The tolling of St. Sepulchre’s about 7.30 A.M. announced the approach of the hour of execution; meanwhile a steady rain was falling, which, however, in no way decreased the ever-increasing crowd. As far as the eye could reach was a sea of human faces. Roofs, windows, church rails, and empty vans—all were pressed into the service, and tightly packed with human beings eager to catch a glimpse of a fellow-creature on the last stage of life’s journey. The rain by this time had made the drop slippery, and necessitated precautions on behalf of the living if not on those appointed to die; so sand was thrown over a portion (not of the drop—that would have been superfluous), but on the side, the only portion that was not to give way. It was suggestive of the pitfalls used for trapping wild beasts—a few twigs and a handful of earth, and below a gaping chasm. Here, however, all was reversed; there was no need to deceive the chief actor by resorting to such a subterfuge: he was to expiate his crime with all the publicity a humane government could devise. The sand was for the benefit of the “ordinary,” the minister of religion, who was to offer dying consolation at 8 and breakfast at 9 A.M. The procession now appeared, winding its way through the kitchen, and in the centre of the group walked Müller, a sickly, delicate-looking lad, securely pinioned and literally as white as marble. As he reached the platform, he looked up, and placed himself immediately under the hanging chain. At the end of this chain was a hook, which was eventually attached to the hemp round the poor wretch’s neck. The concluding ceremonies did not take long, considering how feeble the aged hangman was. A white cap was first placed over his face, then his ankles were strapped together, and finally the fatal noose was put round his neck, the end of which was then attached to the hook. I fancy I can see Calcraft now, laying the “slack” of the rope that was to give the fall lightly on the doomed man’s shoulder, so as to preclude the possibility of a hitch, and then stepping on tiptoe down the steps and disappearing below. The silence now was truly awful. I felt my heart in my mouth; it was the most terrific suspense I had ever realized. I felt myself involuntarily saying, “He could be saved YET, YET, YET;” and then a thud, that vibrated through the street, announced that Müller was launched into eternity. My eyes were literally glued to the spot. I was fascinated by the awful sight; not a detail escaped me. Calcraft meanwhile, apparently not satisfied with his handiwork, seized hold of the wretch’s feet and pressed on them for some seconds with all his weight, and with a last approving look shambled back into the prison. Meanwhile the white cap was getting tighter and tighter, until it looked ready to burst; and a faint blue speck that had almost immediately appeared on the carotid artery after the drop fell gradually became more livid till it assumed