After gazing long and earnestly on the central figure in the gloomy picture, our eyes were casually attracted by a very different one,--that of a youth sitting on the steps of the altar, as though he had been a privileged spectator. We regarded him as a friend of some subordinate functionary of the gaol. He seemed a silly, vulgar, little dandy, who had put on his very best clothes for the occasion. He looked about eighteen or nineteen years old, and was of slender figure, and a little under the average height. His hair was full and curly--displayed in a very affected style. He wore a sort of second-hand blue surtout with velvet collar, a black satin stock, a light figured waistcoat, and light slate-coloured trousers--the latter a trifle too short, and strained down by a pair of elongated straps, so as to reach as nearly as possible to the brightly-polished boots. Beside him was a hat, of which he seemed very careful, and smoothed it round delicately, once or twice, with his hand. His eyes were quick, and inquisitive; and he seemed to share the interest with which others contemplated Courvoisier. Several times, during the service, his fingers passed jauntily through his hair, as if to dispose it effectively round his temples. A prayer-book was handed to him, to which he seemed tolerably attentive; but during the sermon he was evidently more occupied with his dress than the exciting and instructive topics of the chaplain--frequently pulling off and putting on his gloves, and arranging different portions of his dress, as though he feared they did not sit upon him sufficiently becomingly. When, however, the chaplain addressed himself personally, and with fearful solemnity, to the murderer before him, the young occupant of the altar-steps was roused into attention, and he listened a few minutes--his eyes fixed now on the preacher, then on the condemned. When the service was over, Courvoisier (whose demeanour had been throughout most satisfactory--solemn, composed, and reverent) was beckoned out to the door through which he had entered, and he obeyed, walking with complete self-possession.--We had looked our last on him!--"Do you see that young fellow on the altar-steps?--do you know who he is?" said a gentleman who approached us for the purpose. "No; he seems a vulgar little puppy," we exclaimed, "whoever he may be." "It is Oxford, who shot at the Queen, and is to be tried this week!" was the reply; and while we turned round to gaze at him, he was in the act of quitting the chapel, holding his hat very carefully, and gazing towards the gallery with an expression of cheerful inquisitiveness. Had it occurred to him that, in all human probability, a week or two would behold _him_ an occupant of the black bench just quitted by the murderer?