sin.

"The sentence of the court is, that you, Simon Jennings, be taken from
that bar to the county jail, and thence on this day fortnight to be
conveyed to the place of execution within the prison, and there by the
hands of the common hangman be hanged by the neck--"

At the word "neck," in the slow and solemn enunciation of the judge,
issued a terrific scream from the mouth of Simon Jennings: was he mad
after all--mad indeed? or was he being strangled by some unseen
executioner? Look at him, convulsively doing battle with an invisible
foe! his eyes start; his face gets bluer and bluer; his hands, fixed
like griffin's talons, clutch at vacancy--he wrestles--struggles--falls.

All was now confusion: even the grave judge, who had necessarily stopped
at that frightful interruption, leaned eagerly over his desk, while
barristers and serjeants learned in the law crowded round the prisoner:
"He is dying! air, there--air! a glass of water, some one!"

About a thimbleful of water, after fifty spillings, arrived safely in a
tumbler; but as for air, no one in that court had breathed any thing but
nitrogen for four hours.

He was dying: and three several doctors, hoisted over the heads of an
admiring multitude, rushed to his relief with thirsty lancets:
apoplexy--oh, of course, apoplexy: and they nodded to each other
confidentially.

Yes, he was dying: they might not move him now: he must die in his sins,
at that dread season, upon that dread spot. Perjury, robbery, and
murder--all had fastened on his soul, and were feeding there like
harpies at a Strophadian feast, or vultures ravening on the liver of
Prometheus. Guilt, vengeance, death had got hold of him, and rent him,
as wild horses tearing him asunder different ways; he lay there
gurgling, strangling, gasping, panting: none could help him, none could
give him ease; he was going on the dark, dull path in the bottom of that
awful valley, where Death's cold shadow overclouds it like a canopy; he
was sinking in that deep black water, that must some day drown us
all--pray Heaven, with hope to cheer us then, and comfort in the fierce
extremity! His eye filmed, his lower jaw relaxed, his head dropped
back--he was dying--dying--dying--

On a sudden, he rallied! his blood had rushed back again from head to
heart, and all the doctors were deceived--again he battled, and fought,
and wrestled, and flung them from him; again he howled, and his eyes
glared lightning--mad? Yes, mad