for the use of her poor countrymen in St. Giles's; and I resolved that out of this I would regularly supply O'Neill with nutriment proper for his weak state. I thank God, I was able, from one source or another, to continue it up to the time of his death, more than two years after. My dislike of his poor crooked fingers soon vanished; and many, oh many a day have I ran up the long passage, and mounted the stairs, and placed myself on the old box, with one of those formidable hands clasping mine, while I read or talked to the dear old saint about his glorious Redeemer. The daily pittance of soup, or milk, with bread, soon nourished him into better health; and the little service of being the medium through which the bounty of others reached him, won for me such a warm niche in his Irish heart, that it almost amounted to idolatry.

To such a place I could not, of course, go alone; but the privilege of visiting O'Neill was sought for by so many that I never lacked a companion. The dear Pastor of the Irish Church in that place delighted in him; and unbounded was O'Neill's affection for Mr. B. But though he was exposed to so much notice as might try the Christian humility of any man, O'Neill lay quiet at the foot of the cross, glorying in that alone. He had some habits that gave offence to persons of various character; but I liked them all. One was what is irreverently called craw-thumping. Every one knows that the poor Romanist, at confession, is instructed to strike hard upon his breast with the right fist, as a sign of contrition; and this practice O'Neill never laid aside. His self-condemnation, and his prayers for divine teaching, were accompanied with so many blows

from his poor hand, that I have seen some of the Irish readers in no small commotion about it-disposed to question the reality of his conversion, while so shockingly popish a habit was retained. To me it bespoke the sincerity of the man far more clearly than its abandonment could have done. Another foible was his extreme politeness: when friends entered, he would, raising himself in the bed, call to his wife to place the box here, and the chair there, and the stool beside it; and, waving his hand with the most ceremonious and courteous gesture, he would direct the process of seating the company: then, from beneath his pillow, draw forth an antique horn snuff-box, and pass it round with an air wholly inimitable. More than one good person, has said to me, in this stage of the business, 'The man is all artificial: what has a beggar to do with such absurd forms?' To which I have replied, 'O'Neill is not going to beg of you; so be quiet, and take a lesson in good manners.' I never knew any one leave him under other impression than that he was simple sincerity personified.

It pleased God to let me labour among those dear outcasts for months together; but after a time my residence was changed, and I made few visits there. Still, so far as my charity purse served, through the help of richer friends, my pensioners were regularly attended to; and D., beloved D., was the overseer of the work. The cholera came, and swept away many an Irish beggar out of wretched St. Giles's, and the malignant fever carried away many more. D. fell beneath the latter. I followed his remains to the grave; and seeing some of my poor people bending over it in an agony of unrestrained sorrow,

my heart was stirred up to visit them during the few hours of my stay in town: I took a clerical friend with me, and plunged at once into the doubly desolate scenes that I had too long been estranged from.

With some difficulty, in a most wretched garret, immeasurably inferior to his former lodging, I found O'Neill. He lay almost on the bare ground, without a vestige of any earthly comfort. Even the cleanliness that had always marked his appearance, was gone. He could not lift his head from the pillow of rags; but when I spoke, he clasped my hand within his trembling, crooked fingers, and sobbed his blessings for the daily pittance of milk and bread. He then told us that, during the illness of D. he had been attacked by cholera, had been in the hospital, as a most desperate case, had been brought through it, and returned to his garret, to linger out as before. It did indeed appear most wonderful that such an object could have survived the attack; and unbelief almost repined at it. I mean my unbelief: for O'Neill, though with scarcely power to strike his withered hand upon his breast, was as low in self-abasement, as energetic in the faith that is in Christ Jesus, as ever: and no less willing to stay, than prepared to go.

My companion was much struck with the old man ; he talked much, and then prayed with him; and afterwards added his most unequivocal testimony to that of the many who had formerly visited him. It was my last interview with O'Neill; but I had the comfort of knowing that he enjoyed the daily portion of nourishment, and the pastoral cares of his beloved minister. It was a welcome communication which

told me, twelve months afterwards, that he had departed in a state of unspeakable rejoicing, to be with Christ for ever. His death was remarkable for the vivid realization that he enjoyed of future glory, strikingly contrasted with the humility and selfsuspicion that had formerly characterized him. I remember once taking a Christian divine to visit him, who preached up personal assurance as an indispensable evidence of saving faith; but all his expostulations could not extort from O'Neill a stronger word than I hope,' as regarded his eternal inheritance. 'Are you going to heaven, O'Neill?' 'I hope, through the precious blood of my Redeemer, that I am, sir.' 'That is not enough: you must be sure of it.' 'I'm sure, sir, that Christ came to save such sinners as me; and I'm sure I desire to be saved by Him; and I hope He will save me, sir.' 'Why, have you not the earnest of the Spirit?' 'I hope I have, sir.' At last my friend plainly told him that his state was far from satisfactory; the tears streamed from the poor old man's eyes, and repeatedly he struck his breast; but all he would utter was the ejaculation: I hope-I hope He will save me!' I took care to run back to his bed-side, when the others were departing, and to tell him that his hope would never make him ashamed; and that though assurance might be a privilege, it was no test of saving faith. Dear O'Neill enjoyed it at last, though if his latest breath had been but an 'I hope' I should be just as well satisfied concerning him.

My beautiful Guernsey Lilies-what is their exquisite dress to that in which old Patrick O'Neill, the Irish beggar of St. Giles' now shines! "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these;" but

all the glory of this gorgeous creation affords not a type for that in which the redeemed soul stands complete before God. I know not the exact spot where the distorted joints of the old Irishman now moulder into dust; but well I know that thence shall arise a being fashioned like unto Christ's glorious body. The form that wears the white robe, bleached in the blood of the Lamb, will not bend under the burden of disease; the hand that tunes a celestial harp will be pained and crippled no more, neither smite upon the breast in the anguish of selfaccusing compunction. My poor O'Neill, now rich with inexhaustible treasures, has already changed 'I believe' into 'I see,' and 'I hope' into 'I possess." The bountiful lady whose alms first enabled me to nourish him, is with him there; and D. who ministered like a comforting angel unto him in the dark dungeons of St. Giles's is likewise “made equal unto the angels," and joining their hallelujahs in the courts of heaven. Howels, whose energetic plea from the pulpit once poured upwards of fifty pounds into my St. Giles' purse, is there too; an in-door servant,' according to his own beautiful, dying thought, rejoicing among the souls whom he helped to gather in. And now what matters it, whether like that titled lady they lived in princely halls, faring sumptuously every day, or like O'Neill received at the hand of charity a daily dole in a garret; whether like Howels they formed the centre and chief of an admiring congregation, "known and read of all men," or like D. paced the darkened streets, and obscure alleys, to do good by stealth, concealing from the left hand the works of the right? All were the Lord's dear children; all glorified Him where he