have got what I very well deserve--and perhaps I have; but possibly if I were put quietly out of the way, and sent abroad somewhere, public opinion might take no notice of it." He has taught himself French, Italian, and German, of which he has a fair knowledge. He also used to draw a little, and began to write a novel; but it proved a sorry affair, and, being discouraged, he threw it up. "Do you recollect hearing the condemned sermon preached to Courvoisier?" "Oh, yes, very well. It was a most excellent sermon." "Did Courvoisier seem to attend to it?" "Oh yes, very much; and he seemed very much affected. It was certainly a very appropriate sermon; I liked it much." "Did not you think that it might soon be your fate to sit where he was?" "What, in the condemned seat?" "Yes." "Oh, no; that never occurred to me. I never expected to be condemned for high treason. Some gentleman--I forget who he was--said I should be transported for fourteen years. I thought that was the worst they could do to me; for I knew I had never meant to do any harm, nor tried to do it." "Yes; but the judge and jury thought very differently." "Oh, I was very fairly tried; but I never expected to be brought in _mad_. I was quite surprised at _that_, for I knew I was not mad, and I wondered how they were going to prove it." We asked him if he had ever seen _us_; to which he replied, gazing steadily, "Yes, I think I have--either at the Privy Council, or in Newgate Chapel." "Where did you sit on the Sunday when the condemned sermon was preached to Courvoisier?" "I sate on the steps near the altar." "How were you dressed?" "Oh, a blue surtout, with velvet collar;" and he proceeded to describe his dress almost exactly as we have described it at the commencement of the article. He exhibits considerable cleverness: whatever he does, whether in playing at fives, or working, (_e. g._ making gloves, &c.) he does far better than any one else, and shows considerable tact and energy in setting his companions to work, and superintending them. He admits that he committed a very great offence in having done anything to alarm the Queen, and attributes it entirely to a mischievous and foolish love of notoriety. He said, "I thought it would set everybody talking and wondering;" but "never dreamed of what would have come of it--least of all that I was to be shut up all my life in _this_ place." ... "That list of conspirators, and letters from them, that were found in your lodgings--were they not real?" "Oh, no," he replied, with rather an anxious smile, "all mere sham--only nonsense! There was never anything of the sort!" "Then, why did you do it?" "It was only the folly of a boy; I wasn't nineteen then--it was very silly no doubt." "And their swords and dresses, and so forth--eh?" "Entirely nonsense! It was a very absurd joke. I did not think it would come out so serious. I did not _appreciate_ the consequences, or I never would have done it." The word "appreciate" he