himself to the discretion of his trusty companion, that rarely failed him; thus when puzzled as to the path, or rather track, he would throw the bridle on his horse's neck, and at the end of some time he was sure to be brought up before a cottage door, which was generally opened to him in welcome, for even those not of his faith respected the zealous 'Irish minister.' There was, however, one occasion when his reception was of a very different nature; and as the circumstances of the case are remarkable, it deserves to be told. I may say that I heard it the first time in Toronto from a warm admirer of the fine old priest, and afterwards in Hamilton from his own lips.
Returning to Toronto after a hard day's work, Father Gordon was about entering his modest residence, to obtain some necessary refreshment, when a countryman rode up to the door. He proved to be an Irishman from the town ship of Tecumseth, in the county of Simcoe, about forty miles from Toronto. 'Father, I'm glad to meet you; I want you to come with me to near my place, where there's a man dying, and there's not a moment to be lost.' This was agreeable news for the poor priest, who certainly had had his fair share of the saddle for that day. 'Who is the sick man?' he asked. 'Oh, he's one Marshall, from the North—a Protestant, and all his people the same—and he is asking for the priest. I'm a neighbour of his, and I heard it from one of his sons, and I thought I couldn't do better than come for your reverence; and so here I am, just in time, thank God.' 'Very well,' said the priest, 'I will take a cup of tea, borrow a fresh horse, and be off without delay. Come in and join me, and I will be ready to start at once.' In half an hour after the two horsemen rode from the door on their journey through the forest, and it was not until late at night that, thoroughly tired, they pulled up before the house of the sick man, who was said to be at the point of death. Father Gordon dismounted, and knocked at the door, which was immediately
