and answer-do they look like Sabbath breakers or keepers, followers of the doctrines of a pure and holy religion, or determined haters of all that morality which interferes with their evil passions? Ah! my friend, you answer justly when you say you would not marry a girl who is amongst them, nor would you associate with such ribald jibers and hardened reprobates. Why, some of them are swearing oaths too horrible to listen to, and others are planning the perpetration of a crime as they await the final exit of an unfortunate fellow-creature. There is no pity, no wish that their ends may not be like unto his; but there is a simple curiosity, and a questioning as to whether Biddulph will die game. Whether he will go out of the world with a jibe and a curse at humanity, or whether he will embrace that everlasting happiness which invites him to partake of it. Yes, there the motley crowd stand, ready with a hearty cheer if he comes up boldly, and puts his neck to the beam bravely, or a continuous hiss if he is sorry for the crime he has committed, and is bold enough to tell his fellow-creatures that he has honestly repented. And are such people worthy of supporting a dying man at the most trying instant of his whole existence?

Soon the sheriffs enter the prison, and the hangman, and the reporters of the public press, and one or two friends of the officials who are curious as to the manner of his bearing before his appearance upon the gallows. Inside the walls of Newgate the unfortunate prisoner heard the quarters toll one after the other, and as they came, or appeared to come so quickly, the muscles of his face shook a little, and his eyelids moved spasmodically, but beyond that the jailors who had been sitting up with him did not perceive the slightest difference.

During the night the chaplain had been admitted now and then to the prisoner, but all his ministration seemed to have no effect upon the man, for he sat with his eyes fixed upon the stone walls of the cell, and looking at them as though they had been a picture. The turnkeys spoke, but got no answer, and even the old bone's appearance had no other effect upon him, for he assumed a dogged and determined silence which puzzled even the doctor of the prison.

Towards the appointed time the sheriffs went in and questioned him as to any confession he might wish to make, but they were not more fortunate than those who had been before them.

A few minutes before eight a man entered the cell with a rope, and lashed his hands behind him; but he had little difficulty in effecting his purpose, as the prisoner's limbs appeared paralyzed, and did not resist the operation. Then the procession was formed, and Biddulph fell in as though he had been a portion of clock work, when having passed through a yard they went along a dark passage, and soon got to the foot of the gallows. The ordinary tried all the means in his power to attract the attention of Biddulph, but without any kind of effect whatsoever, for his eyes were fixed upon a thought, and were not to be disturbed by anything.

The bell tolled as the officers ascended the scaffold, and the Christian clergyman read the burial service in a sepulchral tone of voice, when the hardened man followed those who had gone before him, and appeared in the presence of the people so suddenly that they knew not which

was which in the crowd. Soon they recognized the murderer, when a variety of noises were heard for a time, and then a thrilling silence occurred which resulted from curiosity on the one hand, and anxiety on the other.

The man's face as it appeared that day upon the scaffold was that of a hardened and determined reprobate. In fact, just such a face as an actor would have given the world to have imitated on his way across the stage towards a poetical execution. There was the scorn of the heart, and there was a fixity of devilism, so true and so wrought to a point and purpose that it was painful to examine. Yet, determined and diseased as that face was, there was something to pity in it, for it was a book or an old picture of the law of circumstances. So thought some persons who witnessed it, and more particularly Smiler, for he now made his appearance upon the platform over the sweetshop, where being quickly followed by Rum Striker-who, by the bye, had just finished a large sheet of hardbake quickly followed by Striker the black, and as the advertisements had forewarned the people that something was expected, the whole of the crowd turned their attention towards them. Yes, the sheriffs as well as the hangman and ordinary were impelled by curiosity to stop the proceedings for a time.

Ephraim was dressed in the plain attire of his order, and he held in his right hand a large cast which corresponded exactly with that of the murderer's face upon the scaffold. It had all the evidences of guilt upon it, and each furrow was indented with a crime. Smiler after a time hung it upon a nail which was in front of the platform, and took hold of another large cast of a face which was what Richard Biddulph was when he first joined the school of Dr. Frampton. There was joy and happiness in the one cast, which corresponded gloomily with the haggard and determined expression of the other; so that when the boy's face had been put on a level with the man's, and Rum Striker came forward with a large rod pointing at the youth's face first, and then at the murderer's, the crowd understood the object in a moment, and set up one continuous cry of " Shame !" which penetrated right into the cells of Newgate. There the three evidences hung opposite to the living criminal, who had not uttered a single exclamation; but when the chaplain asked if he would say some prayer before his execution, the man turned his withered face to the representative of the church, and said, emphatically,

"I killed the schoolmaster, and if it be a crime I am ready to take the consequences."

This was the sentiment of a corrupted man, but for all that it shall stand in the history. The same stubbornness again came over his face, the same hardened determination; and when the hangman put the rope around his neck he did not flinch, but bore the punishment more like a hero than a criminal.

For the rest see the newspaper. After hanging the usual time the body of the corrupted school-boy was cut down and given over to the surgeons for dissection.

CHAPTER LV. AND LAST.

THE CURTAIN FALLS, AND THE PARSON AND THE CLERK GO OUT.

There, the prompter has whistled, and the carpenters have set the machinery to work, so as to shut out the stage from the public view, by means of a curtain; so that, my dear reader, you will please to observe the vast heap of manuscript which stands in a pile right in the centre of the boards, waiting for immediate conflagration. The written upon paper has been before the compositors, and has been struck off by the pressmen; so then that ballet girl is quite justified in going upon tip-toes with a box of lucifers in her hands, so as to produce what is called by the critics a theatrical effect. See, she takes a match, scrapes it on the sand-paper, and gracefully places the element to the pile; so I advise you to turn your heads away whilst the ravage is effected, as I wish particularly to call your attention to the embers. There now, it has burnt itself out, and nothing remains but the ruins of what was once useful, and might in other hands have been made powerful-the black embers with the bright sparks flying about in all directions upon it and trying which shall exist the longest. Be a child, my friend, and agree with me that they represent the parson and the clerk. Before they go out of church, however, look at the congregation.

The old bone and Jerico are there, and here, and everywhere- they are not creatures of a book, but everlasting emblems of divinity. They m x with the poor now, and try to ease the aching heart of the afflicted.

Smiler and Mary, with the Black, Death and his wife, and the colonel-ay, and the various other personages who have had their likenesses taken in this book are sparks also, as real as the stars in Heaven.

What they are doing now must remain to be found out by the reader, but if he is young or old he may be either a spark-for life is but a mere spark-as bright as Mr. Howard, or a very curse to his kindred.

Flogging is a spark.

The punishment of death is a spark.

The Poor Laws are so many sparks.

But then there are sparks which are brighter than other sparks, and make their smiles penetrate into the thresholds of the poor, the halt, and the blind.

See, the congregation are all out of church, and the parson stands alone in the pulpit. He says a prayer, and asks God to bless the whole world, and bring about universal happiness. The clerk cries amen, so let us follow in the same breath, "So be it."

AN END.

THE ENDURING AND THE ABIDING.

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

An infant poet open'd his soul's eyes
On the glad sun reveal'd in summer skies,

And these two vowed that, thenceforth and for ever,
Together o'er the green earth they would roam,
Twin-gods, the sharers of one radiant home,
To be o'erclouded never.

The holiest moon pour'd on him from above
The fulness of her passionless, calm love,

And straight his spirit claim'd her as a mother;
And every kindly, twinkling star that shone,
Hail'd with instinctive yearning as his own,
To him became a brother.

He drank the free breath of the many-toned,
And wizard wind, and all his spirit owned

A portion with the mystery of its flowing;
The silent summer rain, the balmy dew,
Brought freshness ever to the feelings true,
Within his deep heart growing.

Mountains, and valleys, and dark hanging woods,
Lone lakes, and waterfalls, and ocean floods-

To him the varied shrines of one devotion-
Became a part of him, another sense,
Faithful responders to his soul's intense
And fathomless emotion.

Flowers greeted him in their unrivall'd youth,
And his heart pledg'd them all its taintless truth-
A blessed compact, love without love's scheming-
They cloth'd his soul with one unfading wreath,
And on the sweetness of their heavenward breath
He revelled in his dreaming.

The spring-shower of young leaves, the summer's prime,
The autumn's fall, each found him in their time,

A welcome worshipper in forest's hoary;

Or by green hedge-rows where the woodbines run,
Or on lone heaths far stretching to the sun
In gold and purple glory.

He knew the wild note of each minstrel bird;
He track'd the lark ere yet the fresh grass stirr'd;

And from his eyry with the eagle soaring,

He found in every melody of day,

In every twilight breath, a brighten'd way,
For all his soul's adoring.

And thus from nature up to nature's God
He joyous turn'd, still gathering from the sod
Its primal truths, each thought from ill securing;
While Heaven look'd down approving on its son,
On him whose spirit from the dust had won
Thus much of THE ENDURING.

That youthful poet walk'd forth in the crowd,
With all those melodies of nature, loud

And clear, and sweet, amid his heart-chords pealing; Trusting to hear full many an echo there,

Whose glad responses to his own should bear
Some kindred mind's revealing.

And with the freshness of his spirit's hope,
And with the faith that had not learn'd to cope
With faithlessness-in man inherent only-
And with the deep love strengthening in his breast
He colour'd all things, and awhile found rest,
Deeming not he was lonely.

But soon the iron pressure of the throng,

On whose dark current he was borne along,

To every thought life's sterner truths had spoken; And rude realities around him drew,

Leaving no outlet for the faith that blew

The bubbles these had broken.

Ill fared the feelings warm, the glowing thought,

So vainly to that hostile region brought,

Haunt of the false, the cold, the weary-hearted;

Nature still held true empire in his mind,
But from those cherish'd visions of his kind

The glory had departed.

Bright thoughts, of faith alike, and beauty born,
Won from the crowd one echo of deep scorn,

The high, true purpose of his dreams deriding;
The world turn'd coldly from him to its own,
His portion there was darkly cast alone,
And this was THE ABIDING.

What marvel if the poet pass'd not through
That ordeal, keeping still his footsteps true?
What marvel if he fell where all were falling?
A fearful fall! to him whose conscious choice
Had been the good, to whom the still, small voice
Of God was ever calling.

Thenceforward with a lonely thought he pass'd
Upon his way; his spirit to the last

Bowed with the wealth it would have freely given, Till death accorded him one common claim;

And then men granted an immortal name

To him that had won heaven.