templating the perhaps nearly approaching possession of a cold narrow dwelling beneath the surface of that gladsome earth, where the thinking head should think no more, and the throbbing heart should throb no more, either with pained or gladdened feeling. Wearied with the effort of opening a heavy gate, I availed myself of a seat offered to me just within it by a plough, which had been laid, as if for the purpose, under a nice shady tree. From this rural seat I looked over a fine and refreshing landscape, and endeavoured to feel as I had been used to feel, and to enjoy as I had been used to enjoy, the sweet and simple charms of nature. But alas! even the Christian who professes to have received, and actually has received a peace which the world cannot take away, even while in some degree able at the same time to rejoice in hope of the glory of God, is obliged to enter into the feeling of the afflicted poet

'But fixed, unalterable care

Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shews the same sadness every where,

And slights the season and the scene.'

While I sat here to recover my strength, my thoughts wandered back to the time, so distinctly marked in memory's page, when I experienced the first of those attacks which had now so much reduced it.

It was after long nights of sorrowful watching, and days of agonizing suspense, after having, as it were, read something of the character of my future life in the inscription upon a coffin lid, and after knowing that that coffin lid had closed over what had been very lovely and pleasant to my eyes and heart, -that I first suffered from an attack, a renewal of

which was now again causing me to inhale with painfulness even the pure, balmy air that surrounded me. The season was the same, but the scenes were different; the circumstances were the same, but the cause-oh! that indeed was different. Yet the connection between the past and the present time was strong enough to lead a mind, which has a good deal verified what Dr. Johnson says must sooner or later be the case, that happiness can only be found in recollection, back from the self-engrossed feelings of present uneasiness, to the memory, equally selfish, of former days.

In fancy, I visited, as I often do, the lonely church-yard which hangs on the sea-encircled coast of Ireland ;-some springs have renewed the verdure there, since it became the abiding place of the affections of at least one heart, and some wintry storms have again dashed around it the billows of the deep; but fresh as the turf which may now be flourishing there, is the love which has doubly consecrated that precious spot.

There are chapters in the book of human life which can only be perused by those whom they concern ; and if in the hours of lonely woe we feel the want of that love which we once imagined would be, throughout our wanderings in a weary land, like the gourd of Jonah, as a sweet shade to deliver us from our grief; if we dwell on the blessed memories of those whose love even the cold waters of death could hardly quench, who never misunderstood, never neglected, never disappointed us-oh! is it not well to have the heart made sensible of its idolatry-the idolatry even of its memories-and admonished of its ingratitude? We worship the memory of

departed love, and how coldly do we think of that love which is stronger than death, which hath been from everlasting, and shall be to everlasting.

I am not about to record the thoughts, at the nature of which I have glanced; but they were the means of leading me back to further recollections of that land which has been the scene of all that I could call my joys, as well as of all that still I can feel to have been my deepest sorrow-the birth-place and tomb of most of the promises and expectations of life, of most of the hopes which young and sanguine and earthly hearts may nurture and lament for.

Dear, beloved land! it was in a time of weakness and languor like the present, that I first became fully acquainted with the character of the warm-hearted sons and daughters of Ireland, as well as with the natural features and chief part of that beautiful island.

An excursion of more than five hundred miles throughout it, affords me still many a pleasing and an amusing recollection; one impression I returned with, namely, that the people of Ireland were the kindest, the most delightful people in the world: with less prudence, less fore-thought, less perhaps of the stern and steady virtues of their neighbours, there is so much native intelligence, vivacity, genuine kindness, and ready disposition to let the morrow take thought for the things of itself, that you are compelled to be pleased even when you feel inclined to admonish, and to be diverted even where you are disposed to cavil. Many an amusing instance of what might be considered a mis-application of the charge: "Be without carefulness," did we meet with, in the households wherein we temporally

sojourned, and were I inclined to try my skill in making English readers laugh, I might perhaps, by such portraitures succeed: but graver subjects suit my pen better, and more serious remembrances are foremost in my mind.

On our route, the kindest invitations followed us from place to place, and as we travelled post, many a vehicle of a higher or lower description, according to the abilities of the owner, we found waiting to convey us to houses where, whatever else might be in store for us, we learned to comprehend the meaning of the Irish, Cead Milhah failltha; for whether at the parsonage of the rector, or the cottage of the curate, the mansion of wealth and elegance, or the humble abode where poverty dwelt in fellowship with good-humour and peace, and pleasantry turned to amusement all that pride would have made a grievance, our reception was the same, and our pleasure, if varied in kind, equal in degree.

Then I saw much of what was doing in Ireland towards the advancement of a time which we must still wait and pray for, when from that lovely, though now morally deformed isle "a new song shall be sung, even salvation unto our God;" then, I remember, on some special occasion, sitting down to dinner with thirty clergymen, all united in one heart and mind, in promoting this blessed work; and the gratification which the union of intellect and piety, liveliness and devotion that were then exhibited around the same board afforded, is not easily to be forgotten.

But a different aspect in the state of moral affairs was also presented to us; a pleasing picture was not always before our eyes; from one of the most enlightened districts and where evangelical truth

was most promulgated, we passed to one which was most devoid of it.

The neighbourhood where we fixed our abode was not a very populous one, and evinced most strongly the evil of absenteeism. Of the handsome mansions around us, the owners of which were the landed proprietors of the country, some were closed up in silence and solitude, and others were the residences of those who had returned to them to present their unenlightened tenantry and neighbours with an appalling spectacle of continental depravity engrafted on common British vices. When such was the state of the rich, the condition of the poor may be guessed at. The first Sunday I spent there, my companion being indisposed, I went to the parish church alone; it was a large one for a retired country place; I was shown into a pew, more resembling a small room, containing the usual furniture of such, carpet, chairs, fire-place, fender, &c., but amidst all that could contribute to the ease of the stately worshippers, for such I supposed it was designed for, I was the only occupant, and with the necessary appendages of minister and clerk, the congregation consisted of an old man and woman, two school children, our own servant man and myself. Yet the population of the parish, an unusual circumstance in Ireland, was chiefly protestant.

Even here, however, where truly, I often thought, "darkness covered the land and gross darkness the people," I had an instance of the disposition of the Irish people, when unobstructed and uninfluenced, to hear and receive the word of life.

In a cottage about a mile from the house which in the absence of its owners we occupied, dwelt a poor