my own bad example, to the gallows. Oh, God! oh, God! hear the cry of his wretched father, and spare him, if not in this world, yet let him not die eternally." In the evening the Chaplain came, according to his promise, and told Martin he had seen his son, but he found him sullen and hardened, and after remaining with him a considerable time he came away without having been able to make the slightest impression upon this hardened man, though he mentioned how anxious his father was about him; he sent no message of kindness, but said bitterly, though truly, "that to him he owed all his misfortunes." The assizes were now at hand, at which both the father and son would take their trial, though for different offences; in the mean time the Chaplain was indefatigable in his attentions to both prisoners. Martin was resigned and prepared for the worst; not so his son, he rejected all religious consolation; laughed at the Chaplain's vain endeavours to make him think seriously; and though he entertained very little hopes that either his own or his father's life would be spared, swore with an oath that he would die game, and hoped the old one would not whine about him, as what was done could not be helped. Martin was first brought to the bar, his case caused great commiseration. His grey hairs, tottering steps, and the long confinement that he had had, and its being generally known how well that time had been employed, caused a strong sensation in his favour; and though sentence of death was recorded against him, it was made known to him by the judge that his life would be spared. Martin's son was not put upon his trial till the next day; his conduct was very different from that of his father; his bold defiance of all around him, the careless laugh, the contempt and coolness he betrayed at the passing scene, though he had so deep an interest in its results; nay, even when the jury were consulting, at that awful moment of suspense and terror, so hardened was this unfortunate man, that he looked and talked as if he was an unconcerned spectator: however, at the moment when the foreman turned round, and the court was hushed to silence, and the word Guilty was audibly pronounced, a flash of crimson was seen upon the prisoner's face; but it soon subsided, and he heard his sentence of death from the judge without showing the slightest emo tion. Martin had passed the day in agony, and as the hours wore heavily along, he continued to pace his narrow cell, till, exhausted by fatigue, he sunk almost lifeless upon the ground. At that moment the unlocking of his prison door was heard; the gaoler entered, and with him the Chaplain. The wretched old man looked up, and could only articulate "My son ! my son!" The tale was soon told, and Martin's worst fears were confirmed. His kind and reverend friend stayed with him till the first burst of agony was passed, and he became more calm and resigned, and in a state to hear particulars of the trial. The extremely hardened conduct of his son weighed heavily upon the old man's heart. His conscience told him that through his means he had been brought up in vice. Tears rolled down his aged cheeks whilst he listened to the sad detail, which was considerably softened by the kind relater. Martin was now anxious to be allowed to see his son, and permission for an interview with the condemned criminal was obtained for the next day. When they met, sullenness and indifference marked the conduct of the son- - agony of the deepest and most touching kind that of the father; and when the parting moment arrived, the old man was almost by force torn from the cell: then, and not till then, a few tears dropped from the prisoner's eyes upon the hand of his father, which was fast locked in his. The Clergyman, who was present at the interview, took this opportunity of offering the consolations of religion; but the young man sternly refused to listen to him, and wiping hastily away the traces of the tears that had fallen, relapsed into the same hardened and indifferent manner that had marked his conduct, both before and after his condemnation. The father saw his son no more: the shock of that interview upon his constitution was so powerful that the day before the execution of the young man, the keeper, upon going into the cell, found the wretched parent stretched upon his bed, speechless and unable to rise, but sensible. Medical aid was quickly resorted to, but without effect; paralysis had seized upon the exhausted and worn-out frame of the old man. The Chaplain knelt by the bed of death, and with solemn and devout feelings prayed to God to have mercy upon the sinner. The old man's lips quivered-he endeavoured to raise himself in his bed, and to repeat after the Chaplain the Lord's Prayer. This was the last effort of expiring nature; one more struggle, and all was over. On the following morning the son expiated his offences on the gallows. He refused to the last to partake in any religious rite, mounted the scaffold with a firm and undaunted step, and in a few moments his early but guilty course was closed for ever! A few remarks and my tale is done: and first, we may learn from this sad story of what importance it is to set a good example to our children. Martin, in his morning of life, had no guide but his own passions; a kind but injudicious mother gave way to all his little failings-idleness and vicious companions completed his ruin. For a short time a virtuous connection had the power to stop him in his career of vice; but the good seed had no root, and soon withered away. When the son was born the father was living entirely by plunder; and though he shrunk from cruelty and bloodshed, we cannot wonder that his child, who had never known virtue, had no such scruples, but grew up a dauntless fiery spirit, and plunged with fearlessness into every danger; and when the declining years of his father made him no longer a safe companion, he persuaded him to live upon the lonely moor, and the desolate cottage which we have described was the depôt of the various stolen goods that his son, in his hasty visits, brought there, and which at last led to their condemnation. What would the old man have given to have recalled the days that were gone? How often, in his solitary prison, did he think upon his native village, upon his young buried wife whom he had once so fondly loved, his neat and happy home -all those comforts exchanged for a life of crime, of turbulence and sorrow! He also felt that the ruin of his son was owing to him. Perhaps if he had the advantages that Martin once possessed, he would now have been a prop to his father's declining days—an ornament instead of a disgrace to society. Let us humbly hope that God will pardon and forgive their offences, and at last receive them to his mercy. |