“Now I was left alone with but my own thoughts for company. I was condemned and must die in two hours—but two short hours had I left, to take my leave of this world, and prepare for a voyage, I knew not where—to leave this world which had ever been before but a garden of roses. Then the dreadful truth at once flashed on my mind! to leave all, my father, mother, sisters, friends, and all those who had ever met me with a smile; whose roughest words were blessings, whose prayers were ever my own. Ah, how hard it is to die when the bright clouds of youth cluster around our horizon; when the mind is yet young and free from the diseases which the experiences of a rude world engender! When the physical faculties are all active, and most capable of contributing to our enjoyment; and when death appears but a monster to the young mind whose riper faculties teach us to hope for a glorious future. “It is hard indeed, and the rapid approach of my last moments only enhanced my agony. The time drew nigh and I saw no hope of succor; and it was _now_ that the dreadful thought intruded itself, that there was no longer hope—that I _must_ die, and before many minutes more be but a pale bleeding corpse. My heart ached, my feelings grew insupportable, and I groaned aloud in the bitterest agony. Ah! the horrors of that moment! All the most poignant sufferings of a life time, if converged in one breast, could not have tortured more. “While in this state of horror, I chanced to look towards the top of the rocks which lined the gorge, and with surprise I beheld the same young man who had previously saved my life. He caught my glance, and with his hand motioned me to silence, and then instantly disappeared. What could this mean? We had left that individual in the army when we left it. Let it mean what it might it augured well, and immediately a complete reaction of feelings took place in my breast. I became calm and apparently careless of my fate, for I felt that I had a friend close by, who was willing and able to save me. “The time for the execution of my sentence arrived, and with a file of soldiers as a guard, I was led to the fatal tree. A bandage was brought forward, but I refused it, and bade them with a loud voice hurry with the execution. The file of soldiers, with loaded muskets, were drawn in a line fronting me, and I was bade to kneel. “Now all was a deep silence; you might have heard a pin drop, and then was heard the voice of the one in command—‘Attention, men! make ready, take aim—fire’—and I rolled on the earth a bleeding corpse——.” “What!” “That is one of my uncle’s _yarns_,” said my friend Ned. “Pshaw!” * * * * * THE CHOICE OF HEARTS. BY THOMAS G. SPEAR.