ad expired some minutes before. The
benevolent old nurse gave him a crown. He accepted the money and
thanked her.

While his appeal was pending, offers of escape were made him. There
was thrown, one after the other, in his dungeon, through its air-hole,
a nail, a bit of iron file, and the handle of a bucket. Any of these
three tools would have been sufficient to so skillful a man as Sam
Needy to cut through his irons. He gave up the nail, the file, and the
handle to the turnkey.

On the 10th of June, 1834, seven months after the deed, its expiation
arrived. That day, at seven o'clock in the morning, the recorder of
the tribunal entered Sam Needy's dungeon, and announced to him that he
had not more than an hour to live. His petition was rejected.

"Come," said Sam, coldly, "I have this night slept well, without
troubling myself that I should sleep still better the next."

It would appear as if the words of strong men always receive a certain
dignity from approaching death.

The chaplain arrived--then the executioner. He was humble to the one,
gentle to the other.

He maintained a perfect ease of spirit. He listened to the chaplain
with extreme attention, accusing himself of many things, and
regretting that he had not been instructed in religion.

At his request they had given him back the scissors with which he had
wounded himself. One blade, which had been broken in his breast, was
wanting. He entreated the jailor to have these scissors taken to
Heartall as from himself.

He besought those who bound his hands to place in his right hand the
crown-piece which the good nurse had given him--the only thing which
was now remaining to him.

At a quarter to eight he was led out of his prison, with the customary
mournful procession which attends the condemned. He was pale; his eyes
were fixed on the chaplain--but he walked with a firm step.

He ascended the scaffold gravely. He shook hands with the chaplain
first, then the executioner, thanking the one, forgiving the other.
The executioner _pushed him back gently_, says one account. At the
moment when the assistant put the hideous rope round his neck, he made
a sign to the chaplain to take the crown-piece which he had in his
right hand, and said to him, "_For the poor_." At that moment the
clock was striking eight, the sound from the steeple drowned his
voice, and the chaplain answered that he could not hear him. Sam
waited for an interval between two of the strokes