my hapless position, which sleep had entirely banished from my mind. I trembled violently as the Governor said, in a deep, but firm voice, "the hour is come; you must rise.' The Chaplain enquired how I had passed the night, and suggested that I should kneel with him in prayer. With an effort, I collected myself and sat on the edge of the bed. My teeth chattered, my knees shook violently, and an uncontrollable sense of fear possessed me. It was as yet only just dawn. The door was still open, and beyond it I saw the little paved court :—the air was sombre and stagnant, and a soft but continuous rain falling. This affected me not so much as if I had looked out on a bright and gorgeous sky. No one spoke. At length I summoned all my strength of mind, and entreated to be left alone until the last moment. I then had twenty minutes to live. As the Governor was on the point of quitting the prison, according to my request, I attempted again to address him; but the words would not be uttered; my breath failed me; my tongue refused its office; I was not at a loss for words, but the faculty of speech was gone. After they were gone, I still sat on the bed. I was shivering with cold-the effect, no doubt, of my recent sleep, as also, in part, the atmosphere of the dungeon.

As the minutes crept on, a dull yellowish gleam from the sun betrayed the walls, reeking with damp and filthiness, and the black and slippery pavement; and, astounding as it may seem, although an awful and instant death awaited me, I could not from such things as these withdraw my attention. But again the frightful truth rose before me that I was about to die! I felt my pulse; so feeble it was that it was scarcely perceptible. At last, like the crash of a thunderbolt, the clock commenced striking. "Christ have mercy on me!" I inwardly prayed. "What is it? Oh! Grant it, Heaven;-Not-not the hour!"-It struck!

They had already re-entered before my notice was attracted, and found me in the same position.

What remains to tell will occupy but short space. Up to this point my recollections are perfectly distinct; but beyond, this is not the case. I well remember leaving the dungeon, supported by two little wretched-looking men, clothed in black. In the great hall, the two men who were to suffer with me were awaiting us. Their hands and arms were pinioned, and a very old man, with white thin hair, was reading aloud to them.

With the utmost difficulty I prevented myself from falling. What surprised me was this: I had from the first anticipated that in these last moments I should become a prey to frightful passion; I experienced nothing of the kind; but I was oppressed with an overpowering sickness at heart, and every moment it seemed that the ground was slipping from under me. At length we began to

traverse the long vaulted passages that led to the scaffold. The lamps were still burning, for the sunlight never penetrated to those dreary, gravelike vaults. Before us walked the Chaplain, reading, in a loud voice, passages from the funeral service ;-reading, for us alive, prayers which were intended only for the dead. Now, for the last time, I was conscious; this was my final moment of full perception. I felt the transition from those fetid subterraneous passages to the open air; I heard the tramp of feet mounting the scaffold; and then I shuddered as I looked on the mighty and innumerable multitude, vast, black, and silent, that appeared in the street beneath. All the windows of shops and houses were filled with eager spectators of every age. I saw in the distance the cold church of St. Sepulchre looming through the thick fog. I shall never forget the murky sky, the gloomy atmosphere, the moisture that clung to the scaffold, the threatening aspect of surrounding buildings; while at our very side Newgate itself towered up, and seemed to cast over all its colossal and pitiless shadow; but, in spite of all this, I felt the breeze playing fresh and cool on my face. At this moment I again behold that last spectacle; it is ever before my eyes in terrible perspective: the scaffold, the incessant rain, the figures of human beings climbing to parapets and roofs, and every available position, utterly regardless of all peril; the dense black smoke that, issuing from the chimneys and refusing to ascend, spread itself in murky layers of cloud above the crowd; the vehicles filled with females, who stood silent with emotion in the court-yard of the opposite inn: I hear still that low, hoarse, unearthly murmur that flew through the air as we appeared! Never again shall I at once behold so many objects clearly defined as in that coup d'œil; and yet how brief the time it occupied !

Of all that followed I have no recollection whatever. The Chaplain's prayers, the fatal noose, the cap, the thought of which had filled me with such horror, my execution, and finally my Death, have left on my mind not the least impression. I afterwards read in the papers accounts of my demeanour on the scaffold; from which I learnt that I comported myself with dignity and firmness; and that I soon ceased to struggle. Every effort of mine to recall one single circumstance has been in vain. I at length found myself in a chamber, and stretched on a bed, on which was seated a man, who, as my eyes opened, watched me attentively. I had recovered all my faculties, although I could not articulate with ease. And to this day, were I not convinced beyond all doubt that such things have happened, I should hesitate to avow myself the once "Condemned and Hanged."

261

LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF A BLIND TRAVELLER.

A PEEP INTO SPAIN BY THE SOUTH OF FRANCE AND THE

PYRENEES.

PART II.

SATURDAY, May 13th, 1854. To-day, being the birthday of the King, there were fine doings at Barcelona amongst those who were connected with the court. In the morning, all the officials and towns-people, dressed in their best, attended a levée, which was held at the palace of the Captain-General. We walked on the sea wall, fronting the palace, where several regiments were drawn up, the bands of each corps performing some excellent pieces in honour of the day. Guns were fired from the bastions, and the vessels in the harbour were dressed with flags. The scene was very stirring and novel. All the festivities being over at an early hour, the bands of the several regiments proceeded to the Rambla, where they again performed to crowds of admiring Barcelonese. It was altogether a very interesting day, and one not likely often to be witnessed by a passing traveller. In the evening, we went to the Theatre Principal, which is partly supported by the Government, and in which the Spanish drama is performed. Here we saw a Spanish version of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," adapted to meet the tastes of a southern audience, with lots of stabbing and heroism, and English liberality. The hero, George, turned out to be an English captain, who brought a frigate and English soldiers to rescue his poor slave wife. Three reals was only charged as entrance to the stalls, which were comfortable seats; though the odour of garlic was almost unbearable. We were relieved by the arrival of the Tharsis steam-boat, in which we intended to leave on Monday next, for Valencia.

Sunday, May 14th. Except the walk on the Rambla, there is really nothing going on on Sunday. The inhabitants of Barcelona observe the Sunday very closely; no business is transacted, though they amuse themselves after morning mass. The priests are all dominant here; we were told to-day they had for some days watched

H

the downward progress of the barometer, and, as prayers had been offered up for rain, they beheld with delight the descent of the mercury. A few hours before the rain actually fell, the Archbishop and clergy passed out in procession, singing a dirge for rain; and before they had completed their walk, they had the satisfaction of finding themselves drenched to the skin, and returned to their various churches, declaring that a miracle had been performed.

May 15, 1854. After waiting eight days at Barcelona, we were fortunate enough in getting a boat to take us on to Malaga. We left the Hotel d'Orient at half-past nine, A. M. and embarked on board the Tharsis, a newly-built and fast-going Spanish steam-boat, and, at eleven o'clock, fairly got under weigh. The Doctor described the view, as we steamed out of the harbour, and the fort bristling with guns from its mountain height, as truely magnificent. Dark mountains behind the town seemed to frown at us as we progressed on our journey, and at length dwindled away, until lost in the misty horizon. Our vessel, a very good screw boat, which had been constructed in France, belonged to a Spanish company, and was on its way to Havre. Our passengers were mostly those who had been at the hotel with us at Barcelona, amongst whom were two Englishmen, with whom we passed a very agreeable day. We kept within sight of the Spanish shore, and most of our party were pleased at the opportunity thus afforded them of viewing the beauties of the coast. We had beautiful weather, and a smooth, calm sea, which greatly added to our comfort.

Tuesday, May 16, 1854. At seven A. M. our vessel suddenly came to a halt, and we were glad to find ourselves safely anchored off Valencia, having made the journey in twenty-three hours' steaming from Barcelona. The weather was fine, and the passage had been performed without the very slightest inconvenience to the passengers, the sea being as smooth as glass. As there is neither harbour nor protected roadstead, we were obliged to ride at anchor a very great distance out at sea. The line of fort-like warehouses, which stretch along the shore and form the port of Valencia, were, however, easily discernible, together with a distant view of the town of Valencia, its towers and cultivated neighbourhood. After a quarrelsome and noisy barter with a crowd of boatmen, who each contested for the honour of taking us on shore, we succeeded in getting a bark with rowers, for which the small sum of four reals per person was to be paid. We soon courageously encountered a very brisk dance on the surf, and were landed at a kind of little pier, amid bales of cotton and other merchandise. The shore, for a considerable distance, is flanked by warehouses, and a small town, called Grao, carries on a brisk lading trade from the interior of Spain. A railroad now exists from this little port to Valencia.