Gerald Griffin, or, as we must henceforth know him, Brother Joseph, entered on the performance of his new duties with his characteristic ardor and in a spirit of unostentatious obedience, which elicited the admiration of the community to a greater extent than the display of mere intellectual accomplishments could have done. "Nothing," said the superior general of the order, "could exceed the earnestness with which he discharged every duty; nothing was done by halves; nothing imperfectly; he seemed as if he had nothing else to do but that which he was doing." The following extract from a letter written soon after his removal to the North Cork monastery, the succeeding year, while it shows a touch of his old playful style, illustrates also that cheerfulness of spirit which so preëminently marks the character of the members of all the religious orders of the church, the result of the consciousness of useful labor well done:

"I was ordered off here from Dublin last June, and have been since enlightening the craniums of the wondering Paddies in this quarter, who learn from me with profound amazement and profit that o x spells ox; that the top of the map is the north, and the bottom is the south, with various other branches; as also that they ought to be good boys, and do as they are bid, and say their prayers every morning and evening, etc.; and yet it seems curious, even to myself, that I feel a great deal happier in the practice of this daily routine than I did while I was roving about your great city, absorbed in the modest project of rivalling Shakespeare and throwing Scott into the shade."

From this time till his death, which took place a year after his removal from Dublin, Brother Joseph remained in the North Cork monastery, his time divided between teaching the children of the poor and in that inner preparation for the end so unexpectedly near at hand, and to which he no longer looked forward, as he once had done, with apprehension. Until a very short time before his demise, he was in excellent health, and his conduct was marked by that serenity of manner and cheerfulness of speech which showed that the tempest-tossed spirit had at length found a haven of refuge. He visited his home but once, and then for a brief period, returning without pain or regret to his prayers and studies, among the latter of which was the compilation of a series of pious tales, intended for the use of the Brothers' schools, but which were never completed. His death, the result of typhus fever which set in on the 31st of May, and terminated fatally twelve days after, is thus simply but tenderly described by the director of novices, who was one of the witnesses of the edifying scene:

"On the morning of the day when his last illness took an unfavorable turn, he called the person in attendance on him to his bedside, and quietly told him 'he thought he should die of this sickness, and that he wished to receive extreme unction.' His confessor, by a merciful dispensation of providence, was then in the house, and expressed his opinion that, as a matter of precaution, it was best to administer it. He repaired to his bedside, presented him the holy viaticum, and administered extreme unction. He received them with the most lively sentiments of love and resignation, as well as the utmost fervor and devotion. During his illness, not a murmur or sigh of impatience escaped him; not a sentiment but breathed love, confidence, and resignation; not a desire but for the perfect accomplishment of the will of Him to whom his habits of prayer had so long and closely united him."

Thus lived and died one whom it would be faint praise to call one of the brightest and purest ornaments which this century has given to English literature. The various creations of his fancy will long hold a high place in the hearts of all who admire the beautiful and revere the good; but the moral of his own life is the noblest heritage he has left us. True to the instincts of his Catholic birth and training, he passed through the temptations of sorrow, poverty, and vanities of a great city for years, preserving his faith unshaken and his morals unsullied; with courage and tenacity of purpose, the attributes of true heroism, he surmounted obstacle after obstacle, which might easily have daunted older and stronger men, till he reached a proud position in the literature of his country; and when surrounded by all that is supposed to make life valuable—personal independence, devoted friends, and worldly applause—he gently and after mature self-examination took off his laurels, laid them modestly on the altar of religion, and, clothed in the humble garb of a Christian Brother, prepared to devote his life to unostentatious charity. Even his very name, that he once fondly hoped to write on the enduring tablets of history, he no longer desired to be remembered; for on the plain stone that marks his last resting-place in the little graveyard of the monastery is engraved simply the words,

BROTHER JOSEPH. DIED JUNE 12, 1840.

THE UNFINISHED PRAYER.

"Now I lay me"—say it, darling;
"Lay me," lisped the tiny lips
Of my daughter, kneeling, bending,
O'er her folded finger-tips.

"Down to sleep"—"to sleep," she murmured,
And the curly head dropped low;
"I pray the Lord," I gently added,
"You can say it all, I know."