at three inquests that morning, one of which was on the corpse of a woman, named Bridget Joice. Travelling with her children in search of food, she had crept into an empty hut on the bog of Glanedagh and died of hunger. Six days and nights her corpse lay surrounded by her children; they could no longer endure its odour, and had just strength enough to drag it out on the high road, where the Doctor had just beheld it.

Christmas arrived, oh that Connaught may never again keep such a day of mourning and woe. Death and famine were abroad. Every day inquests were held, often two or three were held on the same day, and by the same coroner. Corpses were found on road sides, in fields, or lying in cabins whence every particle of furniture had been removed and sold for food.

As if the Almighty had poured out every vial of His wrath, winter set in with a severity unknown in former years. The tottering famine-stricken wandered through hail and sleet, and if some, overpowered by weakness, sunk down, the snow became their windingsheet.

For about six weeks ending at Christmas, a winter fishery is usually carried on at Mora, and this year it had proved a powerful resource against the ravages of famine. It was now continued under great disadvantages; the fishermen had never been rich, because there was no market for their spoils, and the money which they annually expended in their boats and tackle, and in providing warm clothing for themselves, had this year been absorbed in the purchase of food, in consequence of the potatoe failure, so that they were ill-prepared to withstand the rough seas and stormy winds of winter.

The last day of the season had arrived. It was bit

terly cold and the sleet had often fallen on the threadbare garments of the fishermen ; they had toiled many hours, unsuccessfully, and the brother of Kathleen proposed to return. Let us wait yet,' said old Neil, 'I cant face the childer without somethin in my hand,' -'Sorra one of us should wait,' said young Patcheen, 'the mist is risin already; we cant see the stags of Broadhaven.'

Old Neil looked up, the three great rocks of Broadhaven were indeed concealed in mists. It was now dangerous to remain so far out at sea, in so crazy a boat; yet the last chance of the season was not easily to be relinquished, and entering the bay, they again cast their lines, and caught a few pollocks and haddocks. The chilling mist penetrated their ill-clad frames, but old Neil cheered them on, 'never heed the mist,' he exclaimed, dont we know every rock on the shore as well as each other's faces, sure we'd be in, in half an hour at any time. Let us bring a good store to the wives and childer.' While he spoke, the wind arose, and very soon old Neil was obliged to bale out the water, as the rising waves broke over the boat. The songs of the young men ceased, and they steered for shore, finding much difficulty in urging their little craft through the surges. Meantime the mist thickened, and the darkness of a December evening fell upon them.

The gathering darkness and long absence of the fishermen filled their wives and daughters with alarm for their safety. Lights were quickly set in the cottage windows, and some of the more robust women went out on the beach, and lighted a beacon near the landingplace. Neil's wife and Kathleen, with bog-wood torches in their hands were the most active in the party. The wind swept by them, and they fancied they heard the

returning shouts of their friends; they listened again,— it was only the wind. The sleet fell thickly, blindingly; but they only wrapped their frieze cloaks more closely around them, as they replenished the beacon-fire. They tried to peer through the gathering darkness, and Kathleen imagined that she discerned the whiteness of the sail, they all gazed upon the spot, and found it was only the white surf faintly visible in the torch light. They listened again, but only heard the surging sea, and the winds rushing over its leaping waves. The sleet threatened to extinguish the beacon; they heaped on more fuel, until the bright sparks scattered far and wide, and the red flame rose steadily in despite of the falling shower.

S. O'MOORE.

SAFELY GARNERED.

I SAW where fields of golden grain waved 'neath a August sun,

Already in some favored spots the harvest was begun, And borne upon the whispering breeze came sounds of mirth and glee,

From where the reapers bound their sheaves and toiled rejoicingly.

One whom I loved was by my side--a beautiful fair girl, Whose auburn hair, all unconfined by gold or costly pearl,

Half hid her glowing cheek, but failed to shade her sparkling eyes,

Which wore the deep cerulean blue of evening's cloudless skies.

We gazed in silence for a time on that far-spreading vale,

Sheltered by lofty mountain heights from the stern northern gale,

And opening in the sunny south far towards the distant

sea,

Whose waters undisturbed flowed on in silent majesty.

A momentary sadness stole o'er Gertrude's speaking face,

As from that lovely scene we turned our footsteps to retrace;

And when she spoke, her voice scarce seemed so glad as it had been,

When one short hour before she trod the lawn's smooth

mossy green.

"Twill all be safely garnered soon-that waving feathery grain,

And all the flowers be faded too which I have loved to train,

I do love the harvest time, and yet it makes me sigh, Because I know that wintry days and dark are drawing nigh.

Perhaps 'tis foolish-but sometimes the thought will cross my mind,

That you may all be garnered first—I only left behind, And earth would seem like yonder fields when all the sheaves are gone,

When the glad reaper's song is hushed, his joyous labour done.

And yet those fields e'en when arrayed in wintry garb look bright,

When in far glancing rays is shed the sun's rejoicing light,

And He who is the spirit's sun can make the loneliest glad,

With Him as my all-present friend I could not long be sad.

Edith, the time is not long past when I knew nought of this,

The love of cherished ones around-their smiles were all my bliss ;