ention then stood, I perceived on that very table the
materials for gambling. Lines, passing across it, had been indented to
prepare it for a game, I believe the same as that which king Henry VIII.
took some trouble to put down, under the name of "Shove-groat." The
strange variety thus placed before me--the mingling symbols of dissipation
and misery, of pastime and of death, caused my mind, already sufficiently
excited, to experience a sudden emotion which I know not how to convey to
another.

The third criminal entered. This was a young man of prepossessing
exterior, who had recently moved in a higher sphere than either of his
companions in suffering. His cheek was flushed when he entered, and he
staggered forward, writhing in agony, and scarcely able to sustain
himself. He looked at those who surrounded him as if he feared to discover
some who had known him in the day of his pride. It was necessary to
support him while his irons were being removed. He was attended by a
benevolent person who commonly assists criminals in their last moments,
and who, though no ecclesiastic by profession, seemed equal to the duty of
imparting religious consolation. His voice now contributed to soothe his
unhappy charge, and in a few moments all that was necessary there to be
done had been performed. The hands of the culprits were secured, and the
halters by which they were to perish were thrown round their shoulders.

The fortitude of the young man first brought in had, till this moment,
enabled him, though not unmoved, to look with calmness on the appalling
scene. But now when he saw that but one more ceremony intervened between
him and the grave, his resolution suddenly failed him. He burst into
tears, and a wild shriek of "O my mother--my poor mother," embodied in
speech a portion of the agony which raged in his bosom. He was conducted
to a bench, on which his fellows had just been seated. A glass of water
was handed to him, with which he moistened his fevered lips, and the voice
of devotion again claimed attention, and commanded silence.

In that moment few, if any, of the spectators remembered the crimes of
those they looked upon. Every mind was solely occupied with the terrible
punishment about to be inflicted.

But distressing as the scene was, before it closed I was sufficiently
myself to recognise, with satisfaction, the majestic march of justice--the
resolute, but humane administration of the law. It was sad to behold the
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