had to account to the police for the offensive
effluvium it occasioned in the
neighbourhood.

Professor Webster, although he had several
fires alight, had other and greater difficulties
to contend with; he had only a limited time
which he could give on each day to his disgusting
task. His appearance at the college at
unusual hours would attract notice, and on the
dark evenings of November the light from the
fires would betray the fact that he had the
furnaces burning in his room, after he had forbidden
the janitor to have any fires kindled there.
Hence, day after day he had to renew the
hideous labour, to go from stove to stove feeding
his "strange fires" with such portions of their
dreadful fuel as he thought they could consume,
still chafing at the tardy process of combustion;
and night after night he had to suspend the
sickening task, conceal the unburned limbs in
their respective hiding-places, and betake himself
to his own home, there to meet the anxious
inquiries of his family, and the welcome of his
innocent daughters.

The mental effort is beyond ordinary
comprehension which must have been summoned up
to carry a man through such an ordeal; to
nerve him for the cheerful assemblies of his
friends in the evening; to enable him to discuss
with composure the one terrific subject which
engrossed the thoughts of every circle of
society; to answer the inquiries of anxious friends
in the public streets; and to deliver his accustomed
lecture to his class, separated only by a
partition from the room which was the scene
of his recent crime, and within which, only
distant a few feet, was hidden the unburied corpse
of his victim. Through these revolting scenes
the professor was forced to sustain himself, till
all was suspended by the fatal discovery of the
mutilated body in the vault.

With this ample confession of his guilt, coupled
with the story of Dr. Parkman's provocation,
Dr. Webster threw himself on the merciful
consideration of the state authorities. But
the result was disappointment; the governor
and his colleagues came reluctantly to the
conclusion that there was nothing in the
prisoner's statement to form a basis for
intervention, and that the safety of the community,
the inviolability of the law, and the principles
of impartial justice, demanded the execution of
the sentence.

This decision was pronounced on the 17th
of July, 1850, and on the 30th of August
following the high sheriff of Boston endorsed on
the back of the death-warrant, previously directed
to him by the Secretary of the Commonwealth,
"That on that day, between the hours of nine
and ten o'clock in the forenoon, within the
enclosed yard of the prison, and in the presence
of the public officers and twelve other citizens
summoned to be witnesses of the fact, John W.
Webster, convicted of the murder of Dr. Parkman,
was hanged by the neck until he was
dead. And that on its being duly certified
that life was extinct, he had caused the dead
body to be enclosed in a coffin, and given up to
his relatives, in accordance with the request of
the convict made two days before."

                             YOU DID!

                                     I.

  As children, when we used to play
     Upon the beach in muslin frocks,
  And form'd a tangled disarray
     Of soaking shoes and tatter'd socks;
  When nurse was driven to complain,
     And kind mamma so gently chid,
  Begging you ne'er to err again,
     You said you wouldn't—but you did.

                                     II.

  When Betty, whom you work'd so hard,
     And yet who loved you none the less,
  Was pray'd, so urgently, to guard
     A secret from your governess;
  You recollect her puzzled look,
     Wishing to do as she was bid,
  And voice of badly feigned rebuke,
     Which vow'd she wouldn't—but she did.

                                     III.

  And when, one afternoon, from town
     ("Forbidden fruit" supposed to be)
  A new three-volume batch came down
     From Mr. Mudie's library;
  You promised that, howe'er assail'd,
     You would not even raise the lid,
  But curiosity prevail'd
     Against obedience—and you did.

                                     IV.

  That garden party! far the best
     Of any I have e'er enjoy'd:
  We sat together, while the rest
     (Bare chance!) were otherwise employ'd;
  Though your mamma had talk'd for hours,
     And ventur'd firmly to forbid
  A tête-à-tête among the flowers;
     You said you wouldn't—but you did.

                                    V.

  The things that happen'd 'neath the shade
     Of clematis that cluster'd fair,
  The things we look'd, and thought, and said,
     And hoped, are neither here nor there.
  I know not if the day was fine,
     Or 'neath the clouds the sun was hid;
  I know to one request of mine
     You said you wouldn't—and you did.

A COUNTRY WORKHOUSE.

ANOTHER phase of misdoing here. We have
crossed England again, and are on the railway
which is part of the high road to India and the
East. Still on the track of shameful, flagrant
abuses; still fighting the drearily, uphill fight
against highly sanctioned cruelties and legally
committed wrong. Passing down Southampton-
wards, the reader may remark a formal,
gloomy building standing off the railway to
the left. It has small narrow windows and
high walls. Its shape is of the well-known
windmill pattern, with the four wings for