but when people are separated, every "trifle is, though light as air, confirmation strong."

I am sure you must be tired of me. You do not mention the dear children, so I conclude they are well; nor your own health, which I hope is also good. Make my compliments acceptable to Mrs. Smith and Miss Warde, and believe me to be always your sincere and

Affectionate friend,

A. RIALL

I have not once seen your brother, and I really thought it would only annoy him to attempt to draw him out of his retreat without any prior acquaintance. Colonel Bagwell has purchased Oaklands. The family are to take a house in this town for a year.

"These letters of Mrs. Riall show the writer only under one aspect, as a member of what was at the time styled 'the religious world,' but she was a most accomplished person, and one of the most agreeable conversers possible. It must be remembered that in that day parties were more divided than they are now; and that then, if religion were a subject of interest at all, it was a matter of course, that the subjects and practices permitted or prohibited by the person who awoke the vibration of that cord, should be adopted by the instrument acted on, as thoroughly, though not coercively, as under the Papal spiritual domination, but no one was more sparkling in social intercourse than Mrs. Riall. The editor has seen much of both irreligious and religious people, and she takes this opportunity of affirming, that even if there were to be no Hereafter, the latter are in this world much the pleasantest, provided they are intellectual, or at least, sensible people."

August 1, 1829.

MY DEAR LADY OSBORNE,-Expecting to hear by Mr. Smith, I deferred writing to you till his arrival, and now thank you for your two dear kind letters. How fully my heart replies to such kind expressions of Christian love from so beloved a friend as you, I need not attempt to explain. What a precious thing is a Christian friend! How often my wonder is excited at the blindness, the extraordinary delusion, of the world in rejecting happiness in its highest sense, even here below, that it may feed on husks from the swines' trough. And what happiness, then, is a Christian's heart! My dearest friend, is not it the truth of all the tales of those magic wands we used to read of? Possessed of "the secret. of the Lord," we are invulnerable to unkindness, above insult, safe from harm of every sort, if not wholly at least in a degree, which, a worldly mind, would not, could not, credit, even though it may increase our suffering at the sight of a world which is enmity against God. In all society in which I was accustomed to the happiness of meeting you, I feel an indescribable void, and lately at Derryluskan, it amounted to a feeling of deep depression. I felt a sense of isolation, a loneliness, particularly when Mr. Woodward was there, which brought back all my old feelings of dread of his not understanding me, which I was just beginning to conquer a little.

Of the success of the first Bible meeting at Fethard, and the fine speaking, I am sure Mr. W. has told you, so I will not. We have been for a few days at lately, and through the mercy of God we narrowly escaped having another scene of woe there. S had a bad fall from his horse lighting on a small heap of stones, exactly over the heart, which must have received a violent shock from the effects. Though he had no apparent injury he suffered

much from pain and weakness, but was going on quietly, of course in bed, and having a physician. It happened on Saturday; and about 3 o'clock that night we and the whole house were aroused from sleep by a cry of such deep despair and agony, which rung through the house, followed by another, and then all was silence and darkness that I never, never shall lose the recollection of it. It proceeded from poor Mrs. on being told by the physician that was dying; and it appears that no one could have been nearer death that did not expire, for the heart was already collapsed, and quantities of wine alone was the means of restoring circulation. You may imagine the scene we then had, everyone rushing to the stairs, no one knowing the truth, but of course supposing him dead-all this in the hours of darkness.

Arthur went down to the room, and found him with every appearance of death-a deep faint, cold as ice. He is now able to leave his room. May God grant some good effect from this warning; but, alas! I doubt that such will be. It is most awful that, after the many recalls to God they have had, they are still wholly devoid of the only foundation; and both Mr. and Mrs. are but like the branch when separated from the tree, which, while a little sap remains, may appear fresh, but has no root. He has a sort of sentimental religion; but apply that never-failing touchstone, ask a confession that we are wholly sinners, wholly saved by the merits of Christ, and they recoil. Still he is incessantly talking of the Bible, but seems to understand everything the wrong way. His mind is like a bad mirror, which reflects nothing correctly, but as it appears to be at work we must hope some good may result.

The two little boys are the finest creatures I ever saw, so altered and improved as to make you doubt their identity, only for an occasional glimpse of the original habits. The

youngest fell on his knees, and prayed aloud for

when in that state calling aloud on his father to join him; he, poor man, was quite distracted. I thought of Scripture -"At midnight there was a great cry;" it made me think of the coming of our Lord as a thief in the night, or in the words of the hymn, "While a guilty world are sleeping." Mr. — was warmly defending duelling at dinner the day before, also worldly amusements.

There is a clergyman in this neighbourhood who is much interested in their state, and appears to be a sweet creature and a true Christian, but I fear is almost too yielding and too indulgent for their case. I lament with you the establishment of a theatre in Clonmel; it makes us pray more fervently for the coming of the Lord. It seems that nothing else will do, for the whole world lieth in wickedness.

I am your most attached friend,

A. RIALL.

August 25, 1829.

MY DEAREST LADY OSBORNE,-Your most kind and gratifying expressions lead me to think I may, without being troublesome to you, again so soon have the comfort of communion with you, from the midst of the melancholy and dispiriting scenes of this present state of things. I allude to the very sudden and awful death of poor Mrs. P— in particular. It makes me low and nervous; and I confess there are even of those I love none that I can turn to without a feeling of disappointment, which I suppose must be so, until in "unfettered union" spirit can mingle with spirit without the obstacle of this material body.

The Sunday before last Mrs. was at church, and on Thursday night after she died. It appears to me to have been merely the sudden breaking of a thread which had gradually worn away, and worn away from the suffering which

ment. .

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is always attendant on the having chosen this world as a portion, and of course finding in it but constant disappointHow everything adds to our desire of the coming of that Lord who will "restore all things." Everything seems in confusion; and I cannot conceive that Popery has even yet a shake, or that anything short of the Second Advent can destroy it. Surely a few converts are as nothing towards its subversion. Have you been carried along the stream of the general interest in prophecy, which penetrates into even the most retired places in, I think, quite an extraordinary manner, as if sent by a single movement. What a curious division of opinions seems to exist on that as well as every other subject. There seems to be no standard, until the Lord shall set up an "ensign in Zion."

Mr. Woodward called here the day before yesterday for a few moments, on his way home from Doneraile, to inquire about the's. He found Mr. Jonathan Woodward and Susan and Dora Pennefather here, who had just rode over from Darling Hill. Of course, as you know, all my ideas fade before Mr. Woodward's, and I become very nearly an idiot. What is the cause of it, I wonder? You only, like the eagle, can gaze unmoved at the sun. I am sure it will appear to you very like thinking too highly of myself, and not at all flattering to you, to say that you are almost the only person with whom my intercourse and communion is without those feelings of disappointment which I continually feel with others, even thinking most highly of, and loving them as most dear Christian friends; but go beyond a certain point, and you find perhaps energy enough, but not depth of feeling, or deep feeling, without energy enough to support even conversation, or perhaps so much of both that you are afraid to give an opinion, lest it might come in painful contact. This must proceed from the encumbrance of this vile sinful body, which will not allow us to show what