Oh, dear uncle and aunt, if you reflect on it, it
is nothing. I am dying an honourable death: I am dying _for
Ireland_--dying for the land that gave me birth--dying for
the Island of Saints--and dying for liberty. Every generation
of our countrymen has suffered; and where is the Irish heart
could stand by unmoved? I should like to know what trouble,
what passion, what mischief could separate the true Irish
heart from its own native isle. Dear uncle and aunt, it is
sad to be parting you all, at my early age; but we must all
die some day or another. A few hours more and I will breathe
my last, and on English soil. Oh, that I could be buried in
Ireland! What a happiness it would be to all my friends, and
to myself--where my countrymen could kneel on my grave. I
cannot express what joy it afforded me, when I found Aunt
Sarah and you were admitted. Dear uncle, I am sure it was not
a very pleasant place I had to receive you and my aunt; but
we must put up with all trials until we depart this life. I am
sure it will grieve you very much to leave me in such a place,
on the evidence of such characters as the witnesses were that
swore my life away. But I forgive them, and may God forgive
them. I am dying, thank God! an Irishman and a Christian.
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