Under the main bridge of Jeddo lies our | at least, was the same, and " the Reverend" Phantom Ship, and from the heart of that prefixed to it, indicated that the poor felgreat city of the East we float out to the sea. low, whoever he might be, had seen better It does not take us long to get to Tower days. I determined that I would not leave Stairs; and now a Phantom Cab will take the matter in any doubt, and starting up you home. from my chair, I was dressed, and on my way to the Marshalsea in less than ten minutes. From "Bentley's Miscellany." I was sure of finding poor Shelton (if, indeed, it were Shelton) at the Marshalsea, for his name was classed amongst those most wretched of its wretched inmates, who, left without a friend or a shilling in the world, are confided as paupers to the custody of the marshal, and are daily supplied by him with a small allowance of food for their subsistence. I soon arrived at my destination, and inquired whether Mr. William Shelton was confined there, and if so, whether I could see him. The turnkey who opened the gate replied, that he was still there. "But he is not likely to remain long with us," he added; "he has been very bad all this week, and the doctor says that he cannot hold out for more than two days longer, at the farthest. If you wish to see him, come with me, sir; and, indeed, it will be a charity to do something for him; for never a one has been next or nigh him since he came here, and he seems bruck down entirely, sir, and more's the pity, for he has the cut of the rale gentleman about him after all." I HAD just returned from Canada, where I had been on service with my regiment, and had left it in consequence of the death of an uncle, who, contrary to my expectations, had named me as his heir. The landed property to which I succeeded was very considerable, and situated in Ireland; to which country I proceeded without any delay, and, at the time I speak of, was sitting in the breakfast-room of one of the best houses in Merrion-square, which had been my uncle's, and was now mine, awaiting the arrival of my agent, who was coming up from the country to meet me on important business connected with the estates. Now, though I felt no objection to be the possessor of a fashionable house in town, and of a fine ancestral place in the country, I had a very great objection to the trouble and bother which this acquisition of property had entailed upon me; and it was, therefore, in a mood which was, I fear, very far from being either amiable or resigned, that I contemplated the interview with Mr. B——. As a means of getting over the time, and of banishing unpleasant anticipations, I applied myself with unwonted energy to the perusal of the morning's paper, and having read the leading article and fashionable intelligence twice over, without, however, deriving much consolation from what I read, I turned as a last resource to the list of insolvent debtors, when my attention was suddenly riveted by a name there, which was quite familiar to me-"The Rev. William Shelton"-Shelton! and still it could not be Bill Shelton; my old chum at school and college. His father, General Shelton, was the wealthiest of Indian nabobs, and when II had a friend left." went out to Gibraltar, Shelton was going to be married to that scamp Tom Crofton's sister, and had then no more intention of entering the church than I had. Stranger things, however, have happened; the name, VOL. IL-20 I followed the compassionate jailer through the dreary corridor of this abode of misery, until he stopped before a door at which he knocked, and a feeble voice, which though sadly altered, I instantly recognized to be Shelton's, desired us to come in. I entered, and the turnkey closed the door, and left us together. Poor Shelton did not at first recognize me, for the narrow, dust-stained window threw but little light upon the wretched apartment; but when I spoke, and called him by his name, he stretched out his wasted hand from the miserable pallet upon which he lay, and murmured as I pressed it, "How very kind, how truly kind of you; I did not think I could not speak, for I felt so inexpressibly shocked and overcome, that the words of comfort and commiseration which I would fain have uttered, died upon my lips. Even now I cannot bear to recall the scene, Suf here." fice it to say, that under the influence of | hope which I humbly entertain of being soon emotions, such as I had never experienced for ever reunited to those I loved so fondly before, I stood in silence by his side, until he spoke again. He then related to me in feeble accents, which were often interrupted by a harassing and exhausting cough, the details of his hapless career. "When I last saw you," he said, "I was about to be married to Crofton's sister, Mary. Her father and brother could with difficulty be induced to consent to a connection with the son of a man who had made his own fortune; and though, at length, they did consent, they never after her marriage treated her with the affection which her virtues and devotion so well merited. To me they were but barely civil. After we had been married two years, I received a letter from my father announcing his total ruin in consequence of the failure of his Indian bankers. This catastrophe completed the rupture with my poor Mary's family; but to you, who know her so well, I need scarcely say that it made no change in her." He need not have feared that I could for a moment have doubted her; little did he guess how passionately, though hopelessly, I had loved her. "For some time previous," he continued, "I had entertained a strong desire to enter the church; you may not believe me, but the desire was sincere. My wishes, however, had been so strongly opposed by my father, that it was not until after his death, which took place shortly afterwards, that I was able to carry my intentions into effect. Sir Robert Crofton, when I had been ordained about a year, procured for me the presentation to a small living in the west of Ireland, with the intention, as he plainly intimated, of relieving himself from all further obligations; indeed, considering the extravagant life which both he and his son unfortunately led, I could not have expected any further assistance from him, even if he had been anxious to afford it. A diary which I occasionally kept, and which you will find in that little writing-case beside me, (the only property I now possess,) will give you some information as to the subsequent events of my cheerless life. But the recollections of the past are so agonizing to me, that I dare not dwell upon them now. I would not wish to disturb by vain repinings, the blessed "And Mary!" I involuntarily ejaculated. Thanks be to God, she is at peace." A cold shudder chilled through me as he spoke, and an exclamation of passionate regrets burst from my lips. But he heeded it not. His thoughts were far away, and on his wasted features there rested a fervent, trustful, I had almost said, a heavenly expression, that silently rebuked my selfish sorrow, and, abashed and humbled, I felt like a guilty creature as I stood by the side of the dying man. He was now quite exhausted, and fell back into an uneasy sort of slumber. And as it now wanted but a few minutes of the hour at which I had appointed to meet Mr. B—, I left poor Shelton under the care of the turnkey, who promised not to leave him until my return, and took my departure with a heavy heart. On my way home, I called at the house of a relative of mine, an eminent physician, and no less distinguished for his skill and experience as a medical man, than for his humane, gentle, and compassionate disposition; one whose anxious endeavor it ever was to soothe and alleviate the mental as well as bodily sufferings of his patients. Nor was I mistaken in supposing that he would promptly accede to my request; that he would pay an immediate visit to the poor sufferer. "I will not delay a moment," he said, in a tone of great feeling, "but I fear from what you have told me that I can be but of little service to him now." His carriage was at the door, and as he stepped into it, I heard him say to the servant, "To the Marshalsea." I then returned home, and as Mr. B― had not arrived, I had time to look at some of the entries in the diary which I had taken from Shelton's desk. A few extracts from its melancholy records will be necessary to explain to the reader the causes which had reduced him to the state of destitution in which I found him : "June 25, 1845.-Arrived last night at my new parsonage. A comfortable but rather gloomy house, with a few scrubby ill-grown plantations round it, very much neglected. The little lawn in stubble. No vestige of a flower-garden. However, Mary will soon set all that to rights. The last in cumbent must have been a man of but little taste. "27th-This day went over the parish; find, as I feared, that I have but very few Protestant parishioners, and most of these live at a great distance. Depend chiefly for a congregation upon the police and my own household. The population of this district very dense. The holdings very small. The quantity of potatoes grown here quite unusual. "August 22d.-More at home now. Mary has made our little parsonage assume quite a cheerful and home-like aspect. Dined yesterday with Mr. O'Donoghue, the proprietor of the greater part of my parish. A hospitable and friendly man; very large family, six sons, all doing, and to do, nothing, with the exception of one whom they style "colonel." He is intended for the army. "June 25th, 1846.-To-day is the anniversary of my first arrival in this parish. With what altered feelings do I now regard this place. At first a sense of duty alone reconciled me to the dreariness and loneliness of this most primitive part of the world. Now I am quite habituated to it, and have absolutely become attached to my little rectory. know every one in the parish, and am more than compensated for the absence of civilized society, by the friendly kindness, I might almost say, the confiding affection of the small farmers and poor people around us. By one I feel this kindness is most undeserved. But they could not but love my Mary; their earnest, unobtrusive instructress and adviser; their gentle, sympathetic nurse and comforter; their-. But I never could sum up half her matchless qualities Sept. 3d.-A strange rumor abroad. Pat Henessey, who works in the garden, tells me that his brother, who holds a small farm close by, on examining his pits, discovered that a great portion of the potatoes had rotted away. I pray God this may not prove to be the case with other people, the consequences would be too fearful. Henessey was always a bad farmer; so, perhaps, the calamity is confined to him. “ Oct. 28th.—The accounts of the country on every side are heart-breaking. The blight is universal. We are in God's hands, He alone knows, when or how the plague can be stayed. "June 25th, 1847.-My second year in this place is at an end to-day, and oh, what a retrospect! A fearful winter have we gone through. But it is past; we suffered many privations, and our poorer neighbors still more; but hope has not left us yet; never did the fruits of the earth flourish more luxuriantly. Never had we a more glorious promise of an abundant harvest. All may yet be well— 'Shame on the heart that dreams of blessings gone, "Nov. 6th.-Truly the Destroying Angel has again unsheathed his sword. All is desolation and despair. Hope has forsaken even the stoutest hearts. Saw O'Donoghue to-day; he is very desponding; he says that can collect no rents, and does not know where to get the money to pay the interest on the family incumbrances. Did not like to press him for my rent charge, but cannot do very much longer without it. "June 25th, 1848.-To-day I enter upon a fourth year of duty, which has now become painful and agitating. Once again summer is here, but this time its verdure and brilIliancy but mock our misery. Famine and disease have filled every habitation with mourning and despair. O'Donoghue, utterly ruined, has fled the country, and my little income nearly gone in consequence, is still further diminished and almost eaten up by excessive poor rates. The state of destitution to which we are reduced few could imagine to be possible. Almost every little valuable I possessed has been disposed of, and an insurance on my life has been forfeited. Indeed, we should have been without the means of subsistence, but for a temporary loan obtained at a most exorbitant rate of interest from that usurer, Hickman. I wish I could have avoided it. But Mary must not starve; she must never know what want is. Even as it is, I fear the misery around her has preyed upon her mind and injured her health-she looks pale, haggard, and dejected. 'Sept. 20th.-I am very unhappy about Mary, she is in a most delicate state of health. A letter from her brother which she received yesterday, stating that the family estate was in the hands of the Jews, and that he was in the Queen's Bench prison, has given a severe shock to her system. It is vain for me to try and blind myself to what is coming; she is sinking rapidly, yet without a murmur or complaint. In a few weeks we shall be without the means of subsistence, and must she die of want? "Oct. 30th.-She is dead. For her it is well that it should be so, she never knew the utter destitution which now awaits me. I have resigned my living, for I am no longer able to fulfil the duties it imposes upon me. Friendless and broken-hearted, in a few days, I leave for ever this once happy home. April 29th.-An insolvent debtor, and in jail. The pittance I endeavored to obtain as a tutor has failed to satisfy Hickman's claims, and he is merciless. But my release from all my sorrows is, I trust, at hand. Weak and feeble in body, and prostrated in soul, I feel that my sad and weary pilgrim age will soon be at an end. And now, every thought, and hope, and wish is fixed above." These extracts will suffice to throw some light upon the painful events of a life of trials and reverses almost unexampled, and to account for the miserable termination of an upright and blameless career. My agent had now arrived, and I was detained by him until a late hour in the evening, the business with which we were engaged being of so imperative a nature as not to admit of any postponement. As soon as I was able to get away, I sent for a car, and hurried to the Marshalsea, but I arrived too late. It is all over with the poor fellow, sir," said the kind-hearted turnkey, as he opened the gate, and he spoke in a husky, suppressed voice, as if he feared by his usual rough tones to disturb the dead man's eternal repose. As he was speaking Dr. S joined us; he had remained with Shelton to the last, and was now going to make some arrangements for the perform ance of the last sad offices. He informed me that when he arrived he found Shelton in a most excited state, and evidently enduring severe mental suffering. At first, he was unable to control his feelings; tears rolled down his cheeks, and the convulsive manner in which he clasped his hands, as he prayed in feeble, sobbing accents, betrayed the bitter anguish that was within. He at length became more composed, and lay perfectly still and almost motionless, for some time; when suddenly a deep flush over spread his features, he half-raised himself in his bed, and stretching out his arms as if to enfold some dear object near him, faintly murmured, "Mary." This effort was his last; the blood gushed in torrents from between his lips, and he fell back dead. He was faithful to the last. His heart's failing stream bore on it the name of her, who in weal and woe, in prosperity and want, as now in death, had ever been the pure, sole idol of his soul. I parted with Sat the gate, and proceeded to the room where lay Shelton's remains. His features had been composed, but the bed was still unarranged, and the coverlid stained with his blood, gave an indescribably ghastly appearance to the wasted features, still damp with the dews of the last mortal agony. And was this all that remained of him whom fourteen short years ago I first met, a fair-haired laughing child, a spoiled child, an only child; the heir, as we all supposed, to immense riches; without a care, without a sorrow or a want. Six years had but elapsed since I last parted from him in the first bloom of exulting manhood-flattered, caressed by all; beloved, oh! how well, by one. How brilliant, how radiant were the sunny hopes that smiled upon his early path; and now! I turned to the window with sickening revulsion of feeling, and opened it to admit the air, for I felt gasping for breath. The evening was still and calm, and the deadened roar of the great city came booming heavily on my ears; and to my saddened heart it seemed to tell a mournful tale of young spirits too soon depressed, and opening hopes too early blighted, of fair unful filled promises, of beauty stricken in its pride, and manhood in its lustiness. We heed them not, but such sad realities are for ever before our eyes "Still, as we downwards glide, Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, Oh! vanity of vanities! and is this the world whose vanishing pleasures we pursue with such blind devotion, on which we recklessly lavish health, fortune, time. Fool, fool! I bitterly muttered, as I thought of many occurrences of my past life. But few years had passed over my head, and those "Quaff, kinsmen, and thou, my fire-souled minstrel, a lay to the daughter of the M'Quillan !” unmarked by care, difficulties, or bereave- | howl of the shaggy wolf, as it skulked from ment. I still trod the highway of life with the lances of its pursuers. Anon would the unabated vigor; but of the fair flowers that hoary bard mantle his exhausted spirit with once clustered round my path, how many, the rosy light which he drew from the blood too carelessly gathered ere they blossomed, of the Spanish grape, as it glowed in the or too rudely trampled upon in their bloom, golden goblet of his chieftain. High in Dunnow lay withered, perfumeless, and dead. luce castle ran the hilarity of warriors; hope The remembrances of misspent hours, of sat on every heart, and sang to every soul neglected opportunities, of love and peace that long, sweet song that so often ends with rejected, seemed to crowd upon my fancy a bitter burden. What did Burg M'Quillan like upbraiding spectres, and taunt, and care on that night for the princes of the mock at me; and I turned for refuge to the pale? He was an Irish chieftain, the leader dead man's wretched couch. Yes, to that of a band, which, if small, was faithful; and miserable, squalid, lonely pallet; to that had that week not given him a child, a pale, wasted, rigid corpse; for on those mother of many heroes ? features so tried with sorrow, and worn by want, there rested an expression so calm and resigned, so full of joy and love, that the maddening emotions of my heart were stilled; and I gazed on in silence, wonder, and admiration, until as I gazed, a feeling of envy stole upon me. Yes, strong, young, wealthy, I stood in that wretched garret, and envied the broken-hearted pauper, who lay there, dead, friendless, and forgotten. A plain white tablet in Glasnevin Ceme-future; a cloud came upon his brow, his tery marks the spot where poor Shelton lies, and thither do I bend my steps, when better feelings have the mastery over me, and purer aspirations fill my mind, and seem to derive strength and resolution, and to acquire piety and resignation, as I stand by the grave of "THE INSOLVENT DEBTOR." From "Howitt's Journal." A LEGEND OF DUNLUCE. TOWARDS the close of the year 1548, one merry night music and revelry were within the walls of Dunluce castle, a noble edifice situated on an isolated rock on the northwestern coast of Antrim; for Burg M'Quillan, its warm but simple-hearted chieftain, had become the father of a daughter, who on that day had received the name of Ely, and the kinsmen of the M'Quillan were holding an Irish christening. Many a proud and passionate lay of battle and of victory was hymned on that night by the whitebearded minstrel of the sept; and then would he breathe through the quivering wire the fiery spirit of the chase, with the onward sweep of the devoted stag, or the hungry Through the whispering chords ran the long, thin fingers, as if in pursuit of suitable numbers; and while they lightly danced on the slender wire, as though to the echo of their own touch, the kindling eyes of the minstrel, piercingly fixed upon space, seemed as if gazing on a shadowy panorama of the bosom heaved, and his whole spirit became "Hush!" said the chieftain; " for, by the ghost of Heremon, there is falsehood in this thy prophecy. Have the iron towers of Dunluce been built of the morning clouds ? Is the name of the M'Quillan but a whisper of the breeze, that passes and returns not? Ha, ha! everlasting as the tall rock and the broad land we inherit, is the strength, hospitality, yes, and the awe of our foam-belted eyrie and the name of the M'Quillan ! Hush, hush! that name was written on the foundation stone of the earth, and shall there be discovered when the elements of the universe are perished in their last battle. Dim and dark be the eye that could wander from the brightness of the present to feast upon such |