Here the prisoner groaned aloud, and buried his face in his hands.

“Is it not true that you were once in better circumstances, and that the prisoner squandered your whole substance and left you to beggary?” inquired the superintendent, in a softened tone.

“It was all his own,” was the tearful answer. “Poor Jim! he was led away by bad companions. O Sir! if you only knew all, you would not ask me to speak against him”; and then the poor, forgiving mother covered her face with her shaking hands and sobbed aloud.

The superintendent whispered for a moment with me, and then said:

“It is useless to trouble further with this witness. Bring forward Hugh M’Indoe.”

The reformed thief stepped forward, while Mrs. Lyons bent forward breathlessly to listen to his evidence.

“Do you know this man?”

“I do; he is known as Coreing Jim, the Paisley Wire.”

“Have you reason to believe that he last night attempted to commit a burglary at a house in Milne Square?”

“I thought so last night, but it seems I have been mistaken, and that he was only on a visit to his mother.”

More cross-examination followed, but nothing could induce the hunter of thieves to reveal more. I was next examined, but of course I could only tell the truth—that I had been sought out by M’Indoe to trap another of the “Happy Land” gang, without having time to glean particulars; and that we arrived only to find the prisoner moaning over his mother’s senseless form, and stating that he had killed her. The result was that the case was given up owing to the defective evidence, and the prisoner was discharged with a caution. Yes, a caution, and one that was effectual for life. Coreing Jim, I rejoice to say, from that moment ceased to exist; but in a town a good many miles west, James Lyons sprang into life, an energetic foreman in a spinning-factory, a credit to the town, and the sole comfort and joy of his aged mother.²