crimes. The following day, James Mordaunt, taking up his morning paper, read a full account of the murder of Rev. John Furnace, and the part which he had played in the tragedy as an accomplice. He also read a full account of his connection with the Society of the "Ever Faithful." The reader, possibly, may be somewhat surprised at this course adopted by Shank. There may be some who will be unwilling to record any merit in the repentance of a man so steeped in crime as was Shank. There are others who stand ready to throw the mantle of charity over even the greatest wickedness, where there exists a reasonable hope that true repentance has had her perfect work. Certain are we that the parties implicated by Shank's confession visited more wrath, in their impotent rage, upon the faithful young minister of God's word, than they did upon their companion in crime; declaring that "Bob Shank never would ha' peached but for the way the contemptible preacher talked to him."

On the sixteenth day of August, Shank was executed. A higher power alone can say whether the law was founded in wisdom which administered capital punishment in a case of such palpable repentance as was his. In the view of death, he made a full confession, and without thought of a reprieve. Why should not human law deal with a frank confession of crime on the same principle which underlies the divine law? Why, in such cases, should there not at least be offered the forgiveness of a commutation of the dreadful doom, "BLOOD FOR BLOOD?" Capital punishment is, doubtless, in some instances, necessary; but should not the human lawgiver hold out

inducements to procure confessions similar to those offered by the Holy Law Giver? Would not the certain fear of the convicted felon's confession, for the sake of commutation of sentence, stand as a powerful preventive of banded villainy? This view may be wrong. Heaven's statute law, however, is founded upon it, so far as the doctrines of confession and repentance militate.

James Mordaunt, it will be remembered, was sentenced to five years at hard labor in the State prison. He was taken to the Sing Sing prison, which is located in the village of Sing Sing, on the eastern banks of the Hudson, a little more than thirty miles from New York. He remained there but six months. Through the interest of Mr. Mortimer, exerted in his behalf, he was made the book-keeper of the prisonan occupation which relieved him from the hard labor, contemplated by the letter of the law; and we doubt very much whether it carried out the spirit thereof. At the expiration of six months, the Sing Sing prison having become hyper-surfeited with convicts, he, in common with nineteen others, was removed to the Auburn prison. At Auburn he obtained little sympathy. There George Melville was known; and the man who had imprisoned him, with whom the relations of friendship as well as common humanity, ought to have proved sufficient to prevent the crime, found no favor at the hands of the keepers.

"Where shall James Mordaunt be put?" asked the clerk, as the agent entered the office. "He has no trade."

"Mordaunt," said the agent, "would you not pre

Perhaps you would Yes, that's just where

fer shoemaking to weaving? like George Melville's place? you shall go. The machine shop. Who knows but what, when your time is out, you may want a job of George Melville? Be industrious, Mordaunt, and we will make a good mechanic of you."

Mordaunt, had he dared, could have stricken the agent to the ground; but he concluded, very wisely, to use discretion under the circumstances.

The agent was up to his word. To the machine shop Mordaunt went. He failed to carry He failed to carry there any

natural mechanical ability. During the time of his service as a convict, he was considered a drone in the hive. We leave him for a while to regret the bitter fate he had dealt out so readily for a base revenge, and which had recoiled so significantly.

LL.

The Island Martha's Vineyard.

"MR. MELVILLE," asked Bell, as, standing against the railing which surrounded the top of the tower, she stretched forth her snow-white arm eastward, "Mr. Melville, I recognize that tall tree in yonder collection of houses as the celebrated elm you have been describing."

"Yes, Miss Mortimer, that is the celebrated, I should say distinguished, elm of Pittsfield, Massachusetts," replied Melville.

"And what is that tall mountain in the north?" asked Bell?

"Saddle-back Mountain. William's College lies at its feet," was the reply. "Here, at the south, you have the Hancock Shakers, a peculiar sect of deluded religionists, industrious as they are neat, honest, and exclusive. To the west, is Kinderhook; and those moving columns of smoke are made by the steamboats ploughing the noble Hudson. If it were not for the intervening hills, we could easily discern Albany, the capital of the great Empire State."

"Mrs. Melwood, where did you leave mother?" asked Bell.

"With Frederick. She concluded the effort to

walk to the "tower" was too much for her strength; the horses, she declared, should not come. They will wait for us at the Mountain House."

Mrs. Mortimer, accompanied by Bell and Frederick, had just been on a jaunt to the Island Martha's Vineyard for the purpose of returning the visits made them by Mr. and Mrs. Melville, at Aurora. It has already appeared that Edgartown was the home of George Melville. Edgartown occupies a lovely spot on this western hemisphere. There is an old tradition surrounding the Island Martha's Vineyard. Why it should not be entitled to credit we cannot perceive. Certain are we, the romance of truth surpasses any creations of the imagination. There being real romance in this tradition, we are strongly inclined to believe in its truth. As the story is handed down, a celebrated Indian chieftain owned two islands, situated southeast of the State called Massachusetts, and now forming a part thereof. This chieftain had two daughters. Soon after the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock, these islands were visited by the whites. They were cordially received by the Indian warrior, and hospitably entertained. In course of time, a strong friendship arose between the whites and the old chieftain, which led to yearly interchanges of visits. As his daughters grew up, they were christened by their white friends, additional to their Indian titles, Martha and Nancy. Finally, the old chieftain, brought down by the hand of disease, felt his end approaching. Calling his daughters, he said, using the broken English which he had learned, and which he always spoke with evident pride