ised, oppressed me.
No, no, Ellen, I should not be happy if I were not to atone for my
faults; and this wretched life is the only atonement I can offer. But
for you, and that poor child, my dearest and kindest, I should go to the
scaffold rejoicing; but the thoughts--O God, strengthen and support me!"
cried the unhappy man, hiding his face in his hands.

"Fear not for me, Edward. I feel here," said Ellen, laying her hand on
her heart, "a conviction that we shall soon meet again. I will urge you
no more love. But the boy--the boy--Oh, Edward! what will become of
that dear boy when we are both gone?"

"Please God to spare my life, he'll never want a father," said old
Adams, as the tears found a devious passage down the furrows of his
weather-beaten face.

"What will become of him?" cried Peters with energy. "Why, he shall
retrieve his father's faults--wash out the stain in his father's
character. He shall prove as liege a subject as I have been a
rebellious one. He shall as faithfully serve his country as I have
shamefully deserted it. He shall be as honest as I have been false; and
oh, may he be as prosperous as I have been unfortunate--as happy as I
have been miserable. Come hither, boy. By the fond hopes I entertain
of pardon and peace above--by the Almighty, in whose presence I must
shortly tremble, I here devote thee to thy country--serve her bravely
and faithfully. Tell me, Willy, do you understand me, and will you
promise me this?"

The boy laid his head upon his father's shoulder, and answered in a low
tone--"I will;" and then, after a short pause, added, "but what are they
going to do with you, father?"

"I am going to die for my country's good, my child. If God wills it,
may you do the same, but in a more honourable manner."

The boy seemed lost in thought, and, after a short time, quitted his
father's side, and sat down on the deck by his mother, without speaking.

Adams rose, and taking him up, said, "Mayhap you have that to talk of
which wants no listeners. I will take Willy with me, and give him a
little air before I put him in his hammock. It's but a close hole,
this. Good night to you both, though I'm afeard that's but a wish."

But a wish indeed!--and it was the last that was ever to close upon the
unhappy Peters. The next morning was appointed for his execution.
There are scenes of such consummate misery, that they cannot be
portrayed without harrowing up the feelings of the read