Well, that is all I have to tell. For a long while after, the sights I had seen followed me, and at night I would wake trembling from my dreams. That passed away, but I never cared to speak of what I saw, and tried to keep the island and its sheds out of my mind. Did any die of the fever in Huntingdon? Yes, Dr Shirriff told me he attended 45 cases, of whom 5 died. Not many were Irish. Emigrants strayed into farmers’ houses and gave the infection. Father Kiernan was that year priest in the old church at John Finn’s. He had gone on duty to attend the emigrants at Lachine. Feeling ill one day he knew he was in for the fever. If he stayed where he was, he would die in the sheds, so he waited till the stage came along, got in, and rode home. When he got off at his lodging, he told the people Geordie Pringle did not know what kind of a customer he had. Next day he could not lift his head, but he pulled through all right. What came of the colleen? She left us that fall. Her mother’s brother in county Kent wrote for her. She married a storekeeper in Chatham, who left her well off. The little book is all I took belonging to my nephew. There were more things in the bag. I was afeared of the infection and never touched them. He must have had a chest or two, but I never asked for them. He was a good man, and I’ve been thankful ever since I went to see him die. Driving home in the dark I thought over what the old man had told me, and felt how much more interesting his narrative made his nephew’s diary, a faithful reprint of which I now present to the reader. THE JOURNAL OF GERALD KEEGAN.