n the
apartment of a dying man. For shame!--for shame! Cease this clamor, it
will but distract him for whom you weep, and prevent him from composing
his mind for the great trial that is before him."

"Sir," said Lanigan's wife, seizing his hand in both hers, and looking
distractedly in his face, "are you a priest? For heaven's sake tell us?"

"I am," he replied; "leave the room every one of you. I hope your
husband is not speechless?"

"Sweet Queen of Heaven, not yet, may her name be praised! but near it,
your Reverence--widin little or no time of it.".

Whilst they spoke, he was engaged in putting the stole about his
neck, after which he cleared the room, and commenced hearing Lanigan's
confession.

The appearance of a priest, and the consolation it produced, rallied the
powers of life in the benevolent farmer. He became more collected; made
a clear and satisfactory confession; received the sacrament of Extreme
Unction; and felt himself able to speak with tolerable distinctness and
precision. The effects of all this were astonishing. A placid serenity,
full of hope and confidence, beamed from the pale and worn features of
him who was but a few minutes before in a state of terror altogether
indescribable. When his wife and family, after having been called in,
observed this change, they immediately participated in his tranquillity.
Death had been deprived of its sting, and grief of its bitterness; their
sorrow was still deep, but it was not darkened by the dread of future
misery. They felt for him as a beloved father, a kind husband, and a
clear friend, who had lived a virtuous life, feared God, and was now
about to pass into happiness.

When the rites of the church were administered, and the family again
assembled round the bed, the priest sat down in a position which enabled
him to see the features of this good man more distinctly.

"I would be glad," said Lanigan, "to know who it is that God in his
goodness has sent to smooth my bed in death, if it 'ud be plasin', sir,
to you to tell me?"

"Do you remember," replied the priest, "a young lad whom you met some
years ago on his way to Munster, as a poor scholar! You and your family
were particularly kind to him; so kind that he has never since forgotten
your affectionate hospitality."

"We do, your Reverence, we do. A mild, gentle crathur he was, poor boy.
I hope God prospered him."

"You see him now before you," said the priest. "I am that boy, and I
thank