On Sunday, about six o'clock in the afternoon,
when some spectators were present, she
fell into a grievous agony of terror; but not of
remorse. One of the keepers coming in, said:
"Sarah, what's the matter? What has happened
to put you in this disorder?" She pretended it
was occasioned by her being told at chapel that
she was to be hanged in Fleet-street among all
her acquaintance, which, she said, gave her
inexpressible pain. The keeper replied: "I am
afraid, Sarah, that is not the truth; when the
dead warrant came down, I acquainted you
that you were to die there, so it is not probable
that should surprise you so much now. Take
my advice, make a full confession, and you will
find your mind much easier." To this she said
not a word.

It was the custom at this time, pursuant
to a bequest of Robert Dowe, a merchant
tailor, for the bellman of St. Sepulchre's to
come to Newgate a little past the midnight
before the execution of prisoners, to ring his
bell under the grated windows of the condemned
hold, repeating the following well-meaning but
doggrel verses:

All you that in the condemn'd-hold do lie,
Prepare you, for to-morrow you shall die.
Watch all and pray, the hour is drawing near,
That you before th' Almighty must appear.
Examine well yourselves, in time repent,
That you may not t' eternal flames be sent:
And when St. 'Pulchre's bell to-morrow tolls,
The Lord above have mercy on your souls!
                                                 Past twelve o'clock!

Some prisoner or turnkey calling to Sarah
Malcolm, and bidding her mind what the bellman
said, she replied that she did. When the bellman
finished, she looked out of window, and
cried:

"D'ye hear, Mr. Bellman, call for a pint of
wine, and I'll throw you a shilling to pay for it."

She then threw down the shilling.

On the Sunday night, about ten o'clock, she
called to a man named Chambers—the prisoner
condemned to die the next day, and whose cell
was opposite her window—and asked him if she
should pray with him. He replied:

"Do, Sarah; let us pray with all our hearts."

She then prayed fervently till all the candles
were burnt out, and then exhorted him not to
go to sleep, but to spend the night in prayer to
God for forgiveness.

Some days before her execution, a Roman
Catholic priest, living at Kensington, wrote
Sarah Malcolm a letter to confirm her in the
faith in which she had been brought up, and
denouncing the "daily persecutions" of the
chaplain of Newgate—"the most ordinary of all
ordinaries," as the priest was pleased to
contemptuously term him. The letter began:

"Dear Sister in God,—I shall not say much
as to your present unhappy circumstances,
because I am not certain they are so, and yet I
cannot help saying, I am concerned to hear so
many vile heretics reproach you for being guilty
of a crime, far less than they themselves live in
the constant practice of. I do assure you that
the prayers of the faithful are not wanting for
the delivery of you out of your trouble, but as
it hath pleased God to call you out of the world
in the manner you are now acquainted with, I
hope you will submit to it as becomes a true
Catholic Christian; and as it is ordered you
must die, the manner of it is not worth your
concern, whether you are seen by ten or ten
thousand people, nor can it make any alteration
in your case, whether they all cry for you or
against you; since it is no more in their power
to save you from the power of the law, than it
is to aggravate the punishment of it. And as
to the place where you suffer, though it may
please your enemies, it cannot in the least add
to your afflictions."

The letter went on wildly enough:

"God will as certainly reward you if you
trust in Him, notwithstanding so many
unthinking wretches are for sending you to hell
for being the instrument of sending a few poor
souls to heaven a little before their time."

She was sentenced to be hanged in Fleet-
street, near Mitre-court, on the 7th of March,
1733. There was no long ride to Tyburn and
the green fields; no dismal procession between
miles of windows, crowded with faces; no stopping
at St. Sepulchre's steps for the bellman's
mechanical prayer and the nosegay, nor at St.
Giles's for the bowl. Almost to the last she was
alternately firm and calm, then she sunk in
profound despair.

The chaplain says:

"At the place of execution she appeared
pretty serene and calm, reading in a book. I
prayed with her, and she appeared very serious
and devout; lastly she could not compose herself,
but cried most bitterly all the time. As I was
concluding the prayers, and recommending her soul
at the point of death to the Almighty, she
fainted away, and it was a good while before she
recovered. Just before the cart drew away
she looked towards the Temple, and cried,
'Oh! my master! My master! I wish I
could see him!' and then, looking up to heaven,
often cried, 'Lord have mercy on me, Lord
receive my spirit!' and then the cart withdrew."

Sarah Malcolm was buried in the churchyard
of St. Sepulchre's. Tracey and the Alexanders
were eventually discharged, as no certain proof
could be obtained of their complicity.

VENETIAN TALES.

ON a former occasion we gave three popular
tales collected from the oral traditions of the
Venetian peasantry by two German travellers.*
We now give two others, derived from the same
source:

A certain fisherman resembled many others
of the same calling in the circumstance that
he had a large family, and was almost without
the means of supporting it. When one day he
found himself unable to catch a single fish, he
gave himself up to sheer despair, from which he

* See page 332 of the present volume.