BURIED ALIVE. 171 



" My dear Brail, — When you receive this I shall be at rest far 

 down amongst the tanglevveed and coral branches at the bottom 

 .of the deep green sea, another sacrifice to the insatiable demon 

 of this evil climate — another melancholy addition to the long list 

 of braver and better men who have gone before me. Heaven 

 •knows, and I know, and lament with much bitterness therefore, 

 that I am ill prepared to die, but I trust to the mercy of the 

 Almighty for pardon and forgiveness. 



" It is now a week since I was struck by a flash of lightning 

 at noon-day, when there was not a speck of cloud in the blue 

 sky, that glanced like a fiery dart right down from the fierce sun, 

 and not having my red woollen nightcap on, that I purchased 

 three years ago from old Jabos of Belfast, the Jew who kept a 

 stall near the quay, it pierced through the skull just in the centre 

 of the bald spot, and set my brain a .boiling and poppling ever 

 since, making a noise for all the world like a buzzing bee-hive; 

 so that I intend to depart this life at three bells in the middle 

 watch this very night, wind and weather permitting. Alas, alas ! 

 who, shall tell this to my dear old mother. Widow Donovan, who 

 lives at No. 1050, in Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest tho- 

 roughfare in Europe ? — or to poor Cathleen O'Haggarty ? You 

 know Catbleen, Benjie; but you must never know that she has 

 a glass eye — Ah, yes, poor thing, she had but one eye, but that 

 was a beauty, the other was a quaker ;* but then she had five 

 thousand good sterling pounds, all in old Peter Macshane's 

 bank at the back of the Exchange ; and so her one eye was a 

 blessing to me ; for where is the girl with two eyes, and five 

 thousand pounds, all lodged in Peter Macshane's bank at the 

 back of the Exchange, who would have looked at Dennis 

 Donovan, a friendless, penniless lieutenant in the Royal Navy, 

 and son of Widow Donovan, who lives at 1050, Sackville Street, 

 Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in Europe — Ah how Cathleen 

 will pipe her real eye — I wonder if she will weep with the false 

 one — I am sure my story might bring tears from a stone, far 

 more a piece of glass — Oh, when she hears I am gone, she will 

 be after breaking her tender little heart — Oh, murder for the 

 notion of it — that 's the thought that I can 't bear — that is the 

 blow that kills Ned ! The last words of Dennis Donovan, who 

 has nothing on earth to brag of beside a mighty pretty person, 

 and a brave soul — that 's a good one. Adieu, adieu. God 



* A ;<ham wooden iimi. 



