sovereign; that there would be no joy in the land till that sovereign was restored; and that, for his own part, he was glad to die for his legitimate monarch, King James. Having said which, the Nonjuror gave the speaker absolution, the people cheered, and the once eminent and able barrister was soon beyond the reach of further suffering. [Sidenote: _LAYER AT TYBURN._] Layer kept the word he had pledged to Colonel Williamson as he was leaving the Tower. ‘Colonel,’ he said, ‘I will die like a man.’ ‘I hope, Mr. Layer,’ replied the Deputy-Governor, ‘you will die like a Christian.’ The Jacobite counsellor fulfilled both hope and promise. Only a Whig paper or two affected to sneer at the calm courage with which he met that mortal ignominy at Tyburn. Within a few hours of the execution, an Old Bailey bard had thrown off and published the following ‘Sorrowful _Lamentation_ of Counsellor Layer’s who was Condemned to die at London for High _Treason_,’ and which is here given as a specimen of the London gutter-and-gallows poetry in the Jacobite times:―― [Sidenote: _LAMENTATION FOR LAYER._] Noble Hearts all around the Nation; ――That do hear my wretched Fate, I’d have you lay by all confusion, ――Do not meddle with the State, Let my Exit be a warning. Now unto you both great and small, My mirth is turned to grief and mourning, Thus you see poor _Layer’s_ Fall. A Counsellor I was of late, And oft I did for Justice plead, I lov’d both Noble, Rich, and Great, Till I pursu’d this fatal Deed, Who by a Woman was betray’d, And I was apprehended soon, And now I am arraign’d and cast, And thus you see poor _Layer’s_ Doom. At _Westminster_ I took my tryal, Which lasted 16 Hours long, While a multitude to hear it, There into the Court did throng; While I with Iron Fetters loaded, For my life did stand to plead, But no mercy is afforded, I must suffer for the Deed. _Christopher Layer_, come and answer, For what unto your Charge is laid, For listing Men for the Pretender, As by witness here is said. You have been a most rebellious Traytor, Against our Sovereign Lord the King, Answer to your Accusation, Are you guilty of the thing? I boldly for a while did plead, And spoke up on my own Defence, But yet my Case was made so plain, Guilty was I of the offence, At four a Clock all in the Morning, I was then cast for my Life, And I at Tyburn must expire, A Grief unto my dearest Wife. And my Children who lies weeping For my most unhappy Fate, I cannot expect no pity, For the Crime that is so great, It is best to be at Quiet, I advise you one and all, Lest like me it proves your Ruin, Thus you see poor Layer’s Fall.