufacturing and ready-reading days, none of the novelists who cater so strangely at times for the public taste have seized upon the ample materials this case affords as the groundwork for a book of lasting and intense interest. Miss Margaret Reay, the mother | day, April 7, 1779, was occupied all the of the late Mr. Basil Montague, was the daughter of a stay-maker in Covent-garden, and served her apprenticeship to a mantuamaker, in George's-court, St. John's-lane, Clerkenwell. Having, during her apprenticeship, attracted the attention of Lord Sandwich, he took her under his protection, and treated her from that period until her melancholy assassination with the greatest tenderness and affection, which was sincerely returned by Miss Reay, until her introduction by his Lordship to a young ensign of the 68th regiment, then in command of a recruiting party at Huntingdon, in the neighborhood of which stands Hitchenbrook, the splendid mansion of the noble house of Montagu. Mr. James Hackman, the wretched but highly gifted hero of this sad narrative, from the first moment of his introduction, fell desperately in love with the mistress of his noble host, and his passion increased with the daily opportunities afforded him by the invitations he received to his Lordship's table. With the object of continuing his assiduous attentions to this lady, and the hope of ultimately engaging her affections, he quitted the army, and taking holy orders obtained the living of Wiverton, in Norfolk, only a few months prior to the commission of that crime which brought him to the scaffold. That Miss Reay had given some encouragement to his fiery passion cannot be denied; the tenor of their correspondence clearly proves it; but gratitude towards the Earl and prudential motives respecting the welfare of her children induced her afterwards to refuse the offer of the Rev. gentleman's hand, and to intimate the necessity which existed for discontinuing his visits for their mutual interest and their peace of mind. morning in reading Blair's Sermons; but in the evening, as he was walking towards the Admiralty, he saw Miss Reay pass in her coach, accompanied by Signora Galli. He followed and discovered that she alighted at Coventgarden Theatre, whither she went to witness the performance of Love in a Village. Mr. Hackman returned to his lodgings, and arming himself with a brace of pistols, went back to the theatre, and when the performance was over, as Miss Reay was stepping into her coach, he took a pistol in each hand, one of which he discharged at her and killed her on the spot, and the other at himself, which did not, however, take effect. He then beat himself about the head with the butt-end of the pistol in order to destroy himself, but was eventually, after a dreadful struggle, secured and carried before Sir John Fielding, who committed him to Tothillfields Bridewell, and afterwards to Newgate, where he was narrowly watched to prevent his committing suicide. He was shortly after tried at the Old Bailey, before the celebrated Justice Blackstone, author of the "Commentaries," found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn on the 19th of the month, where he suffered the last penalty of the law with all the firmness becoming a gentleman and a Christian who felt that he had committed an irreparable injury, and that his life was justly forfeited to the outraged laws of his country, although he persisted to the last that the idea of murdering the woman he so fondly loved originated in the frenzy of the moment, and never was or could have been premeditated. One circumstance in this slight narrative which redounds so highly to the honor of the party most aggrieved in this sad affair must not be omitted. Lord Sandwich, with a Stung to the quick by this sudden and un-noblemindedness rarely exemplified in such expected termination of his long cherished and most ardent passion, no doubt can exist in the minds of those who have carefully perused the highly interesting correspondence between the parties, puplished many years ago by Mr. Hubert Croft, in a volume entitled "Love and Madness," that Mr. Hackman's mind became unsettled, and without meditating a crime which, properly speaking, could scarcely be fairly classed in the category of murder, there is no doubt that he became weary of his own life; and finally, though without distinct premeditation, determined that she whom he loved so passionately should share his fate. At this time the Rev. Mr. Hackman was lodging in Duke's-court, St. Martin's-laue, and the fatal extreme cases of injury to the pride and sensibility of man, wrote to Mr. Hackman after sentence of death was passed upon him: "7th April, 1779. "If the murderer of Miss wishes to live, the inan he has most injured will use all his interest to procure his life." The prisoner replied the same day : "Condemned Cell in Newgate. "The murderer of her whom he preferred, far preferred, to life, suspects the hand from which he has just received such an offer as he neither desires nor deserves. His wishes are for death, not for life. One wish he has--could he be pardoned in this world by the man he has most injured "Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes, pompous in the grave."-SIR THOMAS BROWNE "VICTORY, Or Westminster Abbey!" was the exclamation of Commodore Nelson, when, during the great contest with the Spanish fleet, under Sir John Jervis, on the 14th February, 1797, he sprang from a captured vessel at the head of an intrepid boarding party, and seized another ship from the astonished and terrified enemy. "A grave in the Abbey"-too often an early grave-is, in like manner, the great ambition and reward of the English statesman. To be carried, a lifeless corpse, through long lines of formal mourners, and interred in that stately pile, is the gorgeous vision which cheers him at his post of duty, and stimulates the exhausted energies of mind and body. The neglected man of genius, consigned during his life-time to penury and wretchedness, is indemnified for his sufferings (in the world's opinion) by a bust in Poet's Corner, as in the memorable instance of the author of Hudibras, on the erection of whose monument in Westminster Abbey the following graphic and sarcastic lines were written : characteristic infirmity of the noblest and most active minds.' Nay, even weaker men exult in the idea of handing down to distant generations, by means of the sepulchral memorial, some slight record of their existence. Whilst these feelings are so strongly implanted in our nature, it is reasonable enough that our meditations should often turn on "graves and epitaphs ;" and though the subject is not recommended by novelty-though it is a topic with which every one is in some degree familiar-we trust that our readers. will pardon us for attempting to string together a few remarks upon English epitaphs, and upon grave-yards in England and elsewhere. The theme, we know, is an exceedingly fertile and inviting one, but bearing in mind how much has been written upon it, we intend to confine our observations within very narrow limits. in It will not surprise those who take any terest in the subject we have started, that we first invite their attention to scenes which they have often visited. We say, " often visited," because we take it for granted that wherever the tombs and sepulchral memorials of our greatest men are grouped together, every Englishman with a spark of national pride in his bosom will occasionally love to linger. In treating, therefore, of the epitaphs. in our great metropolitan cathedrals, we shall consider our readers to be treading with us over familiar ground; although it is ground |