years old, who was
lounging in the place of exercise, and advised him to learn to read.
The rest of the day was as usual. At 7 o'clock at night the prisoners
were shut up, each division in the work-room to which they belonged,
and the overseers went out, as it appears was the custom, not to
return till after the director's visit. Sam was locked in with his
companions like the rest.

Then there passed in this work-room an extraordinary scene, one not
without majesty and awe, the only one of the kind which is to be told
in this story. There were there (according to the judiciary deposition
afterward made) four-and-twenty prisoners, including Sam Needy. As
soon as the overseers had left them alone, Sam stood up upon a bench,
and announced to all the room that he had something to say. There was
silence.

Then Sam raised his voice, and said, "You all know that Heartall was
my brother. Here they do not give me enough to eat; even with the
bread which I can buy with the little I earn, it is not sufficient.
Heartall shared his ration with me. I loved him at first because he
fed me, then because he loved me. The director, Mr. Flint, separated
us; our being together could be nothing to him--but he is a
bad-hearted man, who enjoys tormenting others. I have asked him for
Heartall back again. You have heard me. He will not do it. I gave him
till the 10th, which is to-day, to restore Heartall to me. He ordered
me into solitary confinement for telling him so. I, during this time,
have sat in judgment upon him, and condemned him to death. In two
hours he will come to make his round. I warn you that I am about to
kill him. Have you any thing to say on the matter?" All continued
silent.

He went on; he spoke (so it appears) with a peculiar eloquence, which
was natural to him. He declared that he knew he was about to do a
violent deed, but could not think it wrong. He appealed to the
conscience of his four-and-twenty listeners. He was placed in a cruel
extremity; the necessity of doing justice to himself was a strait into
which every man found himself driven at one time or other; he could
not, in truth, take the director's life without giving his own for it;
but it was right to give his life for a just end. He had thought
deeply on the matter, and that alone, for two months; he believed he
was not carried away by passion, but if it were so, he trusted they
would warn him. He honestly submitted his reasons to the just men whom
he addr