of God's goodness and man's deceits, for the day was Monday, and certain things came soothingly over my thoughts, which I had heard in the house of prayer, during the solemnities of the previous day's worship. Surely, said I, goodness and mercy hath still followed me all my life long, even into this discontented kingdom of the Irish, and as to the wickedness of the wicked, which is wrought in secret places of the earth, I have still been preserved, even from knowing the depth and the breadth thereof.

I was communing with myself in this comforting way, and so abstract in my inward meditation that I did not pay any attention, although I partly saw the people beginning to lift their windows all round, and those on the street beneath, running hastily from that end of the suburb to which my back was all the while turned. I have been often called stupid, and so I am, when any thing takes my thoughts away into meditative abstraction; so I never troubled myself to turn round my head, until the clatter of an host of horses' feet came over my ears from behind, and a wild cry of "the Kearneys! the Kearneys!" accompanied the sudden rising of the surrounding windows.

What a strange and impressive cavalcade was this, which, with the immense and horrified crowd that followed it, was now almost under my very window. There were horsemen behind and horsemen before, but no music, or sound such as usually accompanies a military spectacle, and the buzz and murmur that ran through the multitude had an awfulness in it, as if it were the low and deep voice of justice herself, and seemed to have the sternness mixed with the horror, of a generally awarded and righteous sentence of death. There was something very dreadful in the arrangement of the cavalcade. Behind the first troop of military, came three vehicles of the lowest sort used as conveyances in Ireland, called jingles; which being a species of double car, upon springs, are considerably elevated above the heads of the people. The first of these carried a temporary gallows, which was to be erected on the spot where the murder had been committed; the last con

tained three coffins; and in the centre jingle sat the wretched men, the execrated objects of this horrid preparation.

"Lord save us," said I, as I surveyed the whole, " but it is an awful sight, to see a father and his two sons carted off together to their death," two of them young and even handsome men, and, together with the father, such as you never could have supposed, from their looks, to be capable of committing so atrocious a deed. The three sat together in the jingle, with a bareheaded priest placed between each, and holding a crucifix close to their faces. They were all dressed in black, their arms pinioned to their sides, with the white caps of execution on their heads, and the ropes already hanging from their bared necks. The wanness of death already gave their countenances a blanched cadaverousness, which was absolutely fearful to behold; the young men, in particular, seemed quite overcome with the horror of guilt and of their situation, and had lost all power over themselves, so that as the vehicle jolted slowly on to their death, their heads wagged backwards and forwards with every motion, and when they ventured to try to look before or behind, their eye fixed on the great frightful gallows, rumbling on in their view, on which they were about to be suspended by the neck, and behind came the row of coffins, which already gaped for their corpses. The crowd that moved on at their side looked up in their languid countenances with impressions, such as could not easily be effaced, and the only sounds that were heard, besides the suppressed murmur of the people, was a startling howl, which now and then burst from a band of women, who followed the car bearing the coffins, among which was the wretched wife of one, and mother of two of the men whom she was, with characteristic hardiness, now following to the gibbet.

The melancholy procession passed away from before my eyes, and the occasional howl of the women came with sickening impression over my ears, as the whole moved off in the distance, and as I reflected upon the miserable end of all incor

rigible workers of iniquity. I was afterwards told by those who witnessed the execution, that the hardened old wretch, who had urged her family into the commission of these atrocities, had the heart to stand at the gallows' foot, while that husband and these two sons, which constituted all her earthly ties, were for the crimes to which she had encouraged them, struggling in the agonies which launched them into eternity.

But the most painful part of this whole tragedy related to the unfortunate widow of the murdered grieve, whom her terrible misfortune had entirely bereft of her senses, and for whom the sympathetic squire made ample provision, as a confirmed and hopeless lunatic. The broken-hearted widow took her unfortunate daughter back to her cottage, and willingly aided in the delusion into which the poor creature had gradually fallen; that Owen Lambert was still attending the trial of the Kearneys, from which he was hourly expected to return. Whenever, therefore, the morning was fine, the interesting maniac went forth and sat patiently on a stone at the door, to wait, as she said, until her Owen came home from Dublin.

Curiosity and that melancholy interest with which unmerited misfortune is always invested, led me one day to swerve off my way as I went to the Dublin mountains, to try if I could see her. Sure enough, as the people there say, I did see this pretty and demented young widow, sitting as usual in the sunshine at the cottage-door, and singing sillily to herself, as she carelessly knitted some trifling article. When she perceived me she rose, and looking anxiously in my face, came forward to meet me. "Begging your pardon, Sir," she said in the liquid softness of the Dublin patois, and curtseying as she drew " did your honour come from Dublin this morning ?" "I did," said I sadly, observing the poor thing's look of melancholy anxiety.

near,

66

May be, Sir," she continued, “you can tell me something of one Owen Lambert, that's there at the trial.—Ah, he is long, long, of coming!"

"So he is," said I, but you'll see him by-and-by."

"Will I?" she said, a gleam of joy coming over her fea"Alas! but I am weary, weary, so long waiting to

tures.

meet him."

"Are you ?" I said, forgetting, in my pity, the poor girl's insanity. "God help you! broken-heart-but you will meet him, I doubt not, in a better world!"

RECOLLECTIONS OF

EHRENBREITSTEIN.

BY R. BERNAL, M. P.

READER! in these bustling times of locomotion and enterprise, the chances are undoubtedly more than four to one, that you have visited the town of Coblentz, and have become well acquainted with its localities and surrounding scenery. There is scarcely, I conceive, one moderate rambler to be found between the termini of Grosvenor-gate and Mile-end, who has not performed this home-circuit tour, or who remains ignorant of the banks of the Rhine, facing the far-famed heights and fortress of Ehrenbreitstein.

It will afford pleasant food for meditation, while standing on the bridge of boats at Coblentz, under the auspices of a clear and sunny day, to contemplate at your ease the beauties of the azure and undisturbed vault of heaven, reflected in the bright river beneath, and to contrast the peaceful works of a Beneficent Providence with the result of the labours of that turbulent creature, man, breathing war, defiance and destruction.

Ramparts, bastions, curtains and embrasures, towering one upon the other, here display the various and easy modes by which the perfection of modern science has attained the art of converting real gold into stone, thereby reversing the old order of things, when philosophers toiled to transmute the latter material into the glittering metal. We are wiser in