were made upon his conduct at the time by the public, and by the press, were confined to no very measured terms. Although so many prisoners had been reported on this occasion, it was found that Hunton was not among the number, a circumstance which gave him undue hopes and expectations, that he would be spared an ignominious death. A second report, however, was made on Monday the 1st of December, when the wretched criminal, with three others, was ordered for execution on the 8th of the same month. Hunton bore the intelligence, "that he was certainly to die," with apparent fortitude. He was lying on his pallet when the Ordinary entered his cell at a little after eleven on Monday night. Upon hearing the cell-door open at so extraordinary an hour, he turned round slowly, and said, "Well, I suppose I know the news thou bringest?" "Yes," replied the Ordinary, "Mr. Hunton; you are, I hope, prepared for that which you have expected--you are to be executed." Hunton said, "Indeed, I have been expecting that intelligence; it is no surprise, and yet my case has many palliatives which should operate with grace at the seat of mercy. Pray, tell me who are doomed to die with me?" The Ordinary mentioned the other names enumerated in the report, and Hunton observed, that he should submit with calmness to his fate. "But," said he, "wilt thou do me the great favour, friend Cotton, to permit my wife to come and stay with me alone before the time arriveth for the change?" The Ordinary replied, that he had not the power to grant any favour, but the request should be communicated to the proper authority, and no doubt every indulgence of a reasonable kind would be granted. During this conversation, Hunton seemed to be perfectly resigned to his fate. It is singular that he never asked on what day he was to be executed. After the Ordinary assured him that he should be treated with kindness, he turned about, and said, "Good night, friend," and appeared to resign himself to sleep. In the morning he rose, evidently in a state of the most wretched dejection: his eyes were filled with tears, and he deplored the inhumanity of the laws, by which a man who had committed an act not deserving the name of fraud was to suffer death. The spirits by which he had been supported ever since his committal to Newgate altogether abandoned him: he wrung his hands in agony, and complained of the bitter aggravation of delay. When he first entered Newgate, he said, "I wish, after this day, to have communication with nobody; let me take leave of my wife and family and friends; I have already suffered an execution; my heart has undergone that horrible penalty." A few days afterwards a person called upon him to request that he would explain some document relating to certain bills not yet due. In one instant he gave the required explanation, fully to the satisfaction of the person interested; and was asked by the same individual what opinion he