letter, admirable, as it seems to me, for its brevity, for its weight, and for its words of true comfort; and, in truth, worth pages of the common-places which another as well meaning, perhaps, but who did not know the human heart so well-might have written :

"DEAR SIR,-That which is appointed to all men is now coming upon you. Outward circumstances in the eyes and thoughts of men are below the notice of an immortal being about to stand the trial for eternity before the Supreme Judge of heaven and earth. Be comforted: your crime, morally or religiously considered, has no very deep dye of turpitude; it corrupted no man's principles; it attacked no man's life; it involved only a temporary and reparable injury. Of this and of all other sins you are earnestly to repent, and may GOD, who knoweth your frailty and desireth not our death, accept your repentance, for the sake of his Son, JESUS CHRIST our Lord.

"In requital of these well-intended offices which you are pleased so emphatically to acknowledge, let me beg that you make in your devotions one petition for my eternal welfare.

"I am, dear Sir, your affectionate servant,
"SAM. JOHNSON."

We almost hear these manly practical words. Let us think, too, how delicately he moderated his own strong sentiments, without at the same time any delusive flatteries-for there was no one who thought so awfully of the terrors of death and the tremendous responsibilities it brought with it. There is even an

artful topic of comfort suggested in the first sentence, as though what was coming on Dodd was only a little in anticipation of what was coming on all.

There were people who had the hardihood to bring Johnson to task for the charitable close of his letter. The criminal, on receipt of it, put it into his wife's hand, and charged her never to part with it; for this was now his last day, and she was come to take leave of him.

To the very end the stream of friends kept pouring in and pouring out. To the very last, hope was kept fluttering before his eyes. Towards night, however, he took the opportunity of justifying the king and his councillors, and called his friends to witness that he did not in the least blame them for the decision that had been arrived at, and which he was sure was conceived in a spirit of justice. He then lifted up his hands and prayed for the king.

The well-meaning but intrusive Thicknesse found his way in even at this sacred moment, and describes with much natural pathos a scene of dreadful anguish-his parting with his wife. "A situation,"

he

says, "not to be described or conceived." "I walked up to them," he goes on, "and found their hands locked in each other's, and their minds as much departed as if they had both been dead. Plainly perceiving that they neither saw me nor one another, I quitted the room. At that moment,” he adds, "I coveted sovereign power." Others who saw the same dreadful scene, say that she could just murmur, "God give me strength to bear this!" and fainted off into a dead swoon. Going home, he wrote

the Doctor a letter containing some proposals "such as no rational man would have given ;" and received this reply, which is even now almost distressing to read, and which seems actually to reflect agitation and despair:

“DEAR SIR,—I am just at present not just at present not very well, and incapable of judging. I shall communicate your kind paper to my friends. Many thanks for your attention. I rather think it would do hurt, and be deemed a mob.

"Yours in great misery,

"W. D."

Yours in great misery! This was his last day, and yet the friends were coming and going, distracting him with plans. A terrible day. Outside, the exertions went on. Toplady, a Methodist preacher, was putting up public prayers for him; and a Methodist woman actually got close up to the king's carriage window and poured in a volley of imprecations for his inhumanity. On this day, too, was seen a man—the man with the five hundred pounds in his pocket-skulking about the gaol trying to corrupt the gaoler; but there was no hope. But a wild scheme for the day of execution had been thought of, and planned.

His friends stayed with him until very late, some of them comforting him with the old "common form" of comfort, that it was "a wretched world," and the like. "No, no," said the wretched prisoner, has been a very pleasant world to me!" "I respect

"it

him," said Johnson, "for thus speaking the truth." "Sir," he said later, in his forcible way, "Dodd would have given both his hands and both his legs to have lived." He was, indeed, hungering and thirsting after life, and it was growing sweeter to him as it was growing shorter. Later the friends departed-the last night of life ended for him. He went to rest— and slept.*

* "Of all states upon earth none is so distracting as that of suspense: how dreadful are the long hours of expectation." Thus wrote Doctor Dodd in his novel, many years before.

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

THE PROCESSION.

It was now the morning of Friday, the 27th. When they went to call the hapless criminal, he did not at first recollect what was to take place, and presently, on its coming back upon him, suffered the most dreadful horror "and agony of mind," becoming outrageously vehement in his speech and looks; but, on leaving the chapel, his face was seen to exhibit the greatest calmness and composure.

Mr. Villette, who filled the dreadful office of "Ordinary of Newgate," attended on him, together with the chaplain of the Magdalen, Mr. Dobey. The friends who had been there the preceding night also appeared upon this occasion; and all moved on to the chapel. In the vestry they met the other criminal, who was to suffer also-Harris, the youth convicted for the "two half sovereigns and some silver," and who had attempted suicide in his cell. Him Doctor Dodd addressed with "great tenderness and emotion