The priest did pray, and the people joined in that impulsive prayer of
faith, and that prayer was heard; for, though O'Clery breathed his last
on board, and, by the captain's orders, the sailors--poor fellows!--were
standing around his berth, prepared, as soon as the last breath left
him, to throw him overboard, yet he lingered for three days after; and
they reached quarantine before that pure soul quitted its tenement of
clay and winged its flight to heaven. The wife and her children had the
body conveyed to shore and interred in the Catholic cemetery of New
York, where a neat marble monument could be seen with these words
inscribed:--

_"Pray for the soul of Arthur O'Clery, whose body lies underneath.
Requiescat in pace. Amen."_

It was thus that the O'Clerys were deprived of their good and virtuous
father, and the widow of her husband; but this, as already has been
partly seen, was but the beginning of their woes; for, after their
arrival in New York, an individual, who, during the voyage, ingratiated
himself with the family by his attention around the sick man's bed,
joined them at their lodgings. But in a few days they found him gone one
morning, after their return from mass at Barclay Street Church, and with
him the canvas bag, containing the thousand pounds in gold and Bank of
England notes left by them in a trunk. Thus were six persons, strangers
and destitute in a great city, reduced from competency to poverty at
"one fell swoop" by the villany of a pretended friend and associate.

"O Lord, pity me! One misfortune never comes alone," groaned the now
poor and afflicted widow O'Clery, when she was informed by little
Bridget that the "trunk was broke open," and all the things ransacked