each cell separately, and urged every argument
to reclaim them to Christianity. Davidson
was, however, the only man who joined Mr.
Cotton in prayer, and he did so fervently.

The men could speak to each other through
the loops in the cell walls; and Ings, during
the night speaking of the scene in the morning,
said, with savage bitterness:

"There was plenty of men present, but, d—n
'em, they have no pluck."

At five o'clock Mr. Cotton came again round
the cells with the sacrament. All refused it but
Davidson, who received the elements with
sincere devotion. Brunt seized the wine, and
drank the king's health, and so did Davidson.
On the arrival of the sheriffs and attendants,
the four leaders were so violent that it was
thought prudent to pinion their arms before
their irons were struck off. The procession
then advanced through the long dark passages
—dark even on that bright May morning.
Thistlewood came first, his eyes fixed, and
abstracted in thought. Then walked Tidd, trying
to assume indifference, and rallied by Ings for
his depression. After him strode Ings, laughing
and reckless, followed by Brunt, who fixed
his eyes on the officers with a sullen rage.
Davidson was last, his hands clasped, his eyes
uplifted, and his lips moving in prayer. At the
lodge leading to the scaffold there was a
moment's pause. Thistlewood clenched his lips,
and with a frown watched the preparations on
the scaffold.

On a bystander beseeching Brunt to ask
God's pardon, Brunt replied, with savage
contempt for his adviser:

"What have I done? I have done nothing.
What should I ask pardon for?"

"Well done, Brunt," exclaimed Ings, and
began to sing:
                 "O give me death or liberty,"
when he was summoned to the scaffold. He
turned to Brunt, smiled, and shook hands with
him. On entering the lodge, he had said to some
one who told him to be firm:

"Firm? I am firm. But we have children,
sir." There was true pathos in this.

When the handkerchief was tied on, he cried
out:

"I hope, Mr. Cotton, you will give me a good
character." The chaplain bowed. Ings then
commenced playfully swinging about in his hand
a cotton nightcap. While the hatch was opening,
he exclaimed with a loud voice:

"Remember me to King George the Fourth.
God bless him, and may he have a long
reign."

He then requested some clothes he had left
behind might be given to his wife. Determined
that Jack Ketch should have no coat of his, he
had taken off his best clothes, and put on a
butcher's old greasy slaughtering jacket.

As he stood on the first step he turned to
Davis, a turnkey, and said:

"Well, Mr. Davis, I am going to find out
this great secret;" and then sprang on the
scaffold, exclaiming: "Good-bye, gentlemen;
here goes the remains of an unfortunate man."

Brunt now stood almost alone with Davidson,
muttering about the injustice of his fate, and
wishing to be the next to suffer.

One by one they had gone to death. Three
times the mob had shouted and the drop had
fallen with its horrible dull sound.

Davidson was called next. He was astonishingly
composed. On the Sunday, at parting
with his wife, he had said, "the day of his
death would be the happiest of his life." He
was in fervent prayer when he was turned off.

Brunt's last act was to take a pinch of
snuff from a paper in his hand, stooping to put
it to his nose, and pushing up his nightcap to
take it. He took off his heavy nailed shoes, as
one of the others had also done, and, as the
report of the time says, threw them at the
people, either in contempt, defiance, or to cheat
the hangman.

Exactly a quarter of an hour after the last
man was hung, the order was given to cut the
bodies down. The heads were then haggled off
with brutal clumsiness with a surgeon's knife.
The mob expressed loudly their horror and
disgust, more especially when the turnkey, who
exhibited the heads, dropped that of Brunt.
"Hallo, butter-fingers!" shouted a rough voice
from the rolling crowd below. The time had
gone by for such useless brutality. The
executions occupied one hour and eight minutes.
It was a quarter to eight when Thistlewood
appeared on the scaffold, it was seven minutes to
nine when Brunt's head, the last exhibited, was
placed in the coffin.

The cavalry, stationed to line all the streets
in the neighbourhood, then dispersed, and the
mob slowly melted away.

GERMAN TEXT.

NO CARDS. These words, simple as they
appear, imply much more than may be
supposed at first sight. They denote disregard for
the feelings of all our nearest female relations
who luxuriated formerly in reading over and
over again the inside of a small highly polished
envelope with a silver cord in the shape of a
true lover's knot; they denote economy, as they
obviate the necessity of those neat little wedge-
shaped boxes of bride-cake, the delight of the
junior members of a household and the
superstitious awe of the servant maids. The first
column of the Times is all that now remains of
the good old custom. Births, marriages, and
deaths are, it is true, duly registered in that
sacred column; we are even informed that the
arduous task of putting a small gold ring upon
a young lady's very small finger was successfully
performed by the Bishop of Seven Towers,
with the assistance of the dean and of the
young curate, the brother of the bride. In
some instances a special paragraph informs the
public that there were six or twelve bridesmaids,
as the case might be, smothered in white