Liverpool.

Arthur O'Clery, father to the subject of our tale, sold out a second
farm he held near Limerick, turned all his effects into money, bade
adieu to his beloved brother, Dr. O'Clery, who was averse to his
emigration, and, in the autumn, set sail from Liverpool for New York, in
the ship Hottinguer. He had all his family with him: they were
comfortably provided with all necessaries, and, besides, had one
thousand pounds, in hard cash, to start with in the new world. They were
not long out at sea, when, owing to the crowd on board, the lack of
proper arrangements, and room, or ventillation, as well as on account of
the cruelly of the inhuman captain, ship fever and cholera broke out on
board.

The number of bodies consigned to the ocean from that unlucky vessel was
from five to ten daily, and among the victims of the plague was Arthur
O'Clery. He was the only one of the cabin passengers who was attacked by
the epidemic, which, in the ardor of his charity, he contracted while
attending on, and ministering to, the wants of the poor steerage
passengers.

Sad and impressive was the scene when the Rev. H. O'Q----, a young Irish
priest on board, in the middle hold of the ship, where O'Clery had been
removed by order of the captain, called on the six hundred surviving
passengers to kneel while he was administering the rites of the church
to the benefactor of them all. Never was a call on the piety and faith
of any number of men more cheerfully obeyed. Instantaneously that mixed,
nondescript crowd--Irish, English, Scotch, Welsh, Dutch--Catholic,
Protestant, infidel--fell on their knees, and, if they did not pray,
they paid that _outward homage_ to Religion which sometimes the most