But she, too, passed away, and was brought home to her last resting-place in Rathcash chapel-yard, where the three tombs are still to be seen. Were she now alive she would yet be a comparatively young woman, not much past sixty-four or sixty-five years of age. But it pleased God, in his inscrutable ways, to remove her from the circle of all her bounty and her love. Had it not been so, this tale would not have yet been written.
[ORIGINAL.]
"REQUIEM AETERNAM."
Lo! another pilgrim, weary
With his toils, hath reached the goal.
And we lift our "Miserere"
For the dear departed soul;
God of pity and of love!
May he reign with thee above!
By the pleasures he surrendered,
By the cross so meekly borne.
By the heart so early tendered.
By each sharp and secret thorn,
And by every holy deed--
For our brother's rest we plead!
'Mid the throng who rest contented,
Earth to him was but a waste.
And the sweets this life presented,
Were but wormwood to his taste.
Faith had taught him from the first
For the fount of life to thirst
Faith, the sun that rose to brighten
All his pathway from the font:
Then no phantom e'er could frighten,
Nor the sword of pain or want:
"For," he said, "though pain be strong,
Time shall vanquish it ere long."
When he spoke of things eternal,
How the transient seemed to fade!
And we saw the goods supernal
Stand revealed without a shade:
"Surely 'twas a spirit spoke,"
Was the thought his language woke.
[{264}]
Thought prophetic! now a spirit
Speaketh from the world unseen:
And the faith we, too, inherit
Telleth what the tidings mean:
"Friend and stranger! oh, prepare--
Make the wedding garment fair."
Yet our brother's strength was mortal;
Bore he naught of earthly taint?
Did he pass the guarded portal
In the armor of a saint?
Lord of holiness! with dread
On this awful ground we tread.
He was merciful and tender
To the erring and the weak;
Therefore will thy pity render
Unto him the grace we seek.
Whilst we bring to mercy's fount
Pledges uttered on the Mount.
He remembered the departed
As we now remember him:
Bright, and true, and simple-hearted.
Till the lamp of life grew dim:
Friend was he of youth and age--
Now a child--and now a sage.
If those footsteps unreturning
Leave on earth no lasting trace:
If no kindred heart be yearning
Tearful in his vacant place:
If oblivion be his lot
Here below, we murmur not;
Only let his portion be
Evermore, dear Lord, with thee!
MARIE.
Beaver, PA.
From The Dublin University Magazine.
TINTED SKETCHES IN MADEIRA.
CHAPTER I.
Notwithstanding that Madeira enjoys an imperishable distinction for its matchless scenery, its sunny skies, and its healthful climate, yet the character of its inhabitants seems to have been but little studied, and still less the singular usages and customs which indicate their nationality. Impressed with the idea that to supply some information on these particulars might heighten the interest experienced for the Madeirans as an isolated little community, I have compiled a few pages descriptive of their social and domestic life, intending them, however, merely as supplementary to the valuable information afforded by others.
Passing over the novel and amusing circumstance of landing at Funchal, which has already been so often described, I find myself in a boi-caro, or ox-car, traversing narrow and intricate streets; the murmur of waters and soft strains of instrumental music saluting my ear, while a faint perfumed breeze stirs the curtains of my caro. By some travellers the boi-caro has been likened to the body of a calèche placed on a sledge, but to me it neither had then, nor has it assumed since, any other appearance than that of a four-post bed, curtained with oil-cloth, lined with some bright-colored calico, and having comfortably cushioned seats. It is made of light, strong timber, secured on a frame shod with iron. A pair of fat, sleek oxen are yoked to this odd-looking carriage, while from thongs passed through their horns bits of carved ivory or bone hang on their foreheads to protect them from the influence of Malochio or Evil-eye.