CH. VII. CONCLUSION. 283 conscience, he may obtain honours, rank, and fame, and stand high in the estimation of his king and country, and after a life of active usefulness descend into the tomb respected and regretted by his relations and his friends. CHAPTER VIII. CONCLUDING EXTRACT-DEATH AND BURIAL OF LADY LOUISA CONOLLY. THE extracts from my father's narrative should, properly, end at the last chapter, but I am induced to add the following extract in order to show the deep affection, respect, and gratitude which, in happier days, were felt by the Irish peasantry towards a good landlord, before they were misled by self-interested men under the false garb of patriotism. After describing the illness and death of his aunt, Lady Louisa Conolly, my father thus continues: Before the day came when it would be necessary to place her remains in the coffin the poor labourers and others of the town (Celbridge) wished to be allowed to see the body, to which I, of course, consented. I watched, from a recess where I could see, without being observed, the various persons CH. VIII. LADY LOUISA CONOLLY. 285 as they came in singly and went to the bed where she lay, with a countenance so serene, so beautiful, that you could scarce believe she was not alive! As every poor person, after seeing her, passed on to another room and (not seeing me in the recess) conceived himself alone and unobserved, I had full opportunity of watching their natural feelings; and if ever gratitude for benefits conferred, and the deep affliction, nay, I may say despair, for the loss of a parent was depicted in the countenances of any human being, it was so in the countenances of these poor Irish Catholics! One old white-headed man took up her cold, lifeless hand, and kissing it, on his knees, sobbed out, ‘Oh, my dear, my sweet lady, my long-tried, my only friend, why have you left your poor old creature to die alone? You, that used to come to his bedside when he was sick, and cheer him up with your good word, and give him the drop of soup and the bit of meat, and tell him to have comfort; and now you're gone before me after all! But I'll not stay long; I'll follow you, for you'll clear the way for a poor old sinner like myself, and God will receive me from you.' Then he crossed himself, placed her hand gently down, kissed it again, and with his face streaming with tears, he tottered out of the room. Another much younger man, after gently and in the most feeling, delicate, and respectful manner taking up her hand to kiss, knelt down in the attitude of prayer, and looking up towards heaven, with a countenance bedewed with tears but full of the most devotional expression, exclaimed aloud, The priest may tell me what he likes. He may curse the heretic, and swear the Protestant goes not to heaven; but neither priest, nor bishop, nor all the priests that ever lived, shall persuade me that my sainted lady, that lies now dead before me, is not gone to heaven and rests at peace in the bosom of a just and merciful God! No, no! If the soul of our dear, sweet Lady Louisa, the poor man's friend and comforter, is not gone to heaven, then there is no God, no mercy for the human race! Protestant, Catholic-what is it but a name? But look at her; look at the tears of the poor, the old, the young, the infirm and helpless; and, and, tell me, ye priests, if these are not her passports to heaven? Yes, you are cold and lifeless, and hear not the wailings of those whom you cherished as your children; but your bright but your bright spirit is above, CH. VIII. LADY LOUISA CONOLLY. 287 and will look down upon us, who have now no friend left since you are gone.' Various other instances I saw of this genuine feeling of love, gratitude, and deep sorrow for the loss of their friend and benefactress, who had just closed a life sixty years of which had been devoted to the poor of Celbridge and spent actually in their society, for very seldom was she more than three months out of the year away from Castletown, and often for years together without ever being three days away. At last the melancholy morning came when her earthly remains were to be taken to their last home. As soon as daybreak appeared the people began to assemble in the park in front of the house, and by the time all was ready many thousands were assembled, for the poor came in numbers from every part of the county, and many from other counties also, thirty and forty miles off, so well was she known and so highly beloved and lamented. There is a great stone staircase leading up to the hall-door of Castletown House. Before these steps the multitude was collected, patiently and mournfully waiting to see the coffin come out. I ordered the great door to be thrown open, and |