He then made them all kneel around his bed, and with solemn words, and an impressive manner, placed his hand upon their heads, and blessed them with a virtuous father’s last blessing.

He then called for his wife, and the scene became not only more touching, but more elevated.  There was an exultation in her manner, and an expression of vivid hope in her eye, arising from the fact of her husband having received, and been soothed by the rites of her church, that gave evident proof of the unparalleled attachment borne by persons of her class to the Catholic religion.  The arrival of our hero had been so unexpected, and the terrors of the tender wife for her husband’s soul so great, that the administration of the sacrament almost superseded from her heart every other sensation than that of devotional triumph.  Even now, in the midst of her tears, that triumph kindled in her eye with a light that shone in melancholy beauty upon the bed of death.  In proportion, however, as the parting scene—­which was to be their last—­began to work with greater power upon her sorrow, so did this expression gradually fade away.  Grief for his loss resumed its dominion over her heart so strongly, that their last parting was afflicting even to look upon.

When it was over, Lanigan once more addressed the priest:—­

“Now, sir,” he observed, but with great difficulty, “let me have your blessin’ an’ your prayers; an’ along wid that, your Reverence, if you remimber a request I once made to you”—­

“I remember it well,” replied the priest; “you allude to the masses which you-wished I me to say for you, should I ever receive Orders.  Make your mind easy on that point.  I not only shall offer up mass for the repose of your soul, but I can assure you that I have mentioned you by name in every mass which I celebrated since my ordination.”

He then proceeded to direct the mind of his dying benefactor to such subjects as were best calculated to comfort and strengthen him.

About day-break the next morning, this man of many virtues, after struggling rather severely for two hours preceding his death, passed into eternity, there to enjoy the recompense of a well-spent life.

When he was dead, the priest, who never left him during the night, approached the bed, and after surveying his benevolent features, now composed in the stillness of death, exclaimed—­

“Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord, for they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them!”

Having uttered the words aloud, he sat down beside the bed, buried his face in his handkerchief, and wept.

He was now only a short day’s journey from home, and as his presence, he knew, would be rather a restraint upon a family so much in affliction, he bade them farewell, and proceeded on his way.  He travelled slowly, and, as every well-known hill or lake appeared to him, his heart beat quickly, his memory gave up its early stores, and his affections prepared themselves for the trial that was before them.