disobeyed orders sent them by the King at the Deputy's suggestion. Neither their merits nor their high position shielded them from stern rebuke. "Pardon me, my Lords," writes Wentworth, "if in the discharge of my duty I be transported beyond my natural modesty and the respects I personally bear your Lordships, plainly to let you know I shall not connive at such presumption in you, thus to evacuate my master's directions, nor contain myself in silence, seeing them before my face so slighted. Therefore I must, in just contemplation of his Majesty's honor and wisdom, crave leave to advise you forthwith to amend your error.' Early in 1633, an order was issued that all officers belonging to the army in Ireland who were absent, should return to their duties without delay, and attend to the disciplining of their companies. Any captain absenting himself from his charge, in future, without permission of the King or the Lord Deputy, would be cashiered. Lord Mountnorris, the Vice Treasurer, thought he might pass some time more agreeably at Chester than in Ireland; he was told to depart with all possible speed. Wentworth now prepared to set out for Ireland. He handed over the government of the North to a vice president; and he appointed his trusty friend Greenwood to take care of his estates. He sent his baggage before, intending to follow without any delay. But "lamentable news came from Ireland, what spoil is done there by the Pirates." Three vessels were cruising in the Irish sea, lying in wait for passing ships, and at times making a descent on the coast. Perhaps they had news of the Deputy's coming. They were not disappointed. "The pirate that lies before Dublin took a barque of Liverpool_with goods worth £4,000, and among them as much linen as cost me £500; and in good faith I fear I have lost my apparel too. By my faith, this is but a cold welcome they bring me withal to that coast, and yet I am glad at least that they escaped my plate; but the fear I had to be thought to linger here unprofitably, forced me to make the venture; where now I wish I had had a little more care of my goods, as well as of my person." His indignation was roused in a special manner by the news that a pirate had pursued a vessel and made her run ashore near Dublin; this did not save her; she was rifled and then set on fire, "in despight of all the help the Lords Justices could give from the land." The loss is not so great, he adds, "as the scorn that such a picking villain as this should dare to do these insolences. in the face of that state, and to pass away without control."† On the 23rd of July he reached Dublin, having crossed the water in the Penelope, and landed at Lowsie Hill, about a quarter of a mile from the Castle, "so suddenly that the Earl of Cork had scarce time to meet him as he was walking a foot, and carry him thither in his coach, which was done before the town or any of the lords and company that expected him so much as knew of his landing." D. M. * "Letters and Despatches," i., 90. + Carte, i. 55. THE CHILDREN'S VISIT TO THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.* H, mamma," said Eily, looking up brightly from her embroidery, "Mademoiselle has been telling me about such a nice place she has been to see-a children's hospital. And she would like to take us there, if you will allow her." "I think I have heard of it before," said Mrs. Hawthorne, "and I should like to see it myself; only I must be sure there is nothing infectious in the place before I can allow you to go." "Oh, mamma, there is nothing but broken bones, and bad chests, and things like that. Mademoiselle says hardship, and starvation, and ill-treatment are the cause of most of the diseases you will find there," cried Eily. "Then there can be no objection to your going," said Mrs. Hawthorne. "You may pay a visit there this afternoon." Oh, what pleasant words were these! The children flew to get ready for their expedition, and about an hour afterwards were ascending the staircase of a large house, which was the dwelling of the sick children they had come to visit. Their hearts were beating with wonder and expectation, for they were very healthy children themselves, and did not know much about sickness. The thought of giving pleasure to other little children who were in sorrow and pain filled them with joyful excitement; and they were quite sure they were going to give pleasure, for they had paid a visit to the German Fair on their way, and each was laden with a parcel of toys. At last the door was thrown open, and they saw a great many little beds ranged round the walls of a very large room. Well, it was a very pleasant surprise, for the place did not look dismal at all, as they had quite expected it would. The sun was shining in pleasantly through the chinks of cool blinds, and a number of little heads were popped up from the pillows to gaze at the visitors. Some of the children did not look very sick at all, although under the blankets of their little beds were very sore knees and feet and backs, which the doctors knew about and were trying to cure. The little Hawthornes were soon quite at home among them, and were hearing how Tommie had fallen downstairs, and Annie had tumbled into the fire while her mother was out; how Bill had been run over in the street where he always lived when his father was at work (his mother being * Doctors rarely make use of their own prescriptions; but we cannot resist the temptation to act ourselves on the suggestion which we ventured to make to others last month in our notice of the new Christmas picture-book, "Five Little Farmers." The readers of our monthly "Notes in the Big House" will detect a suspicious likeness to St. Joseph's Infirmary for Sick Children, at No. 9, Upper Buckingham-street, Dublin. Our chief motive in printing the account of this Visit here is the hope that it will make some of our young friends still more anxious to help in giving to these poor suffering children a merry Christmas and a happy New Year.-ED. I. M. The Children's Visit to the Children's Hospital. 87 dead), and how Susie had hurt her back when she was very little by carrying a fat baby brother nearly as big as herself. "I say, Eily," said Cyril, "don't we have better times at home than these poor little things? Look at this little chap here, who was born with his foot all twisted to one side! But they are getting it straight, you know. Isn't it well that it can be done ?" Frank and Cyril sat down beside this little man, and explained to him an ingenious game which they had brought with them; while Eily found out a very delicate boy who could not lift his head from the pillow, and sitting down beside him, she opened a pretty new story-book and showed him the coloured pictures. Sylvia, in the meantime, made her way into another room, where some little girls, who were getting well and were able to be up, were playing together in a corner at the window. They hung their heads and looked very shy when Sylvia drew near. "What are you playing ?" asked Sylvia. They all hung their heads very much indeed at this question, and tittered and glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes. "Do tell me," said Sylvia; "I want to play too." They brightened up at hearing this, and one girl, taking courage, explained to the little lady that they were playing "Hospital." They had a number of tiny wooden dolls in a box, all laid up on little heaps of rags, and tucked round, and supposed to be in bed. One had a broken leg, another had a sore foot, another had a crooked back. Some of the little girls who made the play were nurses, others were the doctors who had come to visit the patients; and the great amusement was to try and remember and repeat the words and directions of the real doctors, whom the little girls saw every day. Sylvia was soon busily engaged in this play, having added a pretty doll, who made so large a patient that she had to get a separate box of her own for a bed. 66 "Oh, but her cheeks is too rosy!" lisped a pale-faced little sprite, who was gazing rapturously at the waxen beauty. 'She isn't sick at all, but lovely and well, I'm sure." "That is the high fever," explained Sylvia. "I know when people have fever their cheeks get very red." "But hers is not hot like mine was," murmured the little convalescent, laying her hand lightly on dolly's cool face. "I'd rather have her well, miss, please. Do let her be well." "What do the rest say ?" said Sylvia, looking round. "Shall she be sick, or well?" "Well, well!" was voted by all the voices. "Let us set her up here in this chair then," said Sylvia, "and she shall look on at the play." "Oh yes, and be a beautiful lady come to see the patients!" cried a little girl. A nurse now came to bring the convalescents out to the garden, and all prepared to go except one, who looked on wistfully while the others departed. 88 The Children's Visit to the Children's Hospital. "Why do not you go?" said Sylvia, who was thinking of asking Mademoiselle if she might also go to the garden. The little one thrust out her feet, on which were a pair of great slippers in which it was impossible she could walk. I have no shoes," she said. "There are none to fit me in the house. We don't have any shoes to go out in unless kind ladies send some old ones to us. I am hoping every day that some one will send in a pair that will fit me. Then I shall be able to go out to the garden." "I am sure mine would fit you," cried Sylvia. "I shall ask my mamma to allow me to send you a pair." The little girl's eyes sparkled with delight. “Oh, thank you!" she cried. "And won't you come again and see how I can jump about the garden ?" Sylvia gave up the idea of going to the garden now, and sat down to amuse the poor little girl who was longing to go out and could not; and when Mademoiselle was ready to go home, Sylvia could hardly tear herself away. I "Oh, Mademoiselle!" she cried, "how delightful it was! hope mamma will send us there often. Isn't it much better than talking about finery with the Wiltons ?" "I think the Wiltons could spare some of their fal-lals to those children," said Cyril. "What are fal-lals, Cyril ?" asked Sylvia. "Oh, gimcrack things-sashes and ribbons, and such nonsense. How many sashes have they each, Sylvia ?” "I forget; an awful lot, I know." "Well, they might do with one or two, and give something to the little patients. "Their old plain frocks would do to send," said Eily, "and so would ours. I am going to ask mamma if we mayn't give all the clothes we have left off." "I have my eye on a certain pair of shoes," said Sylvia. body shall have a run in the garden in them to-morrow." 66 "Some Well, I am very glad I brought you there," said Mademoiselle. "It was good for you, and likely to be good for the little patients also, I see." THE CRY OF THE SOULS. BY ALICE ESMONDE. In the morning, When the pure air comes unbreathed, and the fresh fields lie untrod, Evermore in sad tones crying : : "Have pity! you at least have pity, you my friends!" In the noontide, When the hot earth almost slumbers and the tree-tops scarcely stir, When the stream-breeze softly cools you, and the grateful shade invites : And those piteous wails still calling, "Have pity! you at least have pity, you my friends!” In the evening, When the long day's cares are ended, and the home-group soon shall meet, Hear the sad refrain repeating, "Have pity! you at least have pity, you my friends!" In the night-time, When the stars are set in ether, and the white moon in a cloud, Let their sinless hearts adoring reach Christ's throne in sweet imploring. By those smiles to greet thee never, And the tears in death shed o'er them, By their words and looks in dying, Oh! hear those plaintive voices crying: "Have pity! you at least have pity, you my friends!" ALL SOULS' DAY, 1875. |