“My poor father!” exclaimed the prisoner, pressing his hand convulsively, “it almost breaks my heart to hear you thus humble yourself before me, who so little deserve it at your hands. Only forgive me _my_ violent outbreaks, dear father! for in the midst of them all, I always loved you. You have always sought to do me good, and would rather have died, than have led me into any harm. But since I have been here in prison, I have thought of many things, that never occurred to me before. The world and all things in it are placed before me in a different light. It seems to me men are all wrong in their habits and teachings. I see now that retaliation and hatred are murder. I have read often, of late, the exhortation of Jesus to forgive our brother his offences, not only seven times, but seventy times seven; and I feel that thus it _ought_ to be with human beings in all their relations with each other. What I have done cannot be undone; but if it will be any satisfaction to you, rest assured that I did not intend to kill him. I was wretched, and I was fool enough to drink; and then I knew not what I did. Violent as my temper has been, I never conceived the thought of taking his life.” “I know it, my son; I know it,” he said; “and that reflection consoles me in some degree. While I have a loaf of bread, I will share it with the mother and sister of him you----” he hesitated, shuddered, and added in a low deep tone--“you murdered.” “I was going to ask that of you,” replied the prisoner; “and one thing more, dear father; try to bear up bravely under this terrible blow, for the sake of my poor patient mother.” “I will, I will,” he answered; “and now my dear misguided boy, say you forgive your poor father for the teachings of his violent words and actions. I did not foresee the consequences, my child. I did it in my ignorance. But it was wrong, wrong, all wrong.” The young man threw himself on his father’s bosom, and they had no other utterance but tears. * * * * * After his only strong link to life was broken by the violent arm of the law, Mr. Barker was a changed man; silent, and melancholy, patient, gentle, and forgiving to all. He never complained of the great sorrow that wasted away his life; but the neighbours saw how thin and sad he looked, and the roughest natures felt compassion for him. Every year, she who had been Mary Williams received a hundred dollar note. He never whispered to any mortal that it was sent by the juryman who helped to condemn her son to death; but when he died, a legacy of a thousand dollars to her showed that he never forgot the pale despairing face, that for years had haunted his dreams. THE FAIRY FRIEND. Spirit, who waftest me where’er I will, And see’st with finer eyes what infants see; Feeling all lovely truth, With the wise health of everlasting youth. LEIGH HUNT.