The Sun.
London, England, 1828-08-11 00:00:00

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WILLIAM CORDER'S
CONDUCT SINCE HIS CONDEMNATION.

50 9, v4B
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410

Bury St. Edmund's, Sunday, 12 o'clock.
What passed between Mr. Orridge, the governor of the
ru,l, and Corder, on his removal from the Court after he
received his sentence, has already been stated. After that
ciieoinversation the wretched culprit was confined in a cell on
south side of the prison, where, in order to prevent
any attempt at self-destruction, two men are in constant
attend trace on him, both by day and night. Corder is ra-
ther loquacious than otherwise. Mr. Orridge remained
with him up to 10 o'clock on Friday night, and during
that time he canvassed the credibility of the witnesses that
Appeared against him. In allusion to the evidence gene-
rally, he said that it was extremely incorrect, and he par-
ticularly spoke of the evidence given by the deceased's bro-
tir, who had so unequivocally sworn that he had seen
Meroming from the Red Barn to his mother's house
with a pickaxe on his shoulder. This, he said, was im-
PO4ible, for he could not see him. Mr. Orridge observed,
that he could not be confident of this, fur it might so hap-
ru, that a person could see bite, though he, Corder might
e unable to perceive the observer. Corder said, that that
certainly
was true, and no longer denied having had the
Pickaxe. Mr. Orridge asked him how he came to be in
the barn ? and lie replied that he could not tell. In refer-
Vice to the sword or dirk, Mr. Orridge inquired whether he
“44 ever been in the navy? and he replied that he never had,
?I' at all intended to make the sea his profession ; the sword he
na4 procured for another purpose. Mr. Orridge asked him
What could have induced him to tell Maria Martin that
there was a warrant against her for bastardy, when he in-
"l.,aced her to change her clothing, and accompany him to
bie Red Barn? To this qnestion he made no reply, but
mg down his head, and seemed buried in thought. He
4eoud time reverted to the trial, and said that the evi-
:ence was incorrect in many particulars, and as an in-
itnice of it mentioned that there was no occasion to inflict
wounds or stabs spoken of on Maria, for that she had
1'414 almost instantaneously. Mr. Orridge remarked,
at it was now useless to talk on the subject ; it would
thaps only tend to the agitation of his mind, and could
tot he remedied, and he (Mr. Orridge) recoinmended him
( give his entire attention to the Rev. Chaplain, who no
enht would impart to him such advice as might induce
en'ta to disclose that which was a weighty burden on his
el3leience, and be to his advantage in his translation from
world to another. Mr. Orridge then bade him fare-
sod departed for the night. Shortly after leaving
„,.41 Corder stripped himself quite leisurely, went into bed,
jug fell asleep by eleven o'clock. He slept soundly until
:111', when he was awoke by one of his attendants stir-
"'at the fire. Afterwards he again closed his eyes, and
reulained in profound repose until six o'clock, when he
was tiaited by the Rev. Mr. Stocking, the Chaplain of the
e4‘si. This gentleman remained with him until eight
6'elock. In speaking on the subject of a confession, lie
4411 one of his attendants in what way it could consti-
tute the salvation of his soul by telling the follies of his
i
'fe to the world, or what other effect it would have than
tasting an additional disgrace on his family. The attend.
ant replied,
that there was no necessity for his entering
'nto a long detail or history of his life, and that all that
could be required was an acknowledgment that justice had
hies done to him. To this he made no reply. Among
: [leveret conversations the following singular one is said
° have passed between him and one of his attendants. It
occurred on Friday evening :
Attendant—Pray, Mr. Corder, is it true that it was by
C 0 1.!.? advertisement you were first introduced to Mrs. Corder ?
order--Indeed it was.
ttendant—Had you many answers to it? Corder--I
had 45. Some from ladies in their carriages.
Attendant—Well, that surprises me. Corder—Surprise
You, so it may, as it did myself; but I missed of a good
thing.

s Attendant—How is that? Corder—Why, then, I will
_tell you. One of the answers that I received required that
should be at a certain church on an appointed day, dressed
In a particular way, and I should, meet a lady also dressed
in a particular way, and both understanding what we cane
about, no further introduction was necessary.
Attendant—But how could you know her ; there might
be another lady dressed in the same way? Corder—Oh!
to ;mini against a mistake, she desired that I should wear
black handkerchief round my neck, and have my left arm
in a sling; and, in case I should not observe her, she would
discover, and introduce herself.
Attendant--And did you meet her? Corder—No, I
did not ; I went, but not in time, as the service was over
when I got there.
Attendant—Then, when you slid not meet her, how do
you k.sow that she was respectable? Corder—Because the
pew-opener told me that such a lady was inquiring for a
gentleman of my description; and she came in an elegant
carriage, and was a young woman of fortune.—(Sighing
heavily.)

Attendant—Then you never saw her afterwards. Corder
never; but I found out where she lived, and who
she was, and would have bad an interview with her, were
it not that I became acquainted with Mrs. Corder, from
Whom I was not a day absent until we were married.
Attendant—Was that long after your acquaintance ?
Corder—About a week.
Corder's spirits are variable: at one time he seems to
entirely forget his calamitous situation, and at another,
When perchance he casts his eye upon his altered dress, he
"arta with horror, is overwhelmed with anguish, and
abandons himself to despair. He attended divine service
Yesterday morning in the chapel attached to the gaol, to
Which, after all the other prisoners had taken their seats,
he Was led by Mr. Orridge, and accompanied by his at-
tlants- He walked with an infirm step, and was, as on
the
Preceding week, placed in the felons' pew. His ap-
Pearance was very different from that when we last saw
hinl• He then wore a confident, bold, and unintimidated
aaPect ; but now his expression and demeanour were com-
pletely changed. His tears flowed in torrents, he sank
haulupon the seat, and covering his face with his left
lie sobbed convulsively. Me did not himself join
audibly in the service, but continued absorbed in grief.—
Re brought in with him a neatly-bound prayer-book, but
this lie made uo use, and only held it firmly grasped in
Lis hand.

Saturday Night, 10 o'clock.

hi conformity with his promise of yesterday evening,
Orridge, in the afternoon of this day, introduced Mrs.
Corder to her wretched husband. She arrived at the pri-
aon at ten minutes to two o'clock, and was accompanied
by
a Mrs. Atherton, an old schoolfellow, who has hu-
Inanely, since her coining here, lent her the support of her
tociety. Mrs. Atherton remained in the governor's office
While Mrs. Corder, leaning on his arm, proceeded to her
heart-rending interview. She brought with her a reli-
gious work (the Companion to the Altar), and earnestly
4esouglat the attention of the culprit to its contents,
Previous to his partaking of the sacred communion.
'-On, entering the cell, she threw herself hurriedly
Into his arms, and sobbing hysterically, said, Well,
dearest William, this trial has terminated in a manner quite
different to,that we all most sanguinely expected." Corder
114,4 much affected at her visit, and expressed to her, while
the tears rolled down his cheeks, his gratitude for ber at-
t4ehrnent to him, awl her undeviating affection through
tool report and evil report, and even unto the ignominious
vlose of his wretched life. For some minutes after her
totting in he was 'altogether deprived of utterance, but
portly recovering himself, he mentioned his extreme
linltiety for her future welfare, and manifested the utmost
Nititude lest the sneers and contumely of the world should
‘isit his transgressions upon her. She entreated him to
dismiss all reflections on her personal condition, not to
'itturb his mind, or distract his attention from the solemn
and consolatory duties of religion ; that matters of higher
teiport than any which related to her should be at once at-
-4410 to; " and," said she, " dear William, there is a
rod and merciful God, who will protect me : to him I
:1' 'IP, and from him in this calamitous hour I derive my
tPport." She implored him to disregard all worldly
,itairs, and to-consider and calmly reflect upon the heavy
rount he would be so soon called upon to deliver
the Almighty. The interview lasted until half.
P4lt two o'clock ; and is, as we have learned, likely
`n arouse Carder's dormant feelings, and lead to his
ZnPeuendtance. Mr. Orridge was present while it con-
an-
ithi?t
to un,haand at its close intimated to te prisoner
Pzey partner, that they. would again be per d
ted
each other at eleven o'clock this (Sunday)
°llling ; but that this they must consider as their final
!fleeting in this life. Mrs. Corder and Mrs. Atherton
walked both to and from time gaol : the former had a care-
>, melancholy, and dejected countenance ; but yet, con-
-Inering the severity of her afflictions, preserved a greater
Portion of self-possession than could naturally have been
expected. She was dressed in a brown levantine silk pe-
lisse, a straw bonnet with a black veil, which was drawn
down so closely over her face that it almost concealed it,
and across her shoulders was thrown a blue English Cach_
mere shawl, with a coloured borderr Mrs. Atherton's
dress PM equally plain, and though she did not see the
culprit, while waiting in the governor's room she wept
most bitterly.
After Mrs. Corder had taken leave of her husband, and
in company with Mr. Orridge, joined her friend,
'_'ll.• Atherton, she anxiously inuired of Mr Orridge
Whether he thought an applicationq to the throne. for mercy
!as likely to be available, or that she could obtain even a
'ort reepite to the execution? Orridge replied, that

in a matter of so serious a nature, he hoped she would ex-
cuse him from offec:i.,* h:iy 4.piitioN 4w hdvice. She had
better consult her irie:,4l,4 tolvinrs, and pursue
that course their an.! her utt mm good jtulcmeet deeint.,l the
most eligible.

(Faou of a OIVN arena rEas.)
Sunday Mousing.
On calling at the gaol to-day, I was informed. that Cor-
der, though much dejected at his approaching fate, slept
soundly daring the greater part of last night. About eight
o'clock in the evening, his mental exhaustion overcame his
physical strength, and he dropped into a calm and undis-
turbed sleep, which lasted till three. o'clock this morning.
I have been given to understand, that though he now ap-
pears greatly dismayed at the approaching close cf his
mortal career, he never from the first expected any other
termination to his trial. On hearing that his friends, some
of whom are very opulent and respectable persons, were
willing to make large pecuniary sacrifices to ensure him the
benefit of all the assistance which could be derived from
the talent and ingenuity of the most able and experienced
advocates at the bar, he wrote a letter to them returning
them thanks for their kindness, but at the same time de-
claring, that the evidence which had been taken at the in-
quest, would appear to all persons who were unacquainted
with the real nature of the transaction, so strong against
him, that it would answer no useful purpose to expend
their money in his behalf. lie also stated that he had
made up his mind to meet with courage and fortitude the
fatal destiny which had befallen many other individuals
who were as innocent as himself. It appears front the
event, that he has miscalculated his own strength of nerve ;
for, from all the accounts that I have been able to collect,
it is quite clear that the elasticity of his spirit is entirely
destroyed, and that he labours under the most poignant
distress of mind.

It has been stated to me from several quarters, that the
defence to which ke resorted was, even in the desperate
circumstances of his case, one of the most injudicious that
could possibly have been attempted. After admitting the
identity of the body discovered in the barn with that of
Maria Martin, the only point of difficulty was removed
from the decision of the jury. An acute analysis of the
evidence might perhaps have enabled an ingenious man to
suggest doubts as to the identity of the body, arising out
of the state of decomposition, at which not only the body,
but also the articles of dress found upon it, had arrived.—
But this line of defence was probably abandoned on account
of the difficulty which the prisoner would have experienced
in explaining the letters which he had written relative to
the existence of Maria Martin after her disappearance from
Polstead. Still, to support the indictment, it would have
been necessary to show that the body found was the body of
Maria Martin ; and however much appearances might on
other points have been against him, it would have been im-
possible for anyjury to have recorded a verdict of guilty against
him until they were convinced of the identity of the body with
that of the person alleged to be murdered. We understand
that a difference of opinion arose between Mr. Charnock
and Mr. Humphries, respecting the line of defence which
Corder was to take. Mr. Humphries was originally en-
gaged as solicitor for the prisoner, and Mr. Charnock sub-
eequently. Mr. Charnock advised one line of defence—
Mr. Humphries another ; and, as Mr. Charnock has some
connexion wit!, the family of the prisoner Mr. Humphries
gave up his opinion, on the ground that if his line of
defence failed, the relations of Corder might attribute the
failure to his obstinate adherence to his own view of the
case.

Since his conviction, various questions have been put to
Corder on different parts of the evidence. Mr. Orridge I
asked him how he got over that part of the evidence in
which it was sworn that he bad informed Maria Martin
that Balaam, the constable, had told him that Mr. Whit-
more had got a warrant to have her apprehended on ac-
count of her bastard children, when it appeared from Ba-
laam's testimony that he had made no such statement. To
this question he made no answer, but hung back, cast a
sharp and expressive look on the questioner, and assumed,
as he does upon all questions which displease him, au as-
pect of considerable ferocity. He was asked by one of his
attendants how he could muster nerve enough to stay alone
with the corpse in the barn whilst he was digging a grave
for it ; and his answer to this question appears very mate-
rial ; for it was given in the shape'uf another question, and
was to this effect :—" How d'ye know that such was the
case?" On another occasion he was asked to confess the
justice of his sentence, and his reply was curious. " The
sermons," said he, " which have been put into my hands
since I came into this place have convinced me that all
confession which it is necessary for me to make, is a con-
fession to my God of the transgressions of my life ; confes-
sion to man can be of no good to my soul ; Ido not like,
and I will not make it, as it savours strongly of Popedom."
To another person Le said "Why should I disgrace my
family by confessing all the follies and transgressions of my
youth ; they are, indeed, manifold ; the confession would
hurt their feelings, and would do me no good." It is,
however,e xpected by those who are best acquainted with
him, that though he has not yet made, he still will make,
a confession of his guilt before his execution, • if not in de-
tail, at least shortly in point of fact.
In the hurry of sending off the report of the trial, I for-
got to mention that when Lea, the police officer, was under
examination, Corder stamped violently on the floor of the
dock, and expressed considerable indignation at the testi-
mony which he was giving.. Mr. Orridge, on returning
front the Court with the prisoner, asked him what part of
Lea's evidence had so strongly excited his feelings. Corder
replied, that Lee had sworn falsely in saying, that lie had
made him a present of the two pistols which he (Lee) had
found in the reticule in his (Corder's) house. Mr. Or-
ridge said, that perhaps in the hurry and agitation of his
feelings, be had unconsciously made such a promise. Corder
replied, that it was possible he might have done so; but he
did not think it probable. He has repeated this declaration
since his conviction, and pledges the faith of a dying man
to its correctness.

An idle story has gone about this place that Corder was

at one time a Methodist parson, and had actually preached

a sermon at Polstead. The circumstance has been men-
tioned to him, and he gave it an unqualified contradiction.
He says, that be did for some time attend a Methodist
chapel, because a young girl whom he admired frequented
it, but that he had always been too dissolute and depraved
to turn his mind to religious pursuits.
The contention which took place in court respecting the
possession of Corder's pistols is not yet terminated. It was
stated that Mr. Orridge took them into his custody on the
termination of the trial. Shortly afterwards the High
Sheriff, as the representative of the Crown, claimed them
of Mr. Orridge, and carried them home with him to his
seat in this neighbourhood. Lea, after they were thus
consigned to the custody of the Sheriff, called upon Mr.
Orridge to restore them. Mr. Orridge referred him to the
High Sheriff on the subject ; and Lea, who is collecting an
armoury of weapons which have inflicted murder, has:de-
clared his intention of appealing to the High Sheriff for
the restoration of them, as he says that they were made his
property by the free gift of the prisoner, some time before
his attaint for felony had forfeited them to the Crown.
It is singular, that when Bellingham was convicted of
the murder of Mr. Percival, a similar anxiety was dis-
played by the officers of justice to retain the weapon by
which his death had been inflicted. In that case one of
the sheriffs, as the representative of the Crown, got pos-
session of the fatal pistol ; he was not, however, allowed to
keep it, for the Secretary of State fur the Home Depart-
ment claimed it on the very same ground from the Sheriff,
and the subordinate minister of justice was obliged to dis-
gorge his prize at the command of his superior.
You will have heard from another quarter, of the feeling
manner in which Mrs. Corder received the distressing in-
telligence of her husband's conviction, and of the kindness
with which she endeavoured to arm him against his fate.
I have just heard of another anecdote, which places in a
strong light the propriety of her moral principles. On the
first interview that she had with her husband after his
conviction, Mr. Orridge felt himself compelled, in conse-
quence of a new clause inserted in Lord Lansdowne's Act,
t?inform her that he must be present during the whole
time of its continuance, lest she should furnish her hus-
band with some means by which he might effect his own
Ito should llise
bffe in
destruction. Mrs. Corder said, "If it pleased God to
take himheofosrt 6etphpey
; buttime lapwpoouinldtendotforhis
execution,
inter-
fere between his God and him for any consideration. I
would let him meet his fate with submission rather than
afford him any means by which he might anticipate it."—
The meeting between them is described as having been of
the most tender and affecting nature. I have not been able
to learn whether it is intended that he should have an in-
terview with his mother before the execution of his sen-
tence, nor have I been able
.to learn how she and his
sister received the tidings of his conviction. But it is easy

to guess.
The fate of his aged and widowed mother is indeed de-
plorable, and entitles her to the sympathy of every humane
and benevolent bosom. She has within a very short pe-
riod been bereft by the ordinary course of nature of three
sons ; the on son whom she has left is now to be
wrenched from her by the exterminating grasp of public
Justice. Can any one have a greater right to refuse to he
comforted ?
It may be perhaps as well to mention here, that the
warrant for Corder's execution differs slightly from the
form in which all former wit-rants for the execution of
murderers were drawn up. The alteration is made in von-

sequence of a clause in Lord Lansdowne's late Act for ma-
licious injury to the person. The old form of warrant
merely ordered the body to be given to the surgeons to be
anatomized and dissected ; the present form appoints the
hospital at which such dissection shall take place. In
this instance, the body is given to the hospital at this town,
and after the execution to-morrow, is to be exposed to the
inspection of the public at the Shire-ball.
The execution will take place on the south side of the
prison, at twelve o'clock precisely. A gateway was yes-
terday cut in the wall, through which the prisoner will
advance to the fatal platform, along a stage to be erected
for that purpose. Some of his fellow-prisoners, who seem►
to think that life is a jest, and that death is nothing but
a drunken sleep, have already cut a joke upon this door-
way, by giving it the nickname of " Corder's eternal way."
Half-past 11 o'clock, Sunday morning.

I have, just returned from hearing the condemned sermon,
which was delivered in the chapel attached to the gaol, by
the chaplain, the Rev. W. Stocking. By the kindness of
the Governor, Mr. Orridge, I was admitted into the gaol
at half-past eight o'clock. Shortly after nine, the chapel
was opened. Besides the inmates of the gaol, there were
about 20 persons present. After the debtors confined in
the county gaol had taken their seats, the different felons,
who have been tried at the late Assizes, were admitted to
theirs. The latter were dressed in a coat and trousers of
gray frieze, striped at intervals with two bars of black,
enclosing a broader stripe of yellow, which is the costume
of this prison. After the chaplain had taken his station in
the pulpit, Corder was led into the barred cell reserved fur
culprits under sentence of death by Mr. Orridge and
one of his attendants. He wept bitterly as he came
along the passage ; but buried his face in his handkerchief
as if anxious to withdraw himself from the gaze of the
curious. His step was any thing but firm ; and he had
evidently lost beyond the power of recall a great part of that
self-command which he exhibited at the commencement of
the trial. As soon as he was locked in the pew appointed
for him, he heaved a deep sigh, sat himself down on one of
the benches, and leant against the side of the pew : he
then raised his foot on the bench before him, rested his
elbow on his knee, and his face, which he covered with a
white handkerchief, on his hand, and remained in that po-
sition dining the greater part of the service. The Rev.
Gentleman then read an excellent occasional prayer for the
persons in Corder's deplorable situation : he appeared much
moved by it, and betrayed great agitation when the Rev.
Gentleman had his congregation reflect that but for the
mediating blood of Christ they might have been shut up in
Hell instead of that prison. In that part of the Service
of the Day in which the Clergyman preys that the rest of
our lives may be pure and hely, Corder's emotion was ex-
cessive, owing perhaps to its exciting the painful reflection
that the rest of his life was already numbered. The psalms
which were selected for the occasion were the 51st and
the 130th. In that part of the 51st psalm in which the
inspired writer implores God to deliver him from
blood guiltiness, Corder sighed deeply, and shewed,
I,y the uplifted motion of his hands, that he joined
cordially in the prayer. These two psalms, which
are very affecting, produced no other display of
feeling from the prisoner, so deep and eren stupify.
ing was the grief by which he was overwhelmed. The
first lesson read was the usual lesson for the day; the
second was selected with reference to the prisoner's situa-
tion, and was that part of the 15th chapter of St. Paul's
First Epistle to the Corinthians, which the Church of
England, from admiration of its deep and affecting subli-
mity, has incorporated into the burial service. The 30th
verse, " 'Why stand we in jeopardy every hour ?" affected
him greatly ; but I was surprised that he betrayed no feel-
ing at that verse in which it is declared that the sting of
death is sin, nor at that in which it is also declared that
death is now swallowed up in victory. At the commence-
ment of the Litany he sighed deeply, and evidently joined
in heart, though not in word, with the supplication to the
Trinity to have mercy upon all miserable sinners. On
coming to that clause in the Litany in which the preacher
prays that God will show his pity upon all prisoners and
captives, and especially on him who is now awaiting the
execution of his sentence, he let his head fall against the
wall with a heart-rending sigh. At the close of the
Litany the clergyman introduced a prayer for Corder,
which affected him so much that he cried audibly. In the
closing paragraph of it, in which God was implored
to enable so heinous a sinner to cast himself wholly
on his Redeemer, and, through the merits of his
passion and death, to relieve himself from the pres-
sure of his sins, he groaned aloud, and half whis-
pered "Amen." This prayer appeared to make a greater
impression upon him than any ether portion of the service
of the day. He changed his position repeatedly, but
never abstained from keeping his handkerchief in front of
face. It was the only time in which he joined in the re-
sponses, though many of them were most suitable to his
desperate condition. Part of the Gospel of the day struck
me as peculiarly appropriate to his condition ; but during
the reading of it, and also during the reading of a great
portion of the previous part of the communism service, he
appeared involved in a sort of stupor. To the sermon he
paid considerable attention. It was taken from the 41st
verse of the 23d chapter of St. Luke, and was in these
words :—" And we indeed justly, for we receive the due
reward of our deeds, but this man bath not done amiss."
The Reverend Preacher said that these were the words of
the malefactor who was crucified with Jesus, and who, in
consequence of his belief in the divine character of our
Saviour, received from him a promise that he should be
entitled with him to the joys of Paradise. He pointed
out the happy result which the words of the text had pro-
duced to the person who uttered them, and said that he
should take occasion from them to point out the state of mind
which a malefactor appointed to die, ought to strive with
all his soul to attain. The external demeanour of a person
so circumstanced should be such as not to give offence to
those who should watch his actions at the time of his
death ; for the damage be might then do was irreparable,
and he never could have any opportunity to repair it by
repentance. He ought to endeavour so to conduct himself
at the close of his existence as to edify and improve by his
death those who could have received nothing but evil ex-
ample front his life. A death on the scaffold excited great
attention on the part of the spectators, and whatever was
then said or done by the malefactor doomed to die, made
an impression on their memories, which rendered it incum-
bent on him to say or do nothing which could weaken the
respect due from us all to that God at whose tribunal he
was going to appear. The inward demeanour of the prisoner
was that, however, to which he ought to pay the greatest con-
cern. He should endeavour to make his peace with God, and
should repent of his sins with a repentance not to be repented
of. As he could not expect to bring forward in his life
fruits meet for repentance, it was incumbent upon him
to reiterate his prayer for a change of mind, till he became
certain that it was accepted. He should bow with
submission to the will of God, and throw off that reluc-
tance which too often prevented individuals from owning
the justice of the sentence with which God visited them.
He should be sensible that nothing was more suitable to
his past transgressions than the ignominious death which
he was going to suffer. The ignominy of it would exist
but for a short time, and the pain of it to the mortal body
for only a few minutes. The dark way through which he
would have to travel to eternity should be that which
troubled him with the greatest alarm. He should prepare
himself, therefore, for that awful occasion, when the dead
in Christ should rise again, and when the great judgment
of the Lord should pronounce absolution on the godly and
condemnation on the wicked. He pointed out the dis-
tressing situation of those to whom God should say, " De-
part from me, ye wicked, into everlasting iire—(here
Corder was violently affected, and sobbed convulsively)—
and asked with great enthusiasm what would not the
wicked give for one hour at that time to make their
peace with their offended Creator. Then it would
be too late to implore his mercy—their eternal state
would be concluded on—and the certainty that
there would be no change in it, would aggravate
the intensity of their sufferings.—( Here Corder's
emotion was truly distressing—he moved about in his seat
in great mental anguish.) It might that there were some
persons present who, like the Pharisee, might thank God
that they were not murderers like the unfortunate man who
was now doomed to die; let those who made such compa-
risons beware,—they were odious to God, and dangerous
to themselves. Let them guard against such boastings,—
for they proclaimed them to be guiltier than they them-
selves imagined. They might have strictly adhered to all
the laws of the land ;'hut the laws of the land were not
the criterion of a Christian's duty ; and those who made
them so, acted more cunningly than wisely for their own
spiritual interests. To wish the death of an individual was
often as full of guilt as to inflict it. Let those, therefore, who
thought that they stood, take care lest they fell ; and let
them take warning frotn the death which was now im-
pending over their fellow prisoner, and endeavour not
to do likewise, lest a worse fate should hereafter befall
them.

The close of this sermon, of which we have given a
very faint and imperfect sketch, was the close of the ser-
vice lOr the (lay. Corder was led out by Mr. Orridge in
almost a fainting condition. As soon as he reached his
cell, he staggered to his bed, on which be flung himself,
sobbing convulsively fcr many minutes. In passing the
pew in which I was seated he dropped his handkerchief
from his fare, and nothing could be more altered than the
cast of his countenance since I saw him on Friday last.
11 cheeks had cpliapsed, his eyes were swollen greatly,