style did this reverend person leave my small apartment.

Now, although I had my hand upon the cupboard-door, and kept myself in readiness to pop the bottle and glass under his nose at the appropriate moment, yet his argument was not lost upon me. It went to prove that, let a

man's life be ever so blameless-not that he went any length at all towards conceding such

point to me-unless he punctually attended public worship it was of no avail. If he were not already bad, he would become so he would go from bad to worse-he was a lost man-he would infallibly be damned. This, in an abridged form, is what he said. He was not a man to wrap up his meaning in mysterious phrases; he drove the naked nail home and clenched it, and was pleased if it rankled and festered in the wound. I am sorry to say that such of his sect as I have encountered used the same arguments, and the same manner of enforcing them.

Good Heavens! is it for one of ourselves to lay down such a doctrine? Has any man, in virtue of a black coat and white neckcloth— and say a blameless life, if you will—has such a one a right to judge us before our time? Is it

right to assume the attribute of Him to whom all hearts are open, and decide upon our guilt or innocence? Did it never occur to him that the Founder of our faith went up into the mountain to pray, and into the temple to cast out thieves? Is there no devotion of the heart unless we are enclosed in bricks and mortar? no prayer without a hassock? Cannot the spirit be humbled before the Great Being when we are surrounded by His works? and are tiles and rafters more appropriate to worship than

“This majestical roof fretted with golden fire?”

It is a pity that these gentlemen should remain in ignorance of the fact, that people are more easily led than driven along the narrow path; that there is a natural disinclination to have even good things forced upon us; and that, however beautiful the naked truth may be, its charms are rendered more attractive by a slight drapery of tact.

Far be it from me to decry the expediency and necessity of public worship; but I may be permitted to say, that my devotional feelings are little encouraged by contemplating the majority of our congregations, especially

those holding the same opinions as my sour friend. There is too much indifference in the one sex, and far too much pretty-bonnetry in the other; and the feeling is most deadened in our fashionable chapels, where affectation and coxcombry are too often disgustingly pampered and puffed up, and where so many upturned faces betray the expression of "Dear man! I wonder if he ever wears the slippers I worked for him!"

No: a glance through Ehrenberg's microscope, or a sweep of the heavens with Lord Rosse's leviathan glass, would produce more religious feeling in me, make me more happy as a man, more charitable to my fellowcreatures, and more humbly devout, than all the preachings of all the Puritans, if they were concentrated upon me in a perpetual fire for every remaining moment of my natural life.

AN IRISH STEW.

In the western part of the King's County there is a tract of land called the Barony of Ballycowen. It is not exactly what a tourist would call picturesque, seeing that a great portion of it is bog, nearly all flat, except some low, bleak hills; and it is almost destitute of trees. Here and there, certainly, the humble residence of a small proprietor, or first-class farmer, is partly enclosed on the northern side by an amphitheatre of unhealthy firs, something in the fashion of a Dutch oven; but, upon the whole, it is a rough and scrubby country. The most marked feature about it is an occasional lofty square tower of former times, the stronghold of some intrusive proprietor settled down among the native Irishrie. These towers are of beautiful masonry,

and the walls in good preservation. The fine grey limestone of which they are built has been most carefully cut and fitted; and, in some instances, the arms of the proprietor are finely carved above the doorway, together with various ornaments over doors and windows. In some instances there are dates: those I have seen are of the early part of the 17th century.

In the midst of this bleak country is a tract of flat, marshy land, nearly covered with low, scrubby bushes, and through which a deep and winding river creeps sluggishly along. This place abounded with wildfowl, and the facility of approaching them under cover of the low scrubs, frequently tempted to the place the individual who is the subject of the present little history.

It was drawing towards evening one bitter day in December, and our sportsman had turned his face homewards, after a long and pretty successful day's sport, when he perceived at some distance a black patch of ducks within reach of a clump of bushes, under cover of which it seemed practicable to approach within easy shot. The river had overflowed, and nearly the whole plain was