The sheriff made no reply; but placed in his hands the official document which remitted to him the awful penalty of his life.  Connor read it over slowly, and the other kept his eye fixed keenly upon his countenance, in order to observe his bearing under circumstances that are often known to test human fortitude as severely as death itself.  He could, however, perceive no change; not even the unsteadiness of a nerve or muscle was visible, nor the slightest fluctuation in the hue of his complexion.

“I feel grateful to the lord lieutenant for his mercy to me,” said he, handing him back the letter, “as I do to the friends who interceded for me; I never will or can forget their goodness.  Oh, never, never!”

“I believe it,” said the sheriff; “but there’s one thing that I’m anxious to press upon your attention; and it’s this, that no further mitigation of your punishment is to be expected from government; so that you must make up your mind to leave your friends and your country for life, as you know now.”

“I expect nothing more,” returned Connor, “except this, that the hand of God may yet bring the guilt of burning home to the man that committed it, and prove my innocence.  I’m now not without some hope that such a thing may be brought about some how.  I thank you, Misther Sheriff, for your kindness in coming to me with this good news so soon; all that I can say is, that I thank you from my heart.  I am bound to say, too, that any civility and comfort that could be shown was afforded me ever since I came here, an’ I feel it, an’ I’m grateful for it.”

Both were deeply impressed by the firm tone of manly sincerity and earnestness with which he spoke, blended as it was by a melancholy which gave, at the same time, a character of elevation and pathos to all he said.  They then shook hands with him, after chatting for some time on indifferent subjects, the jailer promising to make his situation while he should remain in prison as easy as the regulations would allow him or, “who knows,” he added, smiling, “but we might make them a little easier?”

“That’s a fine young fellow,” said he to the sheriff, after they had left him.

“He is a gentleman,” replied the sherif “by nature a gentleman; and a very uncommon one, too.  I defy a man to doubt word that comes out of his lips; all he says is impressed with the stamp of truth itself and by h——­n’s he never committed the felony he’s in for!  Keep him as comfortable as you can.”

They then separated.

The love of life is the first and strong principle in our nature, and what man is there except some unhappy wretch pressed down by long and galling misery to the uttermost depths of despair, who, knows that life was forfeited, whether justly or it matters little, to the laws of his country will not feel the mercy which bids him live with a corresponding sense of gratitude.  The son of the pious mother acted, as if she was still his guide and monitress.