Ultimately, in the middle of the last century, being under the necessity of hanging a lord――the noble convict was Laurence Earl Ferrers, who had murdered his steward――the scaffold, with a trap-door secured by a bolt, and flapping down from under the criminal’s feet, was devised for the express accommodation of the murderous peer. This was in the reign of George II.; and we have not advanced one step since then in the way of hanging. The “new drop” is more than a hundred years old, but nothing has been done to render the grim agency more efficacious. When the bolt is drawn and the drop falls, Marwood asserts, according to his arrangement, that the neck of the criminal is at once broken, and that death is instantaneous. This is his theory; but in practice, we believe that in nine cases out of ten the wretched culprit dies from suffocation. A murderer, it may be urged, deserves no better fate. He has shown no mercy to others, and has no right to expect that mercy should be shown to him. We adhere to the notion that hanging is the shortest and swiftest mode of killing; and Marwood has declared that if he were condemned to death, and had to choose the mode of execution, he would certainly prefer hanging to any other. Peace remained silent and thoughtful when Calcraft appeared on the scaffold. The latter, after a glance round, returned to the gaol. Shortly after this the prison door opened slowly. One of the gaolers stood in the portal. There was now a cry of “hats off” and a thousand heads were bared, a thousand faces upturned. One would have believed it was a performance at the theatre they were witnessing. Gregson appeared, bound and pinioned. This was the signal for groans and hisses, which were, however, supressed by the more discreet and better-behaved portion of the throng. Behind Gregson was the chaplain, with an open Prayer-book in his hand, the sheriffs in their robes, the officers of the gaol, the myrmidons of the gallows. A regiment of policemen encircled the scaffold with their truncheons drawn. A trembling ran through the crowd, which resembled the waves of the sea beneath the first blast of the north wind. This was followed by a murmur like that of the waves when the wind lashes them into wrath. The crowd became hushed and silent. The chaplain began to read the service of the dead. The Badger looked sullenly upon the ground, presently he raised his head and examined the faces beneath him as if there was some one whom he wished to find. He withdrew his eyes almost reluctantly, and turned them upon the officers behind him. At this sign the clergyman moved on one side, and Calcraft approached. All was hushed into silence, deep and terrible as that of the tomb. Gregson had already made one step towards his death――he now placed himself on the drop. Calcraft adjusted the noose around the miserable man’s neck, then passed a strap round his feet and secured it with horrible deliberation.