emselves from
the execution, and on the Sunday evening before the fatal day it was
thoroughly understood through the country, that it was the wish of
the priest that no one should be present.

The Monday morning came. Though Father John had not been allowed to
remain all night in the prisoner's cell, he did not leave it till
eleven, and was with him again at six. When the gaoler turned the key
in the door, Father John found the prisoner still sleeping on his
pallet. Even the loud noise of the key in the lock, and the dropping
back of the heavy bolt had failed to awaken him. Before he left him
on the previous evening he had insisted on his partially undressing,
and he now found him exactly in the position in which he had left
him.

Eight was the hour fixed for the execution, and though it seemed
cruel to rob him of his last human comfort, still as so few minutes
of life remained, the priest thought it better to rouse him. He laid
his hand on his shoulder, and calling out his Christian name, gently
shook him. It was wonderful how soundly the poor fellow slept; and at
last he jumped up with a smile on his wan face, uttering those
confused words of acknowledgment which so readily come to the lips of
any one conscious of being caught sleeping too late, to the neglect
of his worldly duties. He had been dreaming--and in his dreams he was
again at Ballycloran--again sitting over the warm turf fire, talking
with his father, after his hard day's work, of their lands, and their
rents, and their difficulties. Father John's presence--the cold close
white wall and his own memory soon made him again conscious of the
truth; and as he pressed his hands to his forehead, remembering that
he should never again feel the luxury of sleep, the expression of his
face was dreadful to be seen.

There is nothing further to relate respecting him. As the clock
struck eight he was standing on the iron grate over the front
entrance into Carrick gaol. He had supported himself firmly--though
evidently with difficulty. The cap was over his face--his hands were
tied behind his back--and the rope was round his neck. The last sound
that met his ear was the final prayer which Father John sobbed forth
that God would receive him into his mercy; the bolt was drawn--and
Thady Macdermot was soon no more.

Not one human form appeared before the gaol that morning. Not even a
passenger crossed over the bridge from half-past seven till after
eight, as from then