_Has._ The prisoner is your subject--there misery--more contagious than disease, preys on the lives of hundreds--sentenced but to confinement, their doom is death.--Immured in damp and dreary vaults, they daily perish--and who can tell but that amongst the many hapless sufferers, there may be hearts, bent down with penitence to Heaven and you, for every slight offence--there may be some amongst the wretched multitude, even innocent victims.--Let me seek them out--let me save them, and you. _Sul._ Amazement! retract your application--curb this weak pity; and receive our thanks. _Has._ Curb my pity?--and what can I receive in recompence for that soft bond, which links me to the wretched?--and while it sooths their sorrow repays me more, than all the gifts or homage of an empire.----But if repugnant to your plan of government--not in the name of pity--but of justice. _Sul._ Justice!---- _Has._ The justice which forbids all but the worst of criminals to be denied that wholesome air the very brute creation freely takes; at least allow them _that_. _Sul._ Consider, Sir, for whom you plead--for men, (if not base culprits) yet so misled, so depraved, they are offensive to our state, and deserve none of its blessings. _Has._ If not upon the undeserving,--if not upon the hapless wanderer from the paths of rectitude,--where shall the sun diffuse his light, or the clouds distil their dew? Where shall spring breathe fragrance, or autumn pour its plenty? _Sul._ Sir, your sentiments, but much more your character, excite my curiosity. They tell me, in our camps, you visited each sick man's bed,--administered yourself the healing draught,--encouraged our savages with the hope of life, or pointed out their _better_ hope in death.----The widow speaks your charities--the orphan lisps your bounties--and the rough Indian melts in tears to bless you.----I wish to ask _why_ you have done all this?--What is it prompts you thus to befriend the wretched and forlorn? _Has._ In vain for me to explain--the time it wou'd take to tell you why I act thus---- _Sul._ Send it in writing then. _Has._ Nay, if you will _read_, I'll send a book, in which is _already_ written why I act thus. _Sul._ What book?--What is it called? _Has._ "The Christian Doctrine." [Haswell _bows here with the utmost reverence_.] There you will find all I have done was but my duty. _Sul._ [_To the Guards._] Retire, and leave me alone with the stranger. [_All retire except_ Haswell _and the_ Sultan. _They come forward._] _Sul._ Your words recall reflections that distract me; nor can I bear the pressure on my mind without confessing--I am a Christian. _Has._ A Christian!--What makes you thus assume the apostate? _Sul._ Misery, and despair. _Has._ What made you a Christian?