"Well, sir, that is honest. long I may expect to live?"

66

May I ask you how

That will depend upon when the mortification takes place about three days; after that, my poor fellow, you will probably be no more. Would you like the chaplain to come and see you?"

"Thank you, sir; when I do I'll send for him." The doctor and the attendants went away to the other patients. I was silent. At last Spicer spoke.

'Well, Jack, you were right; so it is all over with me. Somehow or another, although I bore up against it, I had an inkling of it myself, the pain has been so dreadful. Well, we can die but once, and I shall die game."

66

Spicer," said I, "that you will die without fear I know very well; but, still, you know that you should not die without feeling sorry for the sins you have committed, and praying for pardon. We have all of us, the very best of us, to make our peace with Heaven; so, had I not better tell the chaplain to come and talk with you ?"

"No, Jack, no; I want no parsons praying by my side. What's done is done, and can't be undone. Go now, Jack, I wish to get a little sleep."

"Shall I come and see you to-morrow, Spicer ?" "Yes, come when you will; I like to have some one to talk to; it keeps me from thinking."

I wished him good day, and went away with the book in my hand. Before I went home I sought out old Anderson, and told him what had passed. "He will not see the chaplain, Anderson, but perhaps he will see you; and by degrees you can bring him to the

subject. It is dreadful that a man should die in that way."

"Alas, for the pride of us wretched worms!" ejaculated Anderson; "he talks of dying game,-that is to say, he defies his Maker. Yes, Jack, I will go and see him; and happy I am that he has a few days to live. I will see him to-night; but will not say much to him, or he might refuse my coming again."

I went home. I was not in a very gay humour, for the sight of Spicer's leg, and the announcement of his situation, had made a deep impression upon me. I sat down to read the book which Spicer had made me a present of. I was interrupted by my mother requesting me to go a message for her, and during my absence Virginia had taken up the book.

"Who lent you this book, Tom?" said she, when I returned.

"Spicer the man whom they call Black Sam, who is now dying in the Hospital."

66

Well, that's not the name on the title-page-it is Walter James, Tynemouth."

"Walter James, did you say, dear? Let me look! Even so."

"Why, what's the matter, Tom?" said my sister; "you look as if you were puzzled."

And indeed I do not doubt but I did; for it at once recalled to my mind that Old Nanny's married name was James, and that Spicer had said that his father was a sailor, and that he had died at the time that ho was born, which agreed with the narrative of Old Nanny. The conclusions which I came to in a moment made me shudder.

"Well, my dear, I was surprised, if not frightened; but you don't know why, nor can I tell you; for it's not my secret. Let me look at the book again?"

Here my father came in, and the conversation took a different turn, which I was not sorry for. I wished, however, to be left to my own reflections, so I soon afterwards took up my candle and retired to my

room.

I turned the subject over in my mind in a hundred ways, but could not come to any conclusion as to the best method of proceeding. At last I thought I would see Peter Anderson the next day, and take his advice. I was out immediately after breakfast; but I could not find Anderson, so I walked to the Hospital to see Spicer. I found Anderson sitting by his bed-side, but they were not then conversing. After a short time Anderson rose, and giving a slight shake of the head, as if to inform me that he had had no success, he walked away.

"He has been trying to convert mc," said Spicer, with a grim smile.

"He has been trying, Spicer, to bring you to a sense of your condition; and is he not kind? he can have no interest but your own good. Do you think that no one knows the sins you have committed except yourself? -there is one eye which sees all."

"Come, Jack, no preaching."

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and

you

Spicer, you are here under a false name, think no one knows anything about you; but everything has been discovered by me; and I cannot help thinking that it has been made known providentially and for your good."

"Ah!" replied Spicer, "and pray what do you know? Perhaps you can tell me all the sins I have committed."

"No, Spicer, but perhaps I can tell you of sins which you yourself are not aware of; but first answer me-you know that you cannot live long, Spicer; will you acknowledge that what I state is correct, should it really be so ?"

"I give you my word, that if you tell me anything about me which is true, that I will acknowledge it; so now, Mr. Fortuneteller, here's my hand-it may be useful, you know, in helping your discovery."

"I do not want your hand, Spicer;-now hear me. Is not your name James ?—and were you not born at Tynemouth?"

Spicer started. "How did you find that out? Well, Tom, it is so, and what then?"

66 As you told me yourself, although I knew it before, your father was lost at sea, about the time that you were born. Spicer, I know how you left your mother, and how you returned from you know where-how you robbed her of every farthing, and left her again destitute and in misery. Is there nothing to repent of in that, Spicer ?"

"Who the devil-"

Nay, Spicer, the devil has had nothing to do with the discovery."

"Strange, strange indeed," muttered Spicer; "but still, it is true."

"Spicer, you know best how your life was passed from that time until you came into the Hospital; but it was to be hoped, that when laid up to rest in this

haven, after such a stormy life, that you would have amended your life; but what have you done?"

"And what have I done?"

"What would have brought you to the gallows, if I had not held my tongue. You attempted to murder the old woman to obtain her money, and in escaping you received the wound which soon will bring you to your grave."

"What proofs ?"

"Every proof, your stump struck me in the face when you rushed out-the button was off your coat the next morning when I met you-I had every proof, and had I chosen, would have sworn on the Bible to your having been the party."

"Well, I'll not deny it-why should I, when I cannot be taken out of this bed to be tried, even if you wished? Have you more to say?"

"Yes, more."

"I doubt it."

"Then hear me :-the poor woman whom you would have murdered, whom I found at her last gasp, and with difficulty restored to consciousness, that poor woman, Spicer, is your own mother!"

"God of Heaven!" exclaimed he, covering his face. "Yes, Spicer, your fond, indulgent mother, who thinks that you suffered the penalty of the law many years ago; and whose energies have been crushed by the supposed unhappy fate of her still loved and lamented son. Spicer, this is all true, and have you now nothing to repent of?"

"I thought her dead, long dead. God, I thank thee that I did not the deed; and, Jack, I am really grateful