"he shall surely die,"-shall be cut off from the "land of the living," with all his crimes upon his head; his hope in this world at an end, and his trust to be placed in that dreadful tribunal, before which he is hurled in an instant, by the hands of the "MURDERING HANGMAN." For if “thou shalt do no murder," who authorises thee to take away the life of a fellow-creature? The solemn ceremony alters not the deed, whether the poor victim expires amid curses or creeds; prayers and a rope are of no matter to him, for legal murder is still murder, after all. If it must be done, let the sheriff do his own bloody work; damn not the soul of the hired caitiff, who for money is base enough to do such a revolting deed. What judge would be found to act the part of executioner? True, death is a dreadful punishment; but does it either prevent or check murder? Does it not rather brutalise a brutal mind? Are there no proofs on record of murderers showing how bravely they dare die? Have not such examples found followers? There is the worst before their eyes: the bolt is withdrawn; a struggle or two and all is over; if the victim is strong in faith, the words of prayer are the last he hears,—“ and we are sinners all." Blessed ending! What man would covet life after his hands are guilty of shedding blood? What brute in human form can begrudge life for life, when he is prayed over and pardoned by the authorities who murder him “ as if they loved him?" We will not call such a religion a mockery before our Maker's face; for the worshippers of Juggernaut are, after all, but the victims of ignorance and folly, and deserve to be pitied. Hanging is, we fear, a poor check upon crime, and an evil which, we believe, has but little effects in preventing greater evils. It ought either to be abolished altogether, or rendered a thousand times more impressive and solemn than it is now. A few policemen, and a crowd of thieves

and prostitutes make but a "sorry sight" at an exe

cution.

Whether the verdict returned by the coroner was the cause or not, we cannot say, but Burrows, instead of being charged with manslaughter, was tried for the wilful murder of the gamekeeper. The very charge at the outset was unjust; and who can tell the influence it might have on the minds of some of the jury? Several witnesses were examined, and amongst the foremost, Dick Heron, the poacher; but his honest evidence rather militated against the prisoner's cause; and the inference drawn from it was, that Burrows' attack was premeditated; and their frequent altercations at the alehouse were made to appear as cherished motives, all tending towards a future revenge. Even the evidence which both the clergymen and the doctor gave was turned by the opposing counsel against the prisoner and made to give a deeper colouring to the crime which had led to the death of one "so gentle and forgiving in his nature as the deceased." And when the venerable clergyman, in his cross-examination, refused to swear to the exact words uttered by the gamekeeper, although he adhered to the purport and true meaning, the counsellor endeavoured to set aside his evidence altogether, in spite of the deep murmur of disapprobation which echoed through the court. The judge was an old man, who heard with difficulty; and when he summed up the evidence, it was clear to all that he had omitted two or three of the most material. points which told in favour of the prisoner, and the consequence was, the jury returned a verdict of Wilful Murder, though not without recommending the prisoner to mercy. The judge in passing sentence held out next to no hope, and Burrows was removed to the condemned cell, there to await the day appointed for his execution.

It was some comfort to the poor poacher to know that

he was innocent, and that he had never once meditated murder; that the furthest limits to which his irritated feelings had carried him, was a wish to punish Parks until he confessed the injury he had done him; beyond this boundary his anger extended not. Sorry enough he was for what he had done, and many a night and day he had already spent in tears and prayers, seeking for forgiveness where it alone can be found; in the solitude of the prison he had examined his heart, and no inward voice reproached him with murder.

It was a strange change; but when he knew the worst, and had even sat down and counted the hours which divided him from death, he became calm, resigned, and cheerful. "It is some comfort," said he to the chaplain of the jail, "to know I am not a murderer; that thought will never break my rest. The first time I was sent to jail, I was innocent; nor should I, had I been found guilty, have considered that it was a crime. If a hare is of more value than the ruin of a man's family, and of his own character, I would sooner be guilty of breaking such laws than of making them. I am sorry for what I have done, and deeply regret that I returned the blow. But he has forgiven me-as to poaching, that stands not between me and my hope of heaven. I will do all you wish me; but on that point seek not to alter my fixed opinion. I must first be convinced

that it is wrong before I can be taught to repent of it.". The chaplain endeavoured to convince him that to destroy game was wrong, because it was breaking the laws. "Friend," said Burrows, looking intently on his countenance, "I have not long to live; let not a hare dangle between us and the light of heaven. Your arguments are but wasted, and deprive me of the solace which I should find in the Bible. Had it not been for the laws you advocate, I should neither have been here, nor have felt remorse for

what is beyond my power to recall. I seek not to defend myself; leave me to make my own peace with God."

He sat down, opened his Bible, and soon felt that calm quietude, which resignation and religion gives, and which the truly guilty can never know.

The sufferings of his wife it is beyond our power to paint, for whatever faults her husband might possess, to her he had ever been kind, and to his children a fond and indulgent father. Sorrow is sometimes a kind messenger; it threw her upon a sick bed, and promised to prevent her from having that parting interview with her husband which would have broken her heart.

A petition was forwarded to the Secretary of State, who had before received a letter from the judge, stating that he saw nothing which could induce him to deviate from the sentence already passed upon the unfortunate prisoner. The Secretary had a summons to attend the Privy Council, and really, through a multiplicity of business, had no time to enter further into the matter, so ordered the usual form to be adhered to on such occasions, "regretting that he could not recommend it to our Gracious Sovereign," &c., &c. So all hope, on the part of Burrows's friends, was at an end. As for himself, he had entertained none; for what mercy could he hope for from the laws which imprisoned a man for catching a hare? Surely, if the man who guarded the game was killed, no matter how, Justice, not to make itself altogether ridiculous, could not be appeased with less than hanging.

He had, however, two days and two nights longer to live; and the chaplain of the jail, who had never heard him crave forgiveness for the hares he had caught, began to think that a poacher might possibly be admitted into heaven, without praying for pardon for offending against the Game Laws. This assuredly was a great stride for a divine

to make, especially one who every year shot over a neighbouring squire's preserves; and few men, we imagine, can better appreciate the benefits of fresh air and field exercise than those who are compelled to give spiritual aid towards the great labour which is so admirably finished by that hempen morality, Jack Ketch. And, after all, what are the lives of a few common people, compared to the many advantages which the poor gain, through the rich landed. proprietors coming down for a month or two in the year to shoot over their estates? Gamekeepers must guard preserves; they are paid either to kill or be killed. True, it may lead to a little hanging, but that is of no inconvenience to any gentleman; and better hang than have the battue system banished. The Rev. Sydney Smith has "done the state some service." Hear him:-"We really cannot believe that all our rural mansions would be deserted, although no game was to be found in their neighbourhood. Some come into the country for health, some for quiet, for agriculture, for economy, from attachment to family estates, from love of retirement, from the necessity of keeping up provincial interests, and from a vast variety of causes. Partridges and pheasants, though they form ninetenths of human motives, still leave a small residue, which may be classed under some other head. Neither are a great proportion of those whom the love of shooting brings into the country of the smallest value or importance to the country. A colonel of the Guards, the second son, just entered at Oxford, three diners-out from Piccadilly, Major Rook, Lord John, Lord Charles, the colonel of the regiment quartered at the neighbouring town, two Irish peers, and a German baron:-if all this honourable company proceed, with fustian-jackets, dog-whistles, and chemical inventions, to a solemn destruction of pheasants, how is the country benefited by their presence? or how