The Chronicles of Crime or The New Newgate Calendar. v. 2/2 / being a series of memoirs and anecdotes of notorious characters who have outraged the laws of Great Britain from the earliest period to 1841

CAPTAIN JOHN BURGH MONTGOMERY, alias COLONEL WALLACE, alias COLONEL MORGAN.

CONVICTED OF FORGERY.

On Friday morning at six o’clock, the door of his cell was opened, and on the bed, stretched at full length, was seen the body of John Montgomery, cold and breathless. The sensation created by this discovery within the jail was most extraordinary; and the assistance of Mr. Box, the surgeon of the prison, having been immediately procured, every effort was made to restore suspended animation, and, when that was found unavailing, to ascertain the cause of death. An investigation was immediately set on foot by the sheriffs; but they failed to discover any circumstance from which it could be inferred that the deceased had been assisted in his design, by any person in or connected with the jail. All search to discover the means of causing death for some time proved ineffectual, but at length, in one corner of the cell, a small phial was found, labelled “Prussic Acid,” which at once unravelled the mystery of the unhappy man’s death. It was supposed that he had carried about his person, ever since he had commenced the practice of passing forged notes, what he looked upon as an “antidote against disgrace;” but, to say the least of it, he must have been exceedingly ingenious to have concealed the poison so long after his apprehension, as he was frequently searched, supposing that he had employed the same drug to destroy himself, which he possessed before his committal to Newgate. Upon an examination of the letters, to which we have alluded as having been written by him on the night before his death, it was found that in one, which he had addressed to Mr. Box, he gave up his body to be dissected, expressing a wish, however that the heart should be preserved in spirits and conveyed to a female to whom he had long been fondly attached. In that which he wrote to Wakefield, he alluded to their short acquaintance in the jail, and declared that he was perfectly ready to pass into another world; although his letter contained no reference to the means by which the transition should take place. A third letter was found, addressed to the female mentioned in the communication to Mr. Box; but in neither of them was there any allusion to the mode by which he intended to terminate his existence.

On the following day a coroner’s inquest was held on the body of the deceased man, when a verdict of felo de se was returned; and his remains were interred at ten o’clock at night, in the grave-yard adjoining St. Sepulchre’s church.

This unfortunate man, who gave his age in Newgate as only thirty-three, was, in fact, nearly forty years old; but his appearance bore out the assertion which he made. He was born in the town of Naas, in the county of Kildare, about fifteen miles from Dublin. His father had been a corn and flour merchant, and a considerable holder of land; and having by dint of industry amassed a large sum of money, he became a magistrate for the county of Kildare, and was much respected. He had four children besides the unfortunate subject of this sketch, namely, two females, who were respectably married, and two sons, one of whom was a lieutenant-colonel in the British service, while the other was a solicitor, and the senior partner in a firm of great respectability in Dublin. The deceased was early in life of a dissipated turn, and quitted home to take a commission in a foot regiment, which had been procured for him, in order to keep him out of harm’s way. He soon retired from the army, however, although he retained the title given to him by his commission. At an early period of his career, he became an adept at forgery; and counterfeited the signature of the Hon. Mr. Neville, at that time M.P. for the county of Kildare, who wrote an extremely cramped and illegible hand, to such a degree of perfection, that that gentleman himself was only able to detect the imposition by the fact, that he had never placed his signature to an instrument like that which had been forged. Young Montgomery escaped prosecution in this instance, on account of the respectability of his family, and he shortly after came to London. He there assumed the airs of a person of fortune; mixed in good society, and for a considerable time lived upon “his appearance.” His cheats and swindling were of daily occurrence; and in one instance, having been detected in a transaction of no very honest character, he only escaped punishment by refunding such portion of the money which he had obtained as he had not spent, and by giving up his watch and trinkets to make up the deficiency. He was frequently in prison for debt; first in Newgate, and afterwards in the King’s Bench, and after his discharge from the latter place, where he had undergone a detention of three years’ duration, he was on the point of marriage with the daughter of a gentleman of respectability, to whom he had represented himself as his brother, Colonel Montgomery, when the fraud was discovered, and the match broken off, at the very moment when it was about to be completed. Being now reduced to the lowest ebb, and having no longer any chance of living upon credit, he resorted to the circulation of forged bank-notes as affording him the only means left of obtaining a livelihood.

WILLIAM CORDER.

EXECUTED FOR THE MURDER OF MARIA MARTEN.

William Corder was the son of an opulent farmer at Polstead, and having become acquainted with the unfortunate girl Marten, the consequence of an illicit intercourse which took place between them, was a child. From that time he became much attached to her, and was a frequent visitor at her father’s house. The child died within a short period of its birth, and from the circumstances of its having died suddenly, and of Corder having taken it away at night, and disposed of its body in a manner which he would never explain, an idea was entertained that it had come unfairly by its death. However strongly this notion may have taken possession of the public mind, after the apprehension of Corder, it does not appear that any real evidence was ever produced publicly, to support the impression which had got abroad; but certain it is, that the unhappy girl made use of the circumstance as a means of endeavouring to procure

Corder shooting Maria Marten.
P. 147.

the father of the child to fulfil a promise which he had made, that he would make her his wife. On the 18th of May 1827, Corder called at the house of old Marten, and then expressed his willingness that the ceremony should be performed; and he said that, in order that no time should be lost, and that the marriage might be as private as possible, he had made up his mind to have it celebrated by licence instead of by bans. The next day was appointed for the wedding, and he persuaded the unhappy girl to dress herself in a suit of his clothes, so as to secure the greatest secrecy, and to accompany him to a part of his premises called the Red Barn, where she could exchange them for her own, and from whence he would convey her in a gig, which he had in readiness, to a church at Ipswich. The girl having consented to this singular proposition, Corder immediately quitted the house, and he was soon after followed by his unhappy victim, who carried with her such part of her own clothes as would be necessary to appear with in church. In the course of a conversation which took place between Corder and the mother of the girl, before their going away, the former repeatedly declared his intention to make the girl his lawful wife, and he urged as a reason why she should go with him immediately, that he knew that a warrant had been issued against her, for her bastard children. Within a few minutes after Corder had quitted the house, he was seen by the brother of the girl walking in the direction towards the Red Barn, with a pick-axe over his shoulder; but from this time nothing was ever heard of the unfortunate girl, except through the fictitious communications received from Corder, who still remained at his mother’s house at Polstead. The return of Maria Marten had been expected to take place within one or two days after the time of her quitting her fathers house; but as she had occasionally before exhibited considerable irregularity in the duration of her visits to Corder, and as, besides, there was an understanding that the latter should procure her a temporary lodging, little anxiety or alarm was at first felt at her prolonged absence. A fortnight having elapsed, however, her mother proceeded to question Corder upon the subject, when he declared that she was quite safe and well, and that he had placed her at some distance, lest his friends might discover the fact of his marriage, and exhibit displeasure at the circumstance. Having thus from time to time put off the inquiries which were made of him, in the month of September, declaring that he was in ill health, he quitted Suffolk with the avowed object of proceeding to the Continent; and it is not a little remarkable, that before he left Polstead, he expressed great anxiety that the Red Barn should be well filled with stock, a desire which he personally saw fulfilled. He took with him about 400l. in money; and several letters were subsequently received by his mother, who was a widow, as well as the Martens, in which he stated that he was living at the Isle of Wight with Maria. It was remarked that although he represented his residence to be in the Isle of Wight, his letters always bore the London postmark; and at length strange surmises and suspicions began to be entertained, in consequence of no personal communication having yet been received from his supposed wife. The parents of the unhappy girl became more and more disturbed and dissatisfied; and the circumstances, which eventually led to the discovery of this most atrocious crime, are of so extraordinary and romantic a nature, as almost to manifest an especial interposition of Providence in marking out the offender. In the course of the month of March 1828, Mrs. Marten dreamed on three successive nights that her daughter had been murdered and buried in the Red Barn. Terrified at the repetition of the vision, an undefined suspicion, which she had always entertained, that her daughter had been unfairly dealt with, appeared fully confirmed in her own mind; and so lively were her feelings, and so convinced was she of the truth of the augury, that on Saturday, the 19th of April, she persuaded her husband to apply for permission to examine the Red Barn, with the professed object of looking for their daughter’s clothes. The grain which had been deposited in the barn had by this time been removed, and the permission having been obtained, the wretched father proceeded to the accomplishment of the object he had in view. He applied himself to the spot pointed out to his wife in her dream, as the place in which her daughter’s remains were deposited; and there, upon digging, he turned up a piece of the shawl which he knew his daughter had worn at the time of her quitting her home. Alarmed at the discovery, he prosecuted his search still further, and having dug to the depth of eighteen inches, with his rake he dragged out a part of a human body. Horror-struck, he staggered from the spot; but subsequent examination proved that his suspicions were well founded, and that it was indeed his murdered daughter, the place of deposit of whose remains had been so remarkably pointed out. The body, as may be supposed, was in an advanced state of decomposition; but the dress, which was perfect, and certain marks in the teeth of the deceased, afforded sufficient proofs of her identity.

As may be imagined, the whole neighbourhood was in an uproar of confusion at this most extraordinary circumstance; and information was immediately conveyed to the coroner, in order that an inquest might be held. By the time a coroner’s jury had assembled, a surgical examination of the body had taken place; and Mr. John Lawden, a surgeon, proved, that there were appearances yet remaining sufficient to indicate that the deceased had come to her death by violent means. He said that there was a visible appearance of blood on the face and on the clothes of the deceased, and also on a handkerchief which was round the neck; that the handkerchief appeared to have been tied extremely tight, and beneath the folds, a wound was visible in the throat, which had evidently been inflicted by some sharp instrument. There was also a wound in the orbit of the right eye; and it seemed as if something had been thrust in which had fractured the small bones, and penetrated the brain. On the finding of the body, it was partly enveloped in a sack, and it was clothed only in a shift, flannel petticoat, stays, stockings, and shoes.

No sooner had the body been discovered than all eyes turned to Corder as the murderer; and information having been despatched to London, Lea, an officer of Lambeth-street, was forthwith sent in pursuit of the supposed offender. With a loose clue only he traced him from place to place, until at length he found him residing at Grove House, Ealing-lane, near Brentford, where, in conjunction with his wife, whom he had married only about five months before, and to whom, it was said, he had introduced himself through the medium of a matrimonial advertisement, he was carrying on a school for young ladies. It was necessary to employ a degree of stratagem to obtain admission to the house; but at length, Lea, having represented that he had a daughter, whom he wished to put to school, he was introduced to a parlour, where he found the object of his search sitting at breakfast with four ladies. He was in his dressing-gown, and he had his watch before him, with which he was minuting the boiling of some eggs. The officer having called him on one side, informed him that he had a serious charge against him, and inquired whether he was not acquainted with a person named Maria Marten at Polstead; but he denied that he had any knowledge of such a person even by name. He was then secured; and upon his house being searched, a brace of pistols, a powder-flask, and some balls, were found in a velvet bag, which on its being subsequently seen by Mrs. Marten, was immediately identified by her as having been in the possession of her daughter at the time of her quitting her house for the last time. A sharp-pointed dagger was also found, and this was identified by a person named Offord, a cutler, as being one which he had ground for the prisoner within a few days before the murder was committed. The prisoner immediately on his apprehension was conducted to Polstead, in order that he might undergo an examination before the coroner; and the most lively interest was exhibited by the vast crowds of people who had assembled, to catch a glimpse of him on his being brought into the town. On his appearance before the coroner, he was dreadfully agitated; and the circumstances which we have described having been deposed to by various witnesses, a verdict of “Wilful Murder” was returned against William Corder.

The unhappy prisoner was immediately conveyed to the county jail to await his trial; but he had hardly been lodged within its walls, before a new charge, namely, that of forgery upon the Manningtree Bank, was laid against him. It appears, however, that through the intervention of his friends, this case was eventually compromised. The wife of the prisoner, upon his first apprehension, was under an impression that the offence imputed to her husband was that of bigamy; but she was soon informed of the real nature of the allegations made against him. During his detention in jail, she visited him nearly every day; and she continued to declare her belief, that the statements which appeared in the papers with regard to his guilt were untrue; and that he would eventually be relieved by a jury of his country from the foul calumnies which were published against him.

Thursday 7th of August in the same year was appointed for the trial of this malefactor, and the anxiety to witness the proceedings in court, or to obtain early information in reference to the case, which almost universally prevailed, was strongly manifested by the assembling of hundreds of well-dressed persons of both sexes, round the front and back entrances to the Shire Hall, Bury St. Edmunds, as early as five o’clock in the morning of that day. The rain fell in torrents, but many persons braving the weather, remained without shelter until nine o’clock, when the Lord Chief Baron (Alexander) arrived, to try the prisoner. At the moment his lordship gained admission to the court, the scene which presented itself beggars description. The barristers who attended the circuit, amongst whom were to be observed the counsel for the prosecution and the defence, in vain struggled against the pressure of the opposing crowd, and many of them, at the moment they had almost attained their object, were carried back in an exhausted state to the extremest verge of the assembled multitude. When his lordship had taken his seat on the bench, the names of the jury who had been summoned to try the prisoner were called over; but the crowd was so great, and the sheriff’s force so ineffective, that it was almost impossible to make way for them into the court. They were after the lapse of nearly an hour brought over the heads of the crowd into the passage leading into the hall; some with their coats torn, their shoes off, and nearly fainting.

Nor was the curiosity of the public confined to the court-house. Hundreds had early assembled at the door of the jail, and along the road leading thence to the Shire Hall, anxious to catch a glimpse of the accused. He left the jail at a quarter before nine o’clock, having previously attired himself with much care in a new suit of black, and combed his hair over his forehead, which he had previously worn brushed up in front. Upon his being called from his cell, he made some inquiries with regard to the number of witnesses who were to be called for the prosecution, and also with regard to the judges by whom he was to be tried, and his queries having been answered, he exclaimed, “Well, whatever may be my fate, I shall meet it with fortitude.” He was then removed in a chaise cart from the jail to the Hall, and although he hung down his head all the way, he seemed little affected by the shouts and groans with which he was on all hands assailed. On his being taken to the felon’s room, beneath the building, he remarked to Mr. Orridge, the governor of the prison, “What a great number of persons! I scarcely ever saw such a crowd.” At a quarter past ten o’clock, the prisoner was brought into court and placed in the front of the dock. For a few moments he conversed with his solicitor, but then he looked up to the bench, and bowed respectfully. On account of the number of challenges made by the prisoner, it was some time before a jury was empanelled. At length, however, the prisoner was arraigned upon the indictment preferred against him. It contained ten counts. In the first, the murder was alleged to have been committed by the prisoner on the 18th of May 1827, by discharging a pistol, loaded with powder and shot, upon Maria Marten, and thereby giving her a mortal wound on the left side of the face; and that by those means, wilfully, feloniously, and of his malice aforethought, he caused the death of the said Maria Marten. The second count laid the offence as having been committed by striking the deceased with a sword upon the left side of the body, between the fifth and sixth ribs, and thereby giving her a mortal wound, of which she instantly died; the third count stated that the murder was committed by striking the deceased with a sword on the left side of the face; the fourth, that it was done by sticking and stabbing her with a sword on the right side of the neck; the fifth, that the prisoner fastened a handkerchief around her neck, and thereby choked her; the sixth, that he killed her by discharging a gun loaded with powder and shot on the left side of her face; the seventh, that he pushed and thrust her into a hole made in the floor of a barn, and, by covering her with large quantities of earth and gravel, suffocated and choked her; the eighth was only technically different from the preceding one; the ninth laid the offence to have been committed by the joint means of sticking the deceased with a sword on the left side, and fastening a handkerchief round her neck; the tenth described it as being done by the joint force of all the felonious acts laid in the whole of the preceding counts—recapitulating the wounds, stabbing, shooting, strangulation, and smothering, as the cause of the death of the deceased.

The prisoner having pleaded Not Guilty, in a firm and distinct voice, the trial commenced. The evidence which was now adduced differed but slightly in effect from the circumstances which we have detailed. Proof was, however, given in support of the first and sixth counts of the indictment, that at the time of the discovery of the body of the deceased marks were distinctly visible, which showed that she had received a pistol-shot or a gun-shot wound; and it was also proved, by the brother of the deceased girl, that the prisoner, at the time of his quitting the house of old Marten on the day of the murder, carried a loaded gun. A number of letters were likewise put in, which had been written by the prisoner to the father of the deceased in reference to his intended marriage with his daughter.

The prisoner, on being called upon for his defence, read a manuscript paper in a low and tremulous tone of voice. He declared that he deeply deplored the death of the unfortunate female in question; and he urged the jury to dismiss from their minds all that prejudice which must necessarily have been excited against him, by the foul imputations which had been cast upon him by the public press. He admitted that the evidence which had been adduced, was sufficient to create some suspicion against him; but he trusted that the explanation which he should give of the circumstances, would at once explain, to their satisfaction, the real bearings of the case. He then proceeded to say, “No man regrets more sincerely than I do the death of the unfortunate Maria, the circumstances attending which I am now about to state; and much have I to regret, that I for a moment concealed them, but I did so because I was stupified and horror-struck at the time, and knew not how to act. You have heard of the nature of my connexion with the unfortunate Maria; that connexion was contrary to the will of my mother, and to conceal her situation, I took lodgings for her at Sudbury, where she was confined. In the usual time she returned to her father’s house; in a fortnight after which the infant died—not, as has been intimated, by violence, but a natural death. Being anxious to conceal the circumstance from my friends and neighbours, it was agreed between her father, and mother, and myself, that Maria and I should bury the child in the fields, and we took it away for that purpose. After this Maria returned to my house at Polstead; and by means of a private staircase I took her to my own room, where she remained concealed for two days. The pistols which have been spoken of were hanging up in the room loaded. I had before that shown her the use of them, and on returning to her father’s, she, by some means unknown to me, contrived to get the pistols into her possession. It is well known that at that period Maria was much depressed in spirits, and was anxious that I should marry her, although I had reason to suspect that she was at the time in correspondence with a gentleman in London by whom she had a child. My friends objected to the match, and I declined it at the time. But although poor Maria’s conduct was not altogether free from blame. I was much attached to her, and at length agreed to her wishes; and it was arranged that we should go to Ipswich and obtain a licence for that purpose. Whether I did or did not say anything about a warrant having been issued by the parish officers for her apprehension, I cannot now pretend to say; but if I did, it must have been because such a report was abroad at the time. It was agreed that Maria should go in male attire to the Red Barn so often mentioned in the course of the trial. You have heard from the mother of unfortunate Maria, that she and I had had words. As we proceeded to the Barn she was in tears. To that Barn we had often repaired before, and frequently passed the night there. When we reached the Barn, words arose, and Maria flew into a passion. I told her that if we were to be married, and to live together, she must not go on so. Much conversation ensued, and on changing her dress, she at length told me, that if we were married we should never be happy together—that I was too proud to marry her and take her to my mother’s, and that she did not regard me. I was highly irritated, and asked her, if she was to go on this way before marriage, what was I to expect after? She again upbraided me, and being in a passion, I told her I would not marry her, and turned from the Barn, but I had scarcely reached the gate when a report of a pistol reached my ear. I returned to the Barn, and with horror beheld the unfortunate girl extended on the floor, apparently dead: I was for a short time stupified with horror, and knew not what to do. It struck me to run for a surgeon; and well would it have been for me had I done so. But I raised the unfortunate girl, in order, if possible, to afford her some assistance; but I found her altogether lifeless; and, to my horror, I discovered that the dreadful act had been committed by one of my own pistols, and that I was the only person in existence who could tell how the fatal act took place. The sudden alarm which seized me suspended my faculties, and I was for some time before I could perceive the awful situation in which I was placed, and the suspicions which must naturally arise from my having delayed to make the circumstance instantly known. I, at length, found that concealment was the only means by which I could rescue myself from the horrid imputation; and I resolved to bury the body as well as I was able. Having done so, I subsequently accounted for her absence in the manner described by the witnesses, saying sometimes one thing to one person, and at other times other things to another. I may be asked why, if innocent of the crime imputed to me, I felt it necessary to give those answers? To which I answer, that some persons are driven to do acts from fear which others do from guilt, which is precisely the case with me in this instance. It may be asked, too, why I have not called evidence to prove the facts I have stated; but, gentlemen, I put it to you whether things do not sometimes take place which are only known to the parties between whom they happen; and what direct proof can I give when the only person who knew of these facts is no more? I can for the same reason give no direct proof of the unhappy woman’s having got possession of my pistols. I say pistols, because I found the other loaded pistol in the unfortunate Maria’s reticule. As to the stabs and other wounds described by the witnesses, I can only say that no stab or cut was given by Maria or myself; and I firmly believe that the surgeons would never have sworn to them, were it not for the circumstance of a sword having been found in the room in which I was arrested. If any stab did appear upon the body, it must have been done with the instrument used in disinterring it.”

Having concluded his address by a strong appeal to the jury upon the probabilities of the case, a number of witnesses were called, who spoke to the prisoner’s good character. The Lord Chief Baron summed up, and a verdict of “Guilty” was returned. At this point the prisoner was first observed to raise his handkerchief to his eyes; and during the subsequent passing of the sentence of death, he seemed to be dreadfully affected. On his return to the jail, he seemed to recover his spirits; but the only desire which he expressed was, that he should be permitted to see his wife. To this request an immediate assent was given, and at two o’clock on the Saturday afternoon, she was admitted to the prisoner. The meeting between her and her wretched husband was of a most affecting character, and it did not terminate until near an hour had elapsed. During that evening, the prisoner was constantly attended by the reverend chaplain of the jail; but notwithstanding the religious exhortations which he received, he exhibited no inclination to make any confession of his crime. On the following day the prisoner attended chapel in the customary manner, and during the performance of the service he appeared deeply affected. On his return to his cell, he threw himself upon his bed and wept bitterly for a considerable time. In the course of the afternoon, it was hinted to him that his defence could scarcely be believed; but in answer he said that, “Confession to God was all that was necessary, and that confession to man was what he called popedom or popery, and he never would do it.” It was subsequently suggested to him that he must have had great nerve to dig the grave while the body lay in his sight, when his reply was, “Nobody knows that the body lay in the barn and in sight, whilst I dug the hole;” but then, suddenly checking himself, he exclaimed, “O God! nobody will dig my grave.” In the course of the afternoon, he had a second and last interview with his wife, and the scene was truly heart-rending. He expressed the most anxious fears with regard to the manner in which she would be in future treated by the world; and implored her, should she ever marry again, to be cautious how she accepted a proposition reaching her through the equivocal medium of a public advertisement. The parting scene was most dreadful, and the wretched woman was carried away from the cell in a state of stupor. After Mrs. Corder had retired, Mr. Orridge, the worthy governor of the jail, made the strongest efforts to induce the unhappy prisoner to confess, pointing out to him how greatly he would add to his crime, should he quit the world still denying his guilt. Corder then exclaimed, “O, sir, I wish I had made a confidant of you before, I often wished to have done it, but you know, sir, it was of no use to employ a legal adviser and then not follow his advice.” Mr. Orridge said that there was no doubt that was very proper, up to the time at which he was convicted, but that now all earthly considerations must cease. The wretched prisoner then exclaimed, “I am a guilty man,” and immediately afterwards made the following confession:—

On the next morning the confession was read over to the prisoner, and he declared that it was quite true; and he further said, in answer to a question put to him by the under-sheriff, that he thought the ball entered the right eye.

He subsequently appeared much easier in his mind, and attended service in the chapel immediately before his being carried out for execution. He still wore the clothes in which he was dressed at the time of his trial. As allusions were made to his unhappy situation in the prayers which were read, he appeared convulsed with agony; and when the service was over, although he appeared calm, his limbs gave up their office, and he was obliged to be carried to his cell.

At a few minutes before twelve o’clock he was removed from the dungeon in which he had been confined, and conveyed to the press-room, where he was pinioned by the hangman, who had been carried down from London for the purpose of superintending the execution. He was resigned, but was so weak as to be unable to stand without support. On his cravat being removed he groaned heavily, and appeared to be labouring under great mental agony. When his wrists and arms were made fast, he was led round towards the scaffold; and as he passed the different yards in which the prisoners were confined, he shook hands with them, and speaking to two of them by name, he said, “Good bye, God bless you!” They were considerably affected at the wretched appearance which he made; and “God bless you!” “May God receive your soul!” were frequently uttered as he passed along. The chaplain preceded the prisoner, reading the usual Burial Service, and the governor and officers walked immediately after him. The prisoner was supported up the steps which led to the scaffold; he looked somewhat wildly around, and a constable was obliged to support him while the hangman was adjusting the fatal cord. A few moments before the drop fell he groaned heavily, and would have fallen, had not a second constable caught hold of him. Everything having been made ready, the signal was given, the fatal drop fell, and the unfortunate man was launched into eternity. He did not struggle; but he raised his hands once or twice, as if in prayer; the hangman pulled his legs, and he was in a moment motionless. In about nine minutes, however, his shoulders appeared to rise in a convulsive movement; but life, it seemed, had left him without any great pain. Just before he was turned off, he said, in a feeble tone, “I am justly sentenced, and may God forgive me.” Mr. Orridge then informed the crowd that the prisoner acknowledged the justice of his sentence, and died in peace with all men. Thus did this unhappy man terminate, by an ignominious death, a life which, judging from his age and healthy appearance, might have been prolonged to an advanced period in comfort and independence.

The mob collected on this occasion was computed to amount to upwards of seven thousand persons, and occupied every spot of ground from which a glimpse of the final scene of the wretched man’s life could be obtained. A considerable portion of the persons collected were women; and as soon as the execution was over, they dispersed from before the drop, and proceeded to the Shire Hall, where a large number of persons had assembled in order to obtain a view of the body.

At two o’clock the body was exposed on the table in the centre of the Shire Hall; it was naked from the navel upwards. The crucial operation had been performed, and the skin of the breast and stomach turned back on each side. The body measured, as it lay, five feet five inches in length, and presented a very muscular appearance. The face and throat were somewhat swollen and discoloured, the right eye was open, and the left partially so; the mouth was also open sufficiently to show the teeth. The body was taken to the hospital the next day to be dissected, in pursuance of the sentence.

After the execution a spirited bidding took place for the rope which was used by the hangman; and as much as a guinea an inch was obtained for it. Large sums were offered for the pistols and dagger which were used in the murder, but they became the property of the sheriff of the county, who very properly refused to put them up to public competition. A piece of the skin of the wretched malefactor, which had been tanned, was exhibited for a long time afterwards at the shop of a leather-seller in Oxford-street.

We regret to say that little credit is to be attached to the confession which was made by the unhappy man on the night before his execution; for, taking the case in all its bearings, there can be little doubt that the murder was the result of premeditation. The pistols which the wretched malefactor carried with him had, according to the testimony of witnesses who were called for the defence, long been in his possession; but we are at a loss to know with what object he should have carried them in his pocket, loaded as they were, on the day of the murder, unless with a preconceived intention of taking away the life of his unhappy paramour. Upon consideration of the main features of the case, we fear that, revolting as such a conclusion must be to all persons possessing the common feelings of humanity, it must be supposed that the unhappy Maria Marten was enticed by her bloodthirsty assassin to the Red Barn, for the sole purpose of being there murdered. Corder’s possession of the gun and the pistols, as well as the circumstance of his having been seen carrying the pickaxe to the barn, all tend to confirm this belief; and if a motive be looked for sufficient to induce the commission of this most heinous offence, a second murder, namely that of the infant child of the malefactor and his victim, and a desire to conceal a secret which he knew to be in the possession of the latter, and which might have been employed by her to the detriment of her seducer, may be at once assigned. There can be little hesitation in imputing so fearful an addition to his offence as that to which we have alluded to a man, whose cold-blooded villany shines through every passage of his connexion with his miserable victim, and of his subsequent life. His conduct in buoying up the anxious and inquiring hopes of the girl’s mother after the murder, in so long residing on the very spot where his crime had been committed, probably in the daily habit of visiting the very barn, which was at once the scene of the death, and the grave of the wretched girl, exhibit him to have possessed a heart callous to the feelings of a man. Frightful, however, as was his crime against society, awful as was the expedient to which he resorted to get rid of what he deemed an annoyance and an obstruction to his wishes and comfort, he committed a no less dreadful offence against the welfare and happiness of the woman whom he made his wife, in permitting her to enter into the bonds of matrimony with him—a wretch, for whom even the punishment which he received at the hands of justice was scarcely retributive; knowing, as he did, that accident, one false step of his own, a persevering inquiry as to the place of abode of the girl Marten, would at once and for ever blast the hopes which she might have formed of future peace and domestic felicity. The mode in which he proceeded in this new insult to humanity, at once exhibited a heart upon which the recollection of past guilt could produce no effect.

The advertisement which he caused to be inserted in the paper was in the following form:—

“A private gentleman, aged twenty-four, entirely independent, whose disposition is not to be exceeded, has lately lost the chief of his family by the hand of Providence, which has occasioned amongst the remainder circumstances the most disagreeable to relate. To any female of respectability, who would study for domestic comfort, and who is willing to confide her future happiness to one in every way qualified to render the marriage state desirable, as the Advertiser is in affluence; many happy marriages have taken place through means similar to this now resorted to. It is hoped none will answer through impertinent curiosity: but should this meet the eye of any agreeable Lady who feels desirous of meeting with a sociable, tender, kind, and sympathising companion, she will find this advertisement worthy of notice. Honour and secrecy may be depended on. As some little security against idle application, it is requested that letters may be addressed (post paid) A. Z., care of Mr. Foster, stationer, 68, Leadenhall-street, with real name and address, which will meet with most respectful attention.”

The following curious conversation in reference to his marriage is related to have taken place after his conviction.

Attendant: Pray, Mr. Corder, may I ask whether it is true that it was by advertisement that you were first introduced to Mrs. Corder?—Corder: It is perfectly true.

Did you receive any answers to it?—I received no less than forty-five answers, and some of them from ladies in their carriages.

Really! well, that surprises me.—It may well surprise you, as it did myself, but I missed of a good ——

Pray how was that?—I will tell you. In one of the answers which I received, it was requested that I should attend a particular church on an appointed day, dressed in a particular way, and I should there meet a lady wearing a certain dress, and both understanding what we came about, no further introduction would be necessary.

But how could you know the particular lady, as there might be another lady dressed in the same way?—Oh, to guard against any mistake, the lady desired that I should wear a black handkerchief, and have my left arm in a sling; and in case I should not observe her, she would discover me and introduce herself.

And did you meet her?—I did not; I went to the church, but not in time, as the service was over when I got there.

Then as you did not meet her, how could you tell that she was a respectable woman?—Because the pew-opener told me that such a lady was inquiring for a gentleman of my description, and that she had come in an elegant carriage, and was a young woman of fortune. [Here the prisoner sighed heavily.]

Then you never saw her afterwards?—No, never; but I found out where she lived, and who she was; and would have had an interview with her, were it not that I was introduced to Mrs. Corder, and we never parted until we were married.

Pray, sir, was that long?—About a week.

We have reason to believe that this last assertion, like many of those made by the wretched man, was totally untrue; and that in reality he had been introduced to Mrs. Corder at a sea-port town, in the course of the summer before the marriage. They afterwards met at the shop of a pastry-cook in Fleet-street, and subsequently, singularly enough, the young lady having answered the advertisement, her next meeting with her future husband took place at the same shop. Mrs. Corder, whose maiden name was Moore, previously to her marriage kept a school in the neighbourhood of Gray’s-inn-lane, and was very respectably connected.

ANN HARRIS, JOHN COX THE ELDER, JOHN COX THE YOUNGER, ROBERT COX, AND JAMES PUGH.

CONVICTED OF MURDER.

It appeared that, in the neighbourhood of Market Drayton, on the borders of Shropshire and Staffordshire, there existed a dreadfully depraved set of people; and that a gang, to the amount, it was said, of from forty to sixty, was confederated for general purposes of plunder. The nucleus of this gang consisted of several persons, closely knit by ties of relationship, of connexion, and of neighbourhood, as well as of guilt; while the general depravity of the district enabled them, as occasion required, to add to their numbers, to almost any extent. One of these persons, by name Thomas Ellson, was in 1827 taken up for stealing potatoes; and, whilst in jail upon that charge, an accusation of sheep-stealing was brought against him. The chief evidence upon which this latter charge, a capital one, depended, was that of a man who had occasionally joined in the proceedings of the gang, named James Harrison. It became, therefore, the object of the friends of Ellson to get this man out of the way. First, they determined to poison him; and Ellson’s father-in-law, John Cox, went to an apothecary’s shop to buy arsenic for that purpose. The boy in the shop refused to sell it to him, unless some one else were by, which, as there was no one else in the house, could not then be the case; and Cox, probably not liking such formal proceedings, retired.

The next step was one of the most extraordinary in the whole case. Ann Harris, Ellson’s mother, who had married a second husband of the name of Harris, went to a woman living in Drayton, whom she knew, and asked her if her husband were not going to Newcastle. The woman answered that he was. “I wish then,” said Harris, “that he would buy me an ounce of arsenic.” “What do you want it for?” “I want it to poison that damned scoundrel, James Harrison.”—The woman upon this remonstrated—assured her it was a very wicked thing to poison James Harrison,—and, after some conversation, old Ann Harris went away, promising that she would not carry out her expressed intention.

Poison having failed, it was determined to have recourse to more direct means; and Ann Harris and old Cox subscribed fifty shillings a-piece, to hire Cox’s two sons, and a young fellow of the name of Pugh, to put Harrison to death! Harrison lodged in the house of Pugh’s father, and, it was said, occupied the same bed with Pugh himself. On the night of the murder, Pugh, to use his own expression, “ticed” Harrison out of the house, to go and steal some bacon. At a spot previously agreed upon, they met the two younger Coxes; and proceeding to a remote place, Pugh seized Harrison by the throat, while John Cox, the younger, took hold of his legs, and throwing him down, they strangled him. Meanwhile, Robert Cox was digging the grave!

The wretched man thus disposed of, everything remained perfectly quiet and unsuspected. It was generally supposed that he had gone out of the way to avoid giving evidence on Ellson’s trial; though it seems very extraordinary that, after the latter had been acquitted, the non-return of Harrison excited no suspicion. No supposition of his death, however, appeared to have arisen, and the murder was discovered only by the means of Ellson himself. As soon as this fellow came out of jail, the Coxes, Pugh, and his mother, at various times, sometimes when several of them were together, and sometimes separately, told him all that had taken place, vaunting to him how they had saved him. The very night of his release, old Cox, one of his sons, and Pugh, bragged to him, that “if it had not been for them, he would not be there,”—and the next day, when he was at his mother’s, Robert Cox came thither, and said to her with oaths and abuse, “If thee doesn’t give me more money, I will fetch him, and rear him up against thy door!”—alluding to the murdered man!

Nothing, however, transpired till towards the end of June 1828, when Ellson was taken up for stealing fowls, and then, in order to save himself from the punishment attending this offence (at the most seven years’ transportation), he told all that the guilty persons had told him; and on his evidence they were apprehended.

Such are the facts of this revolting case; but we must describe some of the peculiarities of the trial itself.

The five prisoners were placed at the bar: old Ann Harris stood first;—she seemed what would ordinarily be called a smart old woman—her features were small and regularly formed, and her countenance was remarkable only for a pair of exceedingly keen and sparkling black eyes, the expression of which, however, was certainly in no degree indicative of ferocity. Old Cox stood next to her, and his countenance presented a most unpleasing, almost revolting, aspect. It was easy to believe the current story that he was at the head of the gang at Drayton—the very patriarch of all the thieves and scoundrels in that part of the country. He had, undoubtedly, brought his sons up to robbery as to a trade, and he had now hired them to commit murder! The two sons were next to him, and were not remarkable in their aspect. Pugh was last—and he was an ill-looking fellow enough, though not strikingly so.

As the trial proceeded, one of its peculiarities soon became apparent. This was that a vast proportion of the witnesses were of the closest kindred to the accused. And what was more horrid, was the fact of the father of the murdered man being called to speak to the identity of the body, which, having lain in the earth nearly a year, was so totally decomposed as to be recognizable only by the clothes; but to this the father added that “the colour of the hair was that of his son!”

It shocked all present greatly, when the father and mother of Pugh were called to speak to some minute facts with regard to the night on which Harrison was murdered, with reference to his leaving their house, where he lodged. The chief evidence was what the prisoners themselves had told to Ellson; but he being a person of execrable character, it was necessary to support his testimony by every corroborative circumstance that could be proved. Accordingly, in the early part of the trial, these wretched old people were brought forward to give testimony to facts bearing against their son’s life: they were but very slight, but, as far as they went, they were confirmatory of the main story; and it is difficult to say whether the extreme coolness and composure with which the parents gave their evidence were not still more dreadful than if they had been violently affected.

Besides Ellson himself, there were also his wife, who was the daughter of one and the sister of two of the prisoners, and his sister, who was the daughter of another, called as witnesses! These young women also gave their evidence without strong emotion, although they certainly seemed far more impressed with the position in which they stood than the other witnesses named.

Ellson was calm, decided, and firm, to a degree which gave rise to unmingled disgust in every one who heard him. It will be recollected that the crime had been committed to save him—Pugh certainly committed the murder for hire; and the Coxes, perhaps, might have had some interests of their own mixed up with his;—but, even as regarded these last, the first object had been his escape; and his mother undoubtedly had dyed her hands in blood, solely to save her child.

The witness was a fine, well-looking fellow of about five-and-twenty—and, undoubtedly, until the severe cross-examination he underwent caused a struggle—though a perfectly successful one—to keep down his temper, his countenance was rather agreeable than otherwise. His story was clear, consecutive, and, no doubt, true. Each individual concerned in the transaction had, immediately on his release from jail, very naturally told to him, for whose sake it had been committed, all the circumstances regarding the murder. Pugh appears to have been the most detailed in his account, and to have rather bragged that it was he who “ ‘ticed un out o’ feyther’s house, to steal some bacon,”—and that it was he who had “gripped un by the throat.” In some instances, the Coxes were present during these recitals, and at others they spoke of the subject to Ellson themselves. While this part of the evidence was going forward, the strongest horror was excited against the perpetrators of the crime—so treacherous as it was in its concoction, and so coldly cruel in the manner in which it was carried into effect. Moreover, the idea that Pugh certainly altogether, and the two young Coxes in great part, had committed this murder for hire, was a circumstance of a character so new, and so awfully depraved, that the story carried the auditory along with it, and they forgot altogether the scoundrel who was telling it. But when he came to speak of his own mother, what must have been their sensations! Her guilt, dreadful as it was, almost disappeared; the thought could be only of the unnatural and ungrateful villain, who, to save himself from a light and temporary punishment, was thus giving to the gallows the mother who had born him, for a crime caused by her extravagant affection for him. He repeated twice or three times, in answer to the questions of the examining counsel, who felt it necessary to make the matter quite clear, that his mother had told him that she and old Cox had given fifty shillings a piece to have Harrison murdered. He said this as calmly as any other person would narrate any indifferent fact—and his mother’s eyes were on his face all the time!

Mr. Charles Phillips cross-examined the witness at great length, very severely, and very skilfully: he drew from him that he had been in jail repeatedly, almost constantly, for theft of all kinds and descriptions; and he drove him into attempts to shuffle, very nearly approaching to prevarication, on several minor points, not connected with the case. But, regarding the case itself, he was not shaken at all; and although the universal sensation in the court must have been that of loathing and disgust for the mercenary cold-bloodedness of the proceedings to which he had had recourse, no serious doubt could for one moment be entertained that he was telling the truth.

The jury under these circumstances were compelled to return a verdict, consigning the wretched prisoners to a violent death.

The extreme sentence of the law was immediately passed upon the convicts, and their execution was appointed to take place on the following Monday, the 4th of the same month.

On the next day, a reprieve was granted in the case of Robert Cox, one of the sons, upon grounds which do not appear to have been well understood at the time, and he was transported for life. A respite for a week was also granted in the case of the elder Cox, and Ann Harris, who had been convicted only as accessories before the fact; but the awful punishment of death was left to be carried out in its due course upon Pugh, and John Cox the younger. The former, after his trial, declared his sense of the justice of his sentence, and that he regarded the termination of his career as a happy one, for that he constantly saw Harrison by his side; while the latter, with cold-blooded firmness, urged him to keep up his spirits, for that “he could die but once.”

The execution had been appointed to take place at mid-day; and at a few minutes before twelve o’clock all the convicts, together with Ellson, were drawn up in the inner yard of the jail. Pugh and Cox were then pinioned; and while Ann Harris, old Cox, and his son Robert, were reconducted to the jail, Ellson was carried to a spot from which he must witness the conclusion of this dreadful scene. The authority by which this course was adopted, may well be doubted, for the miserable wretch was undoubtedly entitled to his discharge, as the indictment against him had been withdrawn; but it is probable that it was thought that the example afforded by such a proceeding might tend in some degree to check the thirst for crime, which appeared to exist in that district of the county.

The miserable convicts were directly afterwards led to the scaffold, dreadfully agitated, and uttering ejaculations imploring mercy for their sins; and all being in readiness, the drop fell, and they were launched into eternity.

The sentence of the wretched mother of Ellson, and of old Cox, was subsequently changed for that of transportation; and with this bare recitation of its facts, we shall close the scene upon this frightful case.

JOSEPH HUNTON.

EXECUTED FOR FORGERY.

It would appear that a considerable number of forged bills of exchange having been put in circulation, the result of the inquiries, which were made by the Committee of Bankers for the Prevention of Frauds and Forgeries, was clearly to fix the offence upon Hunton. The bills were for the most part accepted in the name of Mr. Edward Wilkins of Abingdon, and purported to be drawn by the firm of Dickson and Co. of Ironmonger-lane, warehousemen, in which Hunton was a partner. It so happened, however, that intelligence was received in town, before several of them became due, that Mr. Wilkins was dead; and upon inquiry, it turned out that the whole of the acceptances in the name of that person were forgeries. Hunton received speedy information of the discovery of the frauds of which he had been guilty; and upon inquiry being made for him, he was found to have absconded. Officers were immediately despatched in all directions to secure his person, and he was at length traced by Forrester, the city constable, to the neighbourhood of Plymouth. He directly started in pursuit, with some others who were employed on the same errand; and upon inquiry there, they learned that the object of their search was upon the point of sailing for New York in the Leeds packet, on board which he passed under the assumed name of Wilkinson. The officers immediately proceeded on board that vessel, and under pretence of having a letter to deliver, they were introduced to the forger. Upon their informing him of the nature of their mission, he was not able to utter a word, but rose and followed them, and was immediately conveyed to the shore. It is rather extraordinary that the first paper taken from his pocket was a letter directed to the editor of “The Times,” stating that the amount of the forgeries ascribed to him in a paragraph in that journal was considerably exaggerated, and requesting that an acknowledgement to that effect should be inserted, in justice to the party accused, who would return as soon as possible, and pay off all his pecuniary obligations. There was also found in his pockets the copy of a letter directed to the house of Curtis and Co., informing them, that as it was not convenient for the firm to discount any more bills for him, he should absent himself for a short time from London. These were both directed from Deal, and were, no doubt, intended to mislead, as the writer never went near Deal in his route. He had entered the packet in his quaker dress; but in the course of a few hours he put on a light-green frock, a pair of light-grey pantaloons, a black stock, and a foraging-cap. It was ascertained that he had previously entered a French steam-boat on the river, with the intention of proceeding to Boulogne, and that he had been actually in that boat at the time of its being searched by some officers, who were endeavouring to procure his apprehension.

Upon his arrival in town, he underwent an examination before the lord mayor, upon the charges which were preferred against him; and several cases having been substantiated, he was fully committed for trial.

At the Old Bailey sessions, on the 28th of October 1828, the prisoner was put upon his trial, and he was found guilty upon a charge of forging a bill for 162l. 9s. with intent to defraud Sir William Curtis and Co. On the following Tuesday, the 4th of November, he was again indicted for a similar offence, in forging a bill for 94l. 13s. when a similar verdict was returned; and at the conclusion of the sessions, notwithstanding the recommendation of the jury to mercy, he received sentence of death.

A considerable time elapsed before the case of this unfortunate prisoner was reported to the Crown, in accordance with the custom which then prevailed; and it was not until the 8th of December that his sentence was carried into effect; but before we describe the circumstances attending the execution, we cannot help alluding to a most extraordinary delay which took place in the report of the recorder of London of the cases of no less than forty-nine prisoners confined in Newgate on various capital charges. It would appear that his majesty being at Windsor, the recorder proceeded to the Castle on Monday the 24th of November, for the purpose of making his report, when three wretched prisoners were ordered for execution. In accordance with the usual practice, it would have been the duty of the recorder to proceed forthwith to London to communicate the result of the deliberation of the privy council at Newgate, in order that the unhappy criminals, whose cases had been under consideration, might be at once relieved from the dreadful suspense in which, situated as they were, they would necessarily be placed. Monday night passed, however, and no intelligence was received of the learned gentleman, or of the decision which had been arrived at; and the greater part of Tuesday was permitted also to elapse before their dreadful anxiety was relieved. At five o’clock on that afternoon, the clerk of the learned gentleman reached Newgate with the death-warrant; and then only was it that the fate of the prisoners could be disclosed to them. The subject was brought under the consideration of the court of aldermen at the earliest possible period, with a view to the recorder giving some explanation of the very singular conduct of which he had been guilty; and he then stated, that the council not having terminated until past eight o’clock on the evening of Monday, he was at that time too fatigued to return to town on the same night; and that on his starting from Windsor on the following morning, he was so long delayed on the road, that he did not arrive in town until half-past three o’clock. This excuse, however plausibly it may have been put by the learned gentleman, was at least a lame one; and the remarks which were made upon his conduct at the time by the public, and by the press, were confined to no very measured terms.

Although so many prisoners had been reported on this occasion, it was found that Hunton was not among the number, a circumstance which gave him undue hopes and expectations, that he would be spared an ignominious death. A second report, however, was made on Monday the 1st of December, when the wretched criminal, with three others, was ordered for execution on the 8th of the same month.

Hunton bore the intelligence, “that he was certainly to die,” with apparent fortitude. He was lying on his pallet when the Ordinary entered his cell at a little after eleven on Monday night. Upon hearing the cell-door open at so extraordinary an hour, he turned round slowly, and said, “Well, I suppose I know the news thou bringest?” “Yes,” replied the Ordinary, “Mr. Hunton; you are, I hope, prepared for that which you have expected—you are to be executed.” Hunton said, “Indeed, I have been expecting that intelligence; it is no surprise, and yet my case has many palliatives which should operate with grace at the seat of mercy. Pray, tell me who are doomed to die with me?” The Ordinary mentioned the other names enumerated in the report, and Hunton observed, that he should submit with calmness to his fate. “But,” said he, “wilt thou do me the great favour, friend Cotton, to permit my wife to come and stay with me alone before the time arriveth for the change?” The Ordinary replied, that he had not the power to grant any favour, but the request should be communicated to the proper authority, and no doubt every indulgence of a reasonable kind would be granted. During this conversation, Hunton seemed to be perfectly resigned to his fate. It is singular that he never asked on what day he was to be executed. After the Ordinary assured him that he should be treated with kindness, he turned about, and said, “Good night, friend,” and appeared to resign himself to sleep. In the morning he rose, evidently in a state of the most wretched dejection: his eyes were filled with tears, and he deplored the inhumanity of the laws, by which a man who had committed an act not deserving the name of fraud was to suffer death. The spirits by which he had been supported ever since his committal to Newgate altogether abandoned him: he wrung his hands in agony, and complained of the bitter aggravation of delay. When he first entered Newgate, he said, “I wish, after this day, to have communication with nobody; let me take leave of my wife and family and friends; I have already suffered an execution; my heart has undergone that horrible penalty.” A few days afterwards a person called upon him to request that he would explain some document relating to certain bills not yet due. In one instant he gave the required explanation, fully to the satisfaction of the person interested; and was asked by the same individual what opinion he entertained of his own case? “Why,” said he, “my case resembles the condition of this paper (holding the letter upon his finger)—a breeze of wind will turn it either way. Caprice may save or destroy me; but I rather think I shall live longer.” He was on the Tuesday visited by his wife and several of the society of Friends, and he told them he knew that to hope would be to court deception. He was, during the whole day, the most painful object to those who went to console him: he groaned as if his heart were bursting within him, and seemed to consider this life all that a human being could wish for.

The execution of a man who was known to have moved in so respectable a sphere of life as the unfortunate Hunton, failed not to attract an immense crowd of persons to the vicinity of the jail of Newgate on the morning upon which it was determined that his life should be forfeited. From the extraordinary efforts which had been made to save this unfortunate culprit, a very general belief was entertained that a respite would most certainly arrive for him even so late as on the morning fixed for his death. His safety was considered almost certain, and many were scarcely persuaded that he would really suffer, even at the moment when the fatal cord encompassed his neck. The unfortunate man had, however, calmly composed his mind to meet his fate, and seemed to contemplate its approach without dread. He was on Sunday visited by several ladies and gentlemen of the society of Friends, who were accommodated with an apartment, in which they remained in their peculiar devotions for several hours. Afterwards the unhappy man was attended by two gentlemen, elders of the congregation, who sat up with him in the press-room all night, during which time Hunton composed a very long prayer, appropriate to his situation and approaching death. He committed his thoughts to paper, and after he had completed the prayer, he copied it, and directed it to “his dearly-beloved wife.” At about half-past seven the two elders left the miserable man, after they had “kissed,” and their absence was supplied by the attendance of Mr. Sparks Moline, of Leadenhall-street.

At fifteen minutes before the awful hour of eight, the under-sheriffs arrived at the prison, preceded by their tipstaffs, and were conducted by Mr. Wontner to the press-room. At the end of this gloomy apartment was observed, sitting at a long table which was strewed with pieces of paper and books, the ill-fated Hunton; immediately opposite sat his “friend,” Mr. S. Moline. Hunton, turning his head, and observing the group of officers as they entered the room said, “I pray thee stop a minute; I’ll not be long.” He then concluded reading, in a distinct voice, the prayer he had composed in the night; it was couched in the most impressive and devout language that can be imagined. In it he expressed his dependence on the merits of Jesus Christ, and a hope, that when the spirit was separated from the body, it would join the angelic host above, in singing praises to the Son of God, and to the Almighty. Hunton had a very peculiar kind of voice, somewhat shrill and effeminate; he, however, spoke with firmness. There was nothing in his manner to condemn, but it showed a perfect self-possession. Mr. Moline, when the unhappy man had done reading, bowed his head, and responded, “Amen!” Hunton then arose, and folding up the paper in a hurried manner said, “I am quite ready now.” Mr. Wontner approached him, and said he might remain seated for a short time longer; when he thanked the worthy governor, and resumed his seat at the table, and occupied his time by perusing some religious work before him. During this time John James, aged nineteen, who was condemned for a burglary in the house of Mr. Witham, the barrister, in Boswell-court, and two others were brought into the room attended by the Reverend Ordinary.

The wretched Hunton, during the pinioning of his fellow-convicts, conducted himself with the greatest calmness and devotion. He repeatedly addressed those who were to suffer with him, urging them to repentance.

All having, at last, been properly secured, it only remained for the unfortunate Hunton to undergo the same ordeal as his fellow-sufferers. The unhappy man was indulging in a sort of reverie, when Mr. Wontner tapped him upon the shoulder. He instantly stood up, and deliberately took a white stock from his neck, and approached the officers; he stood firmly, and when the man was in the act of tying his wrists he said, “Oh, dear, is there any necessity to tie the cord so fast?” The officer made no reply; upon which Hunton said, “Well, well, thou knowest best.” He again complained of the cord being too tight about his arms, which was slackened a little, and the unhappy man said, “Thank thee, thank thee.” After he had been thus secured, he said, “Wilt thou allow me to wear my gloves?” “Yes, certainly, sir,” was the reply, and with some difficulty he put them on, and still kept the prayer addressed to his wife in his hand. All being now in readiness, the mournful procession moved towards the scaffold.

Before Hunton left the room, he said to Mr. Moline, “Thou will not leave me, friend?” “No,” said Mr. Moline, “I will see thee to the scaffold.” Mr. Moline then supported the unhappy man along the passage to the lobby at the foot of the scaffold, where he sat down by the side of his friend, still holding the prayer to his breast.