bodies. Sarah Taylor made my heart ache, when she told me that you had pawned away every thing, to make up that last fifty shillings that you sent me by Will Sanderson, who is now in the room with me, and sits down upon the straw that I laid on last night, and is weeping for me like a child. But God will make up all the money to you again, that you have let me have to no purpose. And I should be sorry that any unkind body should hit it in your teeth that I come to such an untimely bad end; for I thought as little of it as they do. But all the way as I walked up to London afoot, I could not help having a fancy in my head at every turn, that I saw my poor dear Betty, and my six helpless little ones hanging upon me, and crying out bitterly that they had no bread to keep life in them, and begging me to buy them some; and so I thought that I would sell that horse, and make you believe that I got money of your sister Parker; but she was too sparing for that, and would never once look upon me. I pray to God to forgive her; and if she would but be good to you when I am gone, God bless her.-Loving Betty, remember me to my sorrowful mother, and tell her not to take on too much. And bid Richard and Harry take warning by my fall, if ever they come to

be men and for the poor girls, they are too young as yet to understand any thing you can say to them. God's goodness be your comfort! and if you can, don't think about me, for it will make you only melancholy.-I hope the old deputy will be kind to you, and help you to do somewhat. I am sorry I cannot write no more, because my tears are come into my eyes. -Little did I think of this dismal parting-Oh! 'tis very sad!-God bless you in this unhappy world, dear dear Betty.

"From your unfortunate,

"P. S.-Nothing vexes me but when I think that it is a very hard case for a man to be made to die for a horse: they say the king is to have him; he is not worth much; but if my poor Betty had the money he could be sold for, it would be some comfort however; for then I should not have left you all so bare as you be

now.'

I carried this letter with me to the assembly: where it was universally agreed, that there is a plain-hearted honesty very manifest in all parts of it; and a generous and manly sorrow, not arising so much from his own desire to live,

as from a prospect of their wants whom his death was to leave destitute. Our clergyman in particular was greatly moved to compassion, and proposed a charitable collection to be sent to the poor widow, to which himself contributed first in a very liberal proportion.

He related to us afterwards an extraordinary dying speech, of a very different turn, which he heard made, when a student, by a housebreaker, who was hanged for murder and a robbery.

"Good people (said the criminal), since I am to serve you for a sight, the least you can do is to be civil to the man that entertains you. I ask nothing of you but the justice that is due to me. There are some meddling tongues, which I can hear among the crowd, very busy to incense you. Though it is true I have committed murder, yet I hope I am no murderer. The felony I really purposed, but my intention had no part in the death that I was guilty of. The deceased cryed for help, and was so obstinate and clamorous, that I was under the necessity to kill him, or submit myself to be taken. And thus I argued in my mind: if I murder him, I shall get off; or, at worst, if I am taken, my punishment will be no greater, than if I spare him, and surrender: I can be

but hanged for murder, and I must be hanged too for the house-breaking. This thought, good people, prevailed with me to shoot him; so that what you call murder, was but self-preservation. Now, that I should have died in this same manner, whether I had shot him or no, witness these two weak brothers here, who look as if they were already at the other end of their voyage, though they have not hoisted sail yet: one of these stole some bacon, and the other, a wet smock or two. The law must be certainly wiser than you are; and since that has been pleased to set our crimes on a level, be so civil, or compassionate, as to hold your silly tongues, and let me die without slander."

We had several other stories on this subject of the public executions: but none pleased me better than one, which I shall close my paper with, and which we were also obliged to the vicar for.

"The late king of Sweden had condemned a soldier to die; and stood at a little distance from the place of execution. The fellow, when he heard this, was in hopes of a pardon; but being assured he was mistaken, cried, his tongue was yet free, he would use it at his pleasure; which he did with great licence; accusing the king, most insolently, and as loud as he could

speak, of barbarity and injustice; and appealing to God for revenge of his wronged innocence. The king, not hearing him distinctly, inquired of those about him, what the soldier had been saying? and was told, by a general officer, who was unwilling to heighten his resentment against the miserable, that he had only repeated very often and loud, That God loves the merciful, and teaches the mighty to moderate their anger. The king was touched by the lesson, and sent his pardon to the criminal. But a courtier, of an opposite interest, took advantage of the occasion, and repeated to the king exactly the licentiousness of the fellow's railing; adding gravely when he had done, That men of quality and trust ought never, in his opinion, to misrepresent facts to their sovereign. The king for some time stood suspended in his thoughts; but turning at length toward the courtier, with a face of reproof; "It is the first time (said he) that ever I have been betrayed for my advantage! But the LIE of your enemy pleased me better than your TRUTH does."

PLAIN-DEALER, No. 1, May 12, 1724.

The subject of this paper (the frequency of capital punishment as appointed by law) has very lately attracted the attention of the House of Commons, in consequence of the motion of Sir Samuel Romilly for the repeal of the Acts of