The Madisonian. [volume] (Washington City [i.e. Washington, D.C.]) 1837-1845, 1838-11-14
MISCELLANEOUS.
HAVRE.-A VISIT TO NEWGATE.
FROM SKETCHES BY BOIL

FROM SKETCHES BY BOZ
The Condemned CeH-We entered the first
cell, it was stone dungeon, eight feet long
by six wide, with bench at the further end,
under which were common hearth rug, a
bible, and prayer-book An iron candlestick
was fixed in the wall at the side, and small
high window in the back admitted as much
air and light as could struggle in between
double row Of heavy. crossed iron bars 1t
contained no other furniture of any descrip-
ton.
Conceive the situation of man spending
his last night on earth in this cell Buoyed UP
with some vague and underlined hope of re-
prieve, he knew not why-indulging in some
wild and yisiona idea of escaping, he knew
not how-hour after hour of the three prece-
ding days allowed him for preparation has fled
with speed which no man living would deem
possible, for none but this dying man can
know. He has wearied his friends with en-
treaties, exhausted the attendants with impor-
tunities-neglecte in his feverish restless
ness, the timely warnings Of his spiritual con-
soler and now the illusion is at last dspeled,
now that eternity is before him and guilt be.
hind; now that his fears Of death amount al
most to madness, and an overwhelming sense
of his helpless, hopeless state rushes upon
him-he is lost and stupefed, and has neither
thoughts to turn to, nor power to call upon,
the Almighty Being, from whom alone he can
seek mercy and forgiveness, and before whom
his repentance alone can avail
Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon
the same stone bench, with folded arms, heed
less alike Of the fast decreasing time before
him., and the urgent entreaties of the good
man at his side. The feeble light is wasting
gradually, and:th death-like stiffness of the
street without, broken only by the rumbling
of some passing vehicle, which echoes
mournfully through the empty yards, warns
him that the night is waning fast away. The
deep bell of St. Pauls sirikes-one He
heard tit has reused him. Seven hours
left ! He PAGES the narrow limits of his cell
with rapid strides---cold drops of terror start
ing on his forehead, and every muscle of his
frame quivering with agony Seven hours
He suffers himself TO be led to his seat me-
chemically takes the bible which is placed in
his hand, and tries to read and listen No.
his thoughts will wander The book is torn
and soled by use; how like the book he read
his lessons in at school just forty years ago
He has never bestowed thought upon it
since he left it as child and yet the place,
the roomnay, the very boys he used to play
with, crowd as wildly before him as if they
were scenes of yesterday and some forgotten
phrase, some childish word of kindness, rings
in his ears like the echo of one uttered but
minute since The deep voice of the clergy
man recalls him to himself He is reading
from the sacred book its solemn promises Of
pardon for repentance, and its awful denuncia-
ton Of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees
and clasps his hands to pray Hush! what
sound was that He starts upon his feet. 1t
cannot be two yet. Hank! two quarters have
struck the third---he fourth 1t is! Six
hours left. Tell him not of repentance. Six
hours of repentance for eight times six years
of guilt and sin He buries his face in his
hands, and throws himself on the bench
Worn with watching and excitement, he
sleeps, and the same unsettled state of mind
pursues him in his dreams. An insupportable
load is taken from his breast. He is walking
with his wife in a pleasant field, with the
bright blue sky above them, and fresh and
boundless prospect on every side-how differ
ent from the stone wall of Newgate '" She
is looking, not as she did when he saw her
for the last time in that dreadful place, but as
she used when he loved her--long, long ago,
| DeiOIe IulStIy anu lll-tTedtneHt Idu dlleTeu
her looks, and vice had changed his nature !;
and she is leaning upon his face with tender
ness and affection and he does not strike her
now nor rudely shake her from him. And,
oh how glad he is to tell her he had forgot
ten in that last hurried interview, and to fall
on his knees before her and fervently beseech
her pardon for all the unkindness and cruelty
that wasted her form and broke her heart
The scene suddenly changes. He is on trial
again there are the judge, and jury, and pro-
secutors, and Witnesses, just as they were be-
fore. How full the court is---what a sea oil
heads-with gallows, too, and a scaffold--,
and how all those people stare at him. Yer,
dict, guilty" No matter he will escape.
The night is dark and cold---the gates have
been left open, and, in an instant, he is in the
street, flying from the scene Of his imprison
ment, like the wind. The streets are cleared
the open fields are gained, and the broad
wide country lies before him. Onward HI