d them in Ireland. Here we are at the
graveyard."

"Hycy," said his friend, "it never occurred to me to thing of asking
what religion you believe in."

"It is said," replied Hycy, "that a fool may propose a question which
a wise man can't answer. As to religion, I have not yet made any
determination among the variety that is abroad. A man, however, can
be at no loss; for as every one of them is the best, it matters little
which of them he chooses. I think it likely I shall go to church with
your sister, should we ever do matrimony together. To a man like me
who's indifferent, respectability alone ought to determine."

Clinton made no reply to this; and in a few minutes afterward they
entered the churchyard, the coffin having been taken out of the hearse
and borne on the shoulders of her four nearest relatives,--Tom M'Mahon,
in deep silence and affliction, preceding it as chief mourner.

There is a prostrating stupor, or rather a kind of agonizing delirium
that comes over the mind when we are forced to mingle with crowds, and
have our ears filled with the voices of lamentation, the sounds of the
death-bell, or the murmur of many people in conversation. 'Twas thus
M'Mahon felt during the whole procession. Sometimes he thought it was
relief, and again he felt as if it was only the mere alternation of
suffering into a sharper and more dreadful sorrow; for, change as it
might, there lay tugging at his heart the terrible consciousness that
she, I the bride of his youthful love and the companion of his
larger and more manly affection--the blameless wife and the stainless
woman--was about to be consigned to the grave, and that his eyes in this
life must; never rest upon her again.

When the coffin was about to be lowered down, all the family, one after
another, clasped their arms about it, and kissed it with a passionate
fervor of grief that it was impossible to witness with firmness. At
length her husband, who had been looking on, approached it, and clasping
it in his arms like the rest, he said--"for ever and for ever, and for
ever, Bridget--but, no, gracious God, no; the day will come, Bridget,
when I will be with you here--I don't care now how soon. My happiness
is gone, asthore machree--life is nothing to me now--all's empty; and
there's neither joy, nor ease of mind, nor comfort for me any more. An'
this is our last parting--this is our last farewell, Bridget dear; but
from this out my hope is to be with you here; an