branch of his mercy, to gladden the hearts of its young, how pure would ascend his devotion, how expanded would flow his benevolence, and how unfaded would bloom his hopes.

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In the harvest of 1798, a stranger applied to Mr. for employment-he was an uncommonly able young man, and did as much work as any two of the labourers-yet he never threw off his coat as the others did, and his left arm was tied up-he said he had received a slight hurt in it from a splinter of wood-as he looked very pale and thin, Mr. S, from motives of humanity, allowed him to sleep in the house.

Mr. S conversed with him often in the fields, and found, though an untutored man, he had great strength of understanding, and uncommon energy of mind and expression. He was always anxious to hear the newspapers, which Mr. S, as is not unusual in this part of Ireland, often read to the labourers of an evening, after their work was finished. On one of those occasions he stumbled on a paragraph, beginning

with, "Whereas a most daring robbery." At this instant his eyes rested on the countenance of the stranger-the expression struck him as so singular, that he discontinued his reading. On retiring to his own room, he read the article in question. It gave an account of a most daring robbery, committed a short time before, by four armed ruffians, one of whom was killed, and another supposed to be desperately wounded-an exact description of the person of the latter followed, and Mr. S had little doubt that he was the stranger whom he had taken into his family. He did not hesitate a moment on what he should do. An Englishman would, perhaps, have hesitated a little, but the conclusion he would have arrived at, would, probably, have been a different one. He reasons better than an Irishman, and therefore he is oftener just-his feelings are less lively, and he is seldomer merciful. Mr. S could not bear to give up to punishment an unfortunate stranger, who had been sheltered under his roof. This was his feeling as an Irishman. He thought that the punishment of death, which he knew would be inflicted, was disproportionate to the offence. This was his conscience as a Presbyterian. Except in cases of cool and deliberate murder, Presbyterians think (and I think along with them) that man has no right to deprive his

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fellow of that life, which no power short of that which gave it first, can give him back again.

Mr. S brought the stranger in-he shut the door, and read to him the paragraph without comment. The other listened without betraying any emotion.

"I see what you suspect," said he; "you think I am the person.".

"You may give me up to justice, if you will," proceeded the man. "I shall make no resistance; I am innocent, and have nothing to fear."

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"Were you innocent, I should give you up to justice," said Mr. S, "for then you would have nothing; but I know you are guilty, and have every thing to fear. Go your ways, then, and betake yourself to a place of safety."

"Do you mean," said the man," that you v not send the army after me?"

will

The army are the great peace-officers of Ire land, and hardly any thing, on their first coming over, astonished the officers of the English militia more, than that even a pickpocket could not be sent to a county gaol, without an application being made to them for an escort of soldiers.

"I mean," said Mr. S, "to do you no harm-I shall pay you your wages, and you may go your ways."

"A Presbyterian," said the man (retiring

from the proffered wages)" a Presbyterian Minister,"

I was a rebel and a robber," said the man, "and am a Catholic."

You are a bad man," replied the other, "I have little doubt; but it was not your religion that made you so repent, and live as it directs."

The man instantly threw aside his coat, which, hung loose over his left arm-in the same hurried manner he tore off the dressing from his sore-the hand had been shattered by a ball, and had been amputated by a country apothecary in a bungling manner. The sight of the wound filled Mr. S with horror-it was covered with filth, and crawling with maggots..

"I have suffered this" said the robber," without a groan-I could go to the gallows without a tear; but cannot bear your goodness-it overcomes me."

It did fully overcome him, for he wept and sobbed aloud. Mr. S, who, like most Presbyterian clergymen, is a surgeon and physi» cian likewise, washed and applied some mild and clean dressing to his sore he would have applied likewise healing balsam to his wounded and ulcerated spirit; but his efforts were unavailing.

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tion, let them repent who drove me to this. I have done nothing of which I should repent, or be ashamed-I only endeavoured to get back a part of what was my own, and that's no crime in the eye of God, whatever it may be in that of man-my forefathers were robbed of their land by Oliver Cromwell's soldiers, and a great man has the property, which by right should be mine-and may be will be my children's yet, though I will not live to see it but though I do not repent of what I have done, I repent of what I intended to do."...

Here, to the utter astonishment of Mr. S

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he confessed that he was in his employment not by accident, but in consequence of a scheme of his man servant. He had been sheltered in the cabin of the father of the latter, before he ap plied to Mr. S for employment. The misguided man had often meditated robbing his master, but shrunk dismayed from so daring a crime. The presence of so adventurous a robber encouraged him. He opened his plan to him, to which the other readily consented. They only waited until Mr. S should receive his half year's stipend to carry it into execution. And here one may remark the singular contradiction of the human mind, and how erroneous it would be to affirm of any vicious man, man, that he is entirely destitute of virtue-this wretched

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