with inexpressible desire that often cannot wait the legitimate hour for its gratification.

Certain true histories which have come within the range of our experience will sufficiently show that we are not trusting to any vague theories, in thus describing the beneficent and alluring aspect which death wears within the Silent World, and these are not by any means confined to cases of actual suicide. The passionate belief in the last dread change, as the greatest boon life can offer, has been seen by us to take action in forms much more singular than mere self-destruction. One of the

strangest instances of a man enamoured of death that ever came under our notice was that of an old agricultural labourer, whom we will call Richard Hodson. He was about sixty years of age, absolutely illiterate, of sound mind so far as his intelligence went, but without an idea beyond his daily work and the circumstances of his domestic life. He had apparently no religious belief. If any dim recollections remained with him of the Sundayschool teaching of his childish days, it never seemed to occur to him that they could have any personal reference to his own destiny here or hereafter. There was a church in his native village, but he never entered it; and the only mode of "saying his prayers," of which his wife sometimes spoke, was simply by his use of language more undesirably forcible than usual. Hodson's life had been singularly devoid of any element of pleasure or happiness. It had been spent in ceaseless grinding toil to procure the bare means of subsistence, and the home to which he returned after his day's labour was rendered distasteful to him by the suler operament of his wife,

his only companion. He had but one child-a daughter-and she lived at a distance, entirely separated from him by her marriage with a man who had treated her wrongly, and with who, therefore, Hodson had a deadly quarrel. It would have been hard to say whether he or his wife were the most thoroughly ill-tempered. They often passed days and even weeks together in their small cottage without addressing a single syllable to each other. It was not a cheerful abode under the circumstances; and certainly Richard Hodson's life was altogether so hopelessly unattractive that he might be forgiven for not caring particularly to prolong it.

came

One beautiful evening in the month of May the home after having been hard at work from early daylight. There was a sinall kitchen-garden attached to his cottage, on which he and his wife depended entirely for a supply of vegetables with which to eke out their scanty meals. Some piece of work within its narrow limits required to be finished at once if they were not to lose the benefit of the uncertain fine weather; but the man was tired, and he felt that he must have efficient help if he was to get the necessary task done that night. He asked his wife if she would go with him to the garden and give him her assistance for an hour, so that they might provide against the chance of rain on the morrow. She answered that she would see him far enough, before she lifted a finger to help him in that or in anything else. Thereafter a fit of desperation seemed to take possession of the man. A frantic desire seized him to make an end of the weary intolerable business of existence altogether, both for himself and the woman who so ingeniously

managed to intensify its bitterness. If he obeyed this strong impulse without delay, the proceeding would have the additional advantage of enabling him to taste the sweets of revenge, which at that moment appeared to him peculiarly delectable; and, in short, the whole transaction assumed so bewitching an aspect to his mind that he did not hesitate in accomplishing it fully then and there. Within an hour from the time when his wife refused to work with him in their little garden, he had most effectually made an end of her, and was himself in the safe custody of the police on his way to the county jail. He surrendered himself to them with the utmost cheerfulness when they approached with the handcuffs, and inade but this one remark-"Now I'll go to the gallows like a prince."

These same words he repeated at intervals during the few weeks which elapsed before he took his trial; and there can be no question that they embodied the feeling which was uppermost in his mind.

Hodson could neither read nor write, so that the time hung somewhat heavy cn his hands, while waiting till his fate should be settled at the Assizes. He therefore welcomed the present writer eagerly to his cell as an opportunity for a little conversation; but it was all on one theme,-how ready and anxious he was to die. Nothing could be said to give him the least idea that his wish would not be gratified. The cruel deed he had so strangely committed seemed to have been completely motiveless and inexcusabie, and no steps could be taken by any one to avert the consequences. In fact, when the day of his trial arrived, the man's absolute determination to die frustrated the humane and anxious efforts of his

judge to give him any chance of escape that might be justified by the law. Nothing could exceed the kindness and consideration shown by Sir-to this unhappy criminal, in marked contrast to what occurred with regard to a case we have already had an opportunity of describing in these pages. Had there been any possible ground on which his crime could have been reduced to manslaughter, the high-minded judge would gladly have availed himself of it; but Richard Hodson rendered any idea of the kind abortive, by insisting, in defiance of all the advice given him, on pleading guilty to wilful murder.

It is extremely rare in the annals of our courts of justice that such a plea should be recorded— not more than once, we believe, in a century; and of course, if accepted, it could only, according to the existing law, be followed by an immediate sentence of death.

The man's words, firm and decided, "I am guilty," were heard with dismay by all in the court; but the judge was resolved, if possible, not to allow his self-condemnation to be received as final, and the conversation which ensued between him and the prisoner was so singular, that we give it verbatim as it was taken down by the shorthand writer at the time, omitting only some irrelevant remarks.

"Before I accept that plea," said the judge, "I wish you thoroughly to understand that you are charged with wilful murder—that is to say, causing the death of your wife, meaning to murder her. If that is what you mean to say, you plead guilty to an offence for which you will be sentenced to be hanged by the neck till you be dead, within a fortnight of the present time. Do you mean that you desire to plead guilty to that,

and undergo the consequences-do you inean that?"

"I done the deed, sir; I killed her dead."

"That is not murder," replied the judge. "The offence you are charged with, is that of killing her intending to kill her dead. That is murder; the other would be manslaughter. Do you wish to plead guilty to the offence of murder, for which you will have to be hanged in about a fortnight, or do you wish to be tried? Prisoner, do you wish to be tried, or do you wish to be hanged?"

"I wish to be hanged, sirout of it-yes!"

"Whether you are guilty or not?" asked the judge.

"I am guilty, sir."

"I think it a little doubtful whether you really do understand the law which is applicable in this case-and if there is any doubt, it is better that the offence should be investigated by a jury so that the exact truth may be known."

"I have nothing more to say," said the prisoner; "I done the deed, and must put up with the consequences."

Some discussion ensued between the judge, the counsel, and others as to whether the man understood the difference between murder and manslaughter.

The judge then again addressed the prisoner: "I think this is really a case in which one ought to have the matter investigated. I must enter a plea of not guilty, that you may be tried." The necessary formality was gone through, and then the judge continued: "You will have to be tried, because I have entered a plea of not guilty. Do you wish to conduct your own case, or would you like some counsel to appear for you and make the best case he can for you?"

"I would sooner have it now,

"As you are going to be tried, I offer that there should be some counsel to see that you have fairplay-do you wish that?"

"I would sooner have it settled, and done away with, over and done with."

:

"It cannot be settled now," replied the judge; "you will have to be tried to-morrow all I ask is, whether on your trial you wish to conduct your own case, or whether you would like some counsel to speak for you?"

"I don't want anybody to talk for me-I will take it in my own hands."

There was nothing more to be said, and the prisoner was removed, but the judge did not desist from his efforts to induce the man to allow a counsel to be assigned to him next day, and this was done. Hodson was fairly driven into giving a very unwilling consent. The counsel did his best; he made a very eloquent speech, in which he attempted to set up a plea of insanity, but, as might have been expected, it failed completely; not only did all the persons called to give evidence bear witness to the prisoner's previous soundness of mind, but it was impossible for any one to look at the quiet self-controlled man, who listened with imperturbable composure to the history of his own deed of violence, without feeling satisfied that he was in perfect possession of his faculties and reason. The trial ended with the inevitable result, and Richard Hodson heard his sentence of death with as calm and cheerful a countenance as if it had been the an

nouncement of some unwonted piece of good fortune. He mainHe maintained the same unmoved contented demeanour during the interval which elapsed between his trial and execution. He was very willing to listen to the chaplain's instructions, if only pour passer le temps; and it seemed quite an agreeable surprise to him to discover that when he had got rid of this extremely unsatisfactory existence, it was possible that a different form of life, somewhat better and brighter, might then open out before him. He was quite docile in accomplishing all that he was told to do in the way of religious preparation with a view to that contingency, but it is doubtful whether the pleasant certainty that he was about "to be hanged, and out of it-yes!" did not loom so large in his mind as the sum of his desires, that little space was left for any less tangible hope. Yet there were many indications that this strange complacency, in prospect of a dreadful doom, was not the mere brutish indifference of a low order of intelligence. Hodson showed feeling in many ways, and a strong sense of gratitude, tinctured with astonishment, for the sympathy and kindness manifested towards him in the jail. This was shown in a touching little incident on the Sunday before his death. The chaplain was wont on these sad occasions to let the condemned man choose the hymns himself for the last service in which he would join with his fellow-prisoners, and naturally those selected were always such as were suitable to the dying.

It is one of the experiences of a prison visitor, which is certainly not enviable, to have to meet the wistful gaze of a man standing up, strong and healthful in full vigour of life, while he sings such words

as these, "Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes," knowing that his own undimmed eyes would be closed in death within a few hours: under these circumstances the writer involuntarily looked up at Richard Hodson, and was surprised to see him suddenly turn his head away and burst into tears. He had always been so cheerful that it could only be supposed the full horror of his position had suddenly revealed itself to him; and under that impression the chaplain, on being told after service of the man's unusual agitation, went at once to his cell to offer such consolation as might be possible. He found, however, to his surprise, that the condemned criminal's emotion had not been in the least on his own account. He had observed, he said, that when the visitor glanced at him during the singing of the mournful hymn it had been with a look of pain and distress, and the idea that he had thus caused a person wholly unconnected with his crime to suffer grief for his sake, as well as several others who were, he knew, greatly troubled at his fate, had suddenly overcame him with a sort of remorse-it had gone to his heart, he said, and forced from his eyes the tears he would not have shed for himself.

Hodson's indomitable cheerfulness on the fateful morning was such as the prison officials had never before witnessed in any case. He was to die at eight o'clock. At seven he went through a private religious service in the chapel. At half-past seven his breakfast was brought to him in his cell: he drew a chair to the table and sat down to it with an excellent appetite; he proceeded to go through all the little processes necessary for making the best of the food set before him, in the most leisurely

manner. He was still engaged upon it when the ominous knock came to the door which announced the executioner; then he quietly laid down the last mouthful of bread he had been about to eat, and yielded himself up to the hands that in five minutes more had finished their work upon him.

It seems right, in the interests of other criminals who may have to meet the same doom, to state what occurred at the execution of Richard Hodson, though we will touch on the facts as briefly as possible. The unfortunate man suffered a death to which he had not been condemned by law-he was, in fact, violently decapitated. In the opinion of the bystanders this catastrophe occurred entirely through the mismanagement of the official most concerned. The manner in which that individual treated the matter at the inquest was not calculated to allay the universal indignation aroused by the event he spoke of it with careless unconcern, as a little accident which was quite likely to happen often on these occasions, and which simply could not be helped. This opinion was endorsed, only in more gentlemanly terms, by an answer given to a question asked in Parliament respecting this case it was then again affirmed that such occurrences might be expected when the physical characteristics of the criminals were of a nature to produce them.

If there must be a death penalty in England, it would surely be well that it should be accomplished in such a way as to render similar catastrophes impossible. Since the first day of the present year it has been the law in America that executions should be carried out by electricity. Whether or not this may be a desirable mode of opera

tion, it would at least prevent such terrible occurrences as that which took place at the death of Richard Hodson.

Persons comforted themselves on that occasion, as they are wont to do under other aspects of the final mystery, by the assumption that at least death had been instantaneous. This is not a subject which can be discussed ir these pages, but we cannot leave it without the simple statement, founded on recent experiments in France and elsewhere which have proved conclusively the fact,—that it is not possible to assign to any fixed time the cessation of consciousness. So far as the investigation has gone at present, it is certain that it endures to a later period after the breath ceases than has been supposed to be the case hitherto.

It is an in

The ethics of suicide, as they may be studied within the Silent World, offer many problems for our consideration. dictable offence, and we have therefore the opportunity of seeing it under very varied aspects, some of which we shall exemplify by giving an account of a few typical cases. In one respect, however, they are all absolutely identical, and that is in the immutable conviction on the part of the persons concerned, that they have a perfect right to destroy their own lives if it pleases them to do so, and that the act does not render them guilty of any sin in the sight of God, although it has been decreed that it should be reckoned an infringement of human laws.

So far as the experience of the present writer extends, it has been found completely impossible to convince men and women who are desirous of ridding themselves of the burden of existence, that they will commit even a venial error by accomplishing their own release.