It happened that I had occasion to call on one of those "Criminal Curiosity Hunters" lately. He received me with extreme urbanity, and pointing to an old-fashioned-looking arm-chair, requested me to be seated.--I did so. "I suppose, sir," said he, with an air of suppressed triumph, "that you have no idea that you are now sitting in a remarkable chair?" I assured him I was totally unconscious of the fact. "I can tell you, then," he replied, "that it was in that chair Fauntleroy, the banker, who was hanged for forgery, was sitting when he was arrested." "Indeed!" "Fact, sir! I gave ten guineas for it. I thought also to have obtained the night-cap in which he slept the night before his execution, but another collector was beforehand with me, and bribed the turnkey to steal it for him." "I had no idea there could be any competition for such an article," I observed. "Ah! sir," said he, with a deep sigh, "you don't know the value of these interesting relics. I have been for upwards of thirty years a collector of them, and I have now as pretty a museum of Criminal Curiosities as you could desire to see." "It seems you have been indefatigable in your pursuit," said I. "Yes," he replied, "when a man devotes himself to a great object, he must go to it heart and soul. I have spared neither time nor money in _my_ pursuit; and since I became a collector, I have attended the execution of every noted malefactor throughout the kingdom." Perceiving that my attention was drawn to a common rope, which served as a bell-pull, he said-- "I see you are remarking my bell-cord--that is the identical rope, sir, which hanged Bellingham, who shot Mr. Perceval in the House of Commons. I offered any sum for the one in which Thistlewood ended his life to match it--but I was unfortunately disappointed; and the laws have now become so disgracefully lenient, that I fear I shall never have an opportunity of procuring a respectable companion rope for the other side of my mantel-piece. And 'tis all owing to the rascally Whigs, sir--they have swept away all our good old English customs, and deprived us of our national recreations. I remember, sir, when Monday was called 'hanging day' at the Old Bailey; on that morning a man might he certain of seeing three or four criminals swung off before his breakfast. 'Tis a curious study, sir, that of hanging--I have seen a great many people suffer in my time: some go off as quiet as lambs, while others die very reluctantly. I have remarked, sir, that 'tis very difficult to hang a Jew pedlar, or a hackney-coachman--there's something obstinate in their nature that won't let them die like other men. But, as I said before, the Whigs and reformers have knocked up the hanging profession; and if it was not for the suicides, which, I am happy to say, are as abundant as ever, I don't know what we should do."