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escape, which may be the means of your committing new crimes?"—"Indeed," said the robber, "you need not be afraid of that, I have seen the gibbet too near me to expose myself to such danger again." The priest, actuated by the impulse of a feeling heart, and strengthened by the earnest protestations of repentance in the unhappy criminal who was about to suffer, at length consented to favour his escape, and in a few minutes the robber was clear of the prison.
Shortly after, the executioner came to warn the unfortunate man of his hour being come; but what was his surprise when he opened the door, and found the priest sitting alone in the chapel. He immediately alarmed the judges, and brought them to the spot. "What is become of the prisoner," said they, "that was left with you?"—"He must be an angel," returned the priest coolly, "for, upon the faith of a christian, he flew out of the window," pointing to the window in the roof of the chapel; "and I am going to recommend myself to his protection." The judges could not preserve their gravity at what they heard the good man relate, but wishing the supposed angel a pleasant journey, went away.
Some years after this, as the priest was travelling in the county of Wicklow, he lost his way, just as the sun had sunk beneath the horizon. He was accosted by a sort of peasant, who, after examining him attentively, told him the road he was travelling was a very dangerous one, and as the night had set in, if he would accompany him, he would conduct him to a house convenient, where he might pass the night in safety.
The priest was at a loss how to act; the curiosity visible in the peasant's conduct excited his suspicion, but considering if he had a bad design in view, that it was impossible for him to escape, he with a trembling heart followed. They had not walked far until they reached a farm-house, which the poor priest beheld with joy; but the suspicion which the peasant's curiosity had first raised in his breast, was entirely removed when he found he was the proprietor, and heard him tell his wife to kill a capon, with some of her chickens, and to welcome his guest with the best cheer. Whilst the good woman was preparing supper, the countryman came into the room followed by a group of beautiful children. "Pour forth your grateful thanks, my little children," said he, as the tear of gratitude started from his eye, "for to this worthy man your father owes his existence." The priest immediately recognized the features of the robber, whose escape he had favoured some years before; he inquired how he came to be so well provided for; on which he related to him as follows:—
