The Sun. — London, England, 1842-03-14 00:00:00

AND o circu- ich have myself, seen re ast cen- ess, Olt r in pro . • first In- the end, and fur # attacks ( a s con ) far as T ssr•sy° whom . .od, and rod whom 1 t%4 Filch) of vo man of og whose o ied. sh , bad 4 00 the daY.loo4i J. ' a ccom - ;;! .14 111 Q ". whom F firt; l9ll I had , ..qlO Ol „hom Ai 4 f „, days r at th e -, fi jew els, <,..; al: a day b Y A erveu ib i n n 3/r. :had ig) , 1111 • A , owed t° dr. Cad. Id to r e. William ast );i" probgb M i' ' 3 , 4 with r' •;„,/ itest ,10 her dy for a 4 id firm!): rej Ladi oic eu ;of .. 1 litti e • mind "` arc's tow roll they that she • ) ;feal.l: lug w' t P r by reVe that in' , mpa nt „ i t the si . ol e Will on, da l- . p i ery' ,f, ver seen. to Ind , ;o1 'denotr" in rims ;s Bel lew !d to her fusing hat A li° am ( and and er with the, ▪ care 01 in Y such i h er to finally in' she h ad • tho ca lived 0 tS. Me little pr re melt . IdeCeeel ig in DIY,: .0 ma kirla Unde r ho nour ,00k h er subje ct ' a young e of d f- , f par„ or he ca:4 r . - Observ er. ndlY frie of had ° o f Ova tion uafnot " frien, 0 ha d thef as tb s s unaeu asly "tie. Comr n g ; ,nted THE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY MORNING. MARCH 14, 1842. ,CAL SCENE. sit p t , i .a'ER OF THREE CHILDREN BY THEIR -'e4HEterda R' and SUICIDE of the MURDERER. of th: at a quarter to n i ne o ' c l oc k, one plac e !ncsty morning, appalling and tragical events that have taken rielPiu the City, within our memory, occurred. The al actor • r the melancholy affair was a man named th c' e e l! e L ucas, and the scene of the frightful act was at 1,,, 118 1 No. 3, Zion -gardens, Aldermanbury. a lt llt 2rn the facts which we were enabled to collect, it 0,,;71," that LRCMS, who was thi rty - e i g h t years o f age , aiii that whole of the h ouse i n quest i on, an d let out eos s i 'of it but the kitchen and attics ; and his family a h e 91 his wife and three children—namely, George, l hed , a Y, aged ten years ; Ann, aged seven ; and A - tse ro d four ; and Ann Hammond, the niece of Mr. ttl, s zt eti eighteen. Condit who is described as a steady, sober, a • nd rs we a l s l war e h e e t n roan, had been employed for many }.ears lLsenla n , in different situations in the City, but for the slackness t h e of trade has been out of employ ao h e , •,ast six months. This circumstance has preyed xp res rl 'Y upon his mind that he has once or twice lately ha asel ' f e . d his fears that he would lay violent hands upon detei lt a nd Upon those occasions his wife, who is a very tuaatLand sensible woman, used every effort and argu- t tilo' ,ne r Power to dissuade him from harbouring such d o : unt, and was S o as , • in hopes that she had succeeded in 'tirth a' ne latterly appeared more cheerful. _The>rif aetits noor or attic of the house consists of three be ' the first of which wasaoceupied by Lucas and his Geo rz at . bed room • the second by the eldest boy, Ro wh° sl ept in a ' small cot • and the third by the At %ingest and Ann Hammond. 'low a sere n ° 'clock this morning Lucas got up and went ~,2tairs as usual, leaving his wife in bed, and in a lef t `titinAtwoltes after was followed by Ann Hammond,wo also e Yc'uager children asleep, and at eight o'clock ; 114. si e l ' a ll ,, - ' c ame down stairs, and found her husband ' li g his At thi s t i me Lucas was emp l oye d i n clean -soarte t "" c ts, and those of his children, and up toa 1 ? hi s in°,lllne o'deani clock nothing particular was observable M re than usual. When he had done `Ltehe a - -tied boot" more than usual. When he had done 'till ." tis '.'te and shoes he shaved himself in the w hen he had done, Mrs. Lucas, having 1 % 0 if h f-r s of his laying violent hands upon himself. w ould s " e Put up shim razors for him. He replied that l a ""vtts u - s t u t them up self, and having wiped the one - "'g, he went to the drawer for the purpose; as tNaa:s'eas supposed of puttin." them up ; but, as it co a rds a el trast a PPeared, he did not do so, and from this "p asta there can be no doubt that at this . time he . e• lated the frightful act which he in a few mo },; lt waactrwards became the principal actor of. . - i,t ll. ld, tit custom on every. Sunday morning to bring t ' i sio th 'exi down stairs to he dressed, preparatory to t h 4tl ed C ern to church, and at the time before men t"osla o , t a sked his wife 'in the calmest manner if he.. )41 4. ' 4 1 ,4 for the children ? and she requested . he v e tted e then proceeded to the attic, and as it ap tspatZB first victim was the little girl Ann, who he ro in a shawl, and carried from the further isrrttilasrett,,to,that in which himself and his wife had slept, e ner on the front of the bed cut her throat apttrto ear. Pl!"tecarried the little boy, Alfred, to the same .e ila i nle a P a l n a n ci e n r g him on the bed, also cut his throat in h t/°ll ht e f el o d est son was his last victim, and there is no d ?tabueter frost fact of his having one stockingan d Nti tt °, • that the poor little fellow was in the act of "•;„„ w ilen his wretched father summoned him i ll 'ag e e t i e u „. • It would seem her . e, from the carpet in the at of '"l'ag from the room in which he had slept, to ttlqea third room where he was murdered, being It .rt tg tl 4 ll that . the poor little fellow had Nl * 41 7 hard, and his cries were so loud as to be 11l t he next house. f,„ e lv e ,„_ , on e t 4 tis t g r e u ttTg him inside the door, his wretched and then his own, as both fell 41 ; t Ole te t s e lese to gethe a r;the boy on his left side, and the ca his right• both heads are not more than . t ' ti e - ' s aPart. M Lucas, thinking that her husband k 1 Ts. ee e f r ' n rs much longer than was necessary,. s . ent her , 14 e l l the kitchen to see what was detaining him, 4 1 '' i tts girl • l'- e rl l er u t b° ;° (In t of her aunt's bed, with his • as ha l s b he en s before described. She instantly i t oce - 0 0 , u , t for assistance, e and Mr. Pearson, a gentle ts 1 , 0 mg apartments on the next floor,. ran up krihz,l4 Airs. Lucas, when the appalling sight above ka ak a s; presented itself. a prni wa i t ntly given, and police-constable Wilr r a s ns h was on the beat, awl he iskt rews, 155, w flir Henry Wallace, 6, proceeded up . stairs, but ih rialiel ; ° l the a n h a unhappy man had by this time accom i'h ettch' ts °bject in p so - determined a manner that death ti,, Prp s e e 4 Se must have been . instantaneous. The scene Thated itself in the third room baffles descrip tl) e r with w hich the murderer effected his ast razor "i stiik l ' a s held fi rm l y i n hi s r i g ht h an d, an d it s blade of yes 11 object, as i t i s i n a roun d p os iti on , with its f g on the right cheek of the poor boy. t 4l e Polic e h et th e man enter . ing, the blood was still flowing ea h th e to undii, an an immensity lay below the bonies, I ,er . astabl e did not feel warranted in disturbing de rable Y be n Th e feerngs of Mrs. Lucas on . beholding eo th u e . bett l er - imagined than described, anti 11, 1 -4 al mi cars were for some time entertained that she N o Y bereft of reason, but . by the soothing in -4e4ltie °f . se veral ladies in the neighbourhood she soon erg ip grm,ed. epnen s , a lady residing next door to_ Lucas,. 4 C h • I' attic at the time, and hearing the dreadful vb'.atter4ll, - l aha. l the children, she knocked violently at tht (baring that something serious was the .t ors, ll,,tiltened down stairs, and went in to acquam e a " e4 s Of her suspicions but at this moment th v.: The known. h 'kftl l e lancholy event having gained immediate_ th e many -Cln ' a great crowd of persons soon collected, - ss 111 ,, It aY wet.' anxious to get a view of the bodies; but t t ooti e , ( m duty prevented their curiosity being 14 , -I ;aw the Superintendent of City Police, ar taalt.t4te %en (1)* ( ,' ) k, and gave directions to the constable giehlk bodiesuew ere to remain in the same situation in rib is c s were found ntil viewed by a Coroner's Jury. eseTof i tl e r a e u mi w n ' h d u u th . o u se conversant with the hor , i 1806, murdered all his fa ?ils44"s4l I h t iarn s h o u l a ; ' and of Steinberg, a German, but r.e thatft de stroyed E ati l lp eu tonstreet, Pentonville, who, in Lefevre,Pv his mistress, and her ,including an unweaned baby. Riseau was a,,_ s raa - i; 'l' the laws of his land ; Steinberg, like Lucas, ir R . t ''lled his own destruction, and was buried in the ,„ tilt : of Ray-street, Clerkenwell, a fele de se. iirL (FURTHER PARTICULARS.) t Cd t for four_ years past worked . as a warehouse- L!'oar,, 'louse of Mr. Bassett, in Wood-street, but in aid out •' i ttSt left his situation, since which time he has_ oh; elnploy. He had always been a very steady 1- - 011 h Nan, and . was much respected.. On Saturday sill I:ilZt,irhead,. to rest with his wife, apparently in his g first one into the rooms where his der artd i ghi sle pt, al m mlas his gone to see that they were of w ent o'clock yesterday . morning he got up yamha tr " a ?„ ll . l l o. stairs into the kitchen, and talked . to his s c10 w „ 31 ', , ,, no symptom of uneasiness. His wife rev t Wa" e• a t i?out eight o'clock, in and he remarked that he would take the child t"l. wa 11 a fine . morn th ,7fore going to ch g urch. He then cleaned his kmllll/4411 ..hil•lren's shoes, and afterwards shaved him he~wi,ae had finished he put the razor into the case, tab Plies asked hi m if s h e should put it away, to which No I thank you, my dear, I'll put . it away read Ile then said, " While you are getting bieak d lel fPd' a - s t Y,l'll go and fetch the children down ;" an th,;`e Proceeded up-stairs. fa; el t 4, --4 , not been gone more than five minutes when . a a - , lt Ot child was heard to scream in a frantic hk ' l kt the niece went up stairs to ascertain what ati v, sh e Olattea, Before, however, she arrived at th , e , 1 )4, 1 t hia i t " i P it n r,, rd her cousin exclaim, " .o . h, cruel father t 4:Po h t 3 that her uncle was chastising him, hesitated 1 t th e e Proceeded farther. She at length, however, ha ; i 4 s eo top of the stairs, and then along the passage tetlt 1 . 1.1 where she herself slept with the two 'Pla t t to ~e uild rPn, and found the door was shut. She 'P a t i "Pea it h f d that something had been e ta ha at , Ut 01.111 3 1) ri !tit4 ; 11 St it. With some difficulty she at_ last , t hQ h eo pushing the door open, when to her horror orc,m,fel:; - :e,_(l that the obstruction had been caused , In a s : otai4Ot 'Jetty of her little cousin. Her scrc , a tuse t loa krt ar 't• L uca' s tairs, who on learning the e. an d° 11•13 • 's ''n tir o again, screaming m ur der, when she sank . i - 14 Passage in a swoonand con . tinued in a A gi be 'til f i t t s etousnes s the whole of the d a y thNeld e , t gest room lay the bodies of Lucas and his i ght ft l aY in a large pool of blood, with their tr oeei u lrt ae. ; o l ear to ear, the latter with only his • ie it tyg k m . 4 .one stocking on, laying on his side in a '4411e'4 dress just within the door. The father,. ,h e e d,• s s was stretched on the floor,. in the_ t "4th room, his head resting . on his righ ' s f th e 1 , 1 ; ()Pen razor clenched in his right hand, the 441aR°4g. into", e laying upon the cheek of the poor boy. ° The room where Lucas and his wife : I) l4 a k ke e iL l ' ee ne presented itself, which was enough A sympathies of the most obdurat h e, and but (Irtt h„.„ntest heart. Two innocent babes, w 'erer"llol-tr before were enjoying their nearlylte cir e seae ,jd fr ettl Y'N . in their blood, with their heads ward's cs a „, meir bodies. They, too, were in their night gh, th g e l a w ere lying on the bed with their d h u e n ad a s 'l ° sTa a P ane a ' s q the bed. The little girl had 4 4(1 e of the be awl wrapped round her. She lay on t hat" et weea be d and her younger brother on the other, su thil could 111 the bed -curtain had been placed, tit4s -4 teu tost not both be seen at one time, and from tvhiaf . ror rl th"ce, coupled with the fact of their being thoir li e re r() cm in which they slept to the one in Nitth thp "id es . were sacrificed, and from the observa- t og leoriste' bo y , " Oh, cruel father," it is supposed av_ ora er t h er thr t` had first fetched the little girl, and h have the hi s ° at, placfd, the bed-curtain before her, in N e lea re ; Item. viefim should not see her. He must eik 114A:trued for the youngest boy, as there were i t Na l f tl e Sitr it i f ttr bi L°()Cl upon his night-gown, and served ' 4 llt r hi s manner, and then went into the third th 4 'nto t h e then only living child, and having brought It- s ia%r 1:-Presen ce of his murdered brother and sister, de s the tlinitleiewfehl(l.2w,lnade his escape, and this no doubt ea e resist ed L '! ais scream s were heard. It is evi hi3 Of hi s "is murderous father with all his might, sheehildLret, Th;PPears thr oat n an ds Wag Ctit and the frightful gash to have been inflicted by more than Th e t a. Y ‘.vere all three remarkably fine healthy ° 'elo ek Lora . trNkld Yest er e a a 3 or visited the premises about one t c ): , b ut to learn the particulars of the horrid Ma e , ?dshi p e7tt'lu!rl going up stairs to see the bodies. gage gave in to the police to keep the lit _hos s.Possible, and allow no one to enter the ita tia tt s e seasatlolv_ho resided in the Gardens. Ala,„:deseri4, Produced by this event is of the most t hat7arilsu6, un , and thousands of persons have visited was eto u itaeertain the truth, scarcely believing - vwcled th2luty could be perpetrated. The stree whole °I the day by well-dressed per t sons of both sexes, who evinced the - deepest sympathy for the unfortunate wife of the murderer. The police have been in attenance all the day to pre serve order, but their presence seemed not to be re quired, as the great number of persons assembled were of acl tss not likely to render the interference of the police necessary. LITERA,T URE. CASTLES AND ABBEYS OF ENGLAND. Part II er and Hasetten. London, 1842. The idea of this work—as we observed in our notice of the first Part—is a good one, arid will please by the force of association and recollection in the reader's mind, for who is there that has not, at one time or other, gazed with wonder and delight on some of our fine old monastic and baronial edifices, and recalled at the sight a host of inspiring historical reminiscences ? To have visited Tintern Abbey and Warwick Castle are epochs in a man's life—at least if he has the slightest imagi nation—for each is perfea of its kind, and revives a thousand stirring recollections of the olden time, when the mitred Abbot and'the mailed Baron were lords of the ascendant in—what Mr. Daniel calls—" Merrie England." In the work before us, it is proposed to give pictorial illustrations; accompanied with appro priate letter-press explanations, not of one or two only, but of all the remarkable Castles and Abbeys in the country; and if we may judge from the spirit and taste evinced in the Parts already published, we should augur that the speculation will be a successful one. In the present Part, there is a picturesque sketch of that fine old relic of ancient magnificence, St. Alban's Abbey. CURIOSITIES OF LITER 4TURE. Part VI. Moxon, London, 1842. The present Part of this well-known, enter taining, and, to a certain extent, instructive work, contains an admirablB essay on " The Philosophy of Proverbs" and another entitled " The History of lyew , Words." The work, we understand, will be completed in twelve Parts, of which six have already appeared. DRAMATIC WORKS OF WYCHERLEY, CON GRE VE, VANBURGH, (kr. Part VI. Moxon, London, 1842. This Number contains not less than four of our most sterling comedies, and is got up with much neatness, as is the case with all Mr. Moxon's re publications. RAMBLES IN THE COUNTRY. Thomas Miter, Netvgate• street. Our English counties have of late years been fortunate in the produCtion of original and think ing minds among the mass of their working population, and of these, who by virtue of self-culture, have risen. superior to their early lot, at least a score have blossomed between Sheffield and Nottingham. It is from the former of these plaCes that Mr. Spencer Hall, the author of these rural saunters, derives his paternity, and exhibits another instance, in his own person, that the mechanic, in his dust and lowliness, carries in him the true elements of hu manity; and, though born the denizen .of a thatched cot or a mud hovel, has a mind fitted to receive the rays of 'knowledge, and a capacity for communing with nature and her beauties. At a " Sherwood Feast," held by upwards of 100 labourers, artizans, and farmers, in the vicinage of the old ForeSt, last year, Mr. Hall recounted to his guests the growth and origin of his awaking fortunes. The method by which he learned to read was novel. His father was a shoemaker, and having several tiers of last rails in his work-shop, got the alphabet printed in large and small characters, arid pasted these at intervals along the rails. As soon as young Spencer could scramble about, he tried to walk by holding on these rails; the letters caught his eye and amused him, and thus lie learned simul taneously to walk and read. During his boy hood, every occupation that offered itself in the locality—stocking-weaving, cotton-winding, po tato and barley-planting, distracted his attention by turns for the procurement of his daily liveli hood. But amid . these perpetual harass ments the original spirit of the man burned restlessly for information, and the food of books was the manna on which he fed, when ever, and at all times that he could obtain them. For books and conversation, the pawnbroker, the schoolmaster, and the exciseman had his gratitude, the last of whom enriched hint with a copy of Franklin. With odd halfpence and savings he procured sundry little sixpenny tracts, which he devoured, and engaged himself in the affectionate employment, forming the first essays of his yet untried pen, ,in writing the love-letters of a fell Ow-companion, since dead. He next served an apprenticeship of seven years under Mr. Shaw, the publisher of the Nottingham Review, and his successor was so well gratified with his exertions, as at the expiration of that time to advance him a sum of money, capable of enabling him to raise his own printing office. , Subsequently, he started the Sherwood Penny Magazine. From his rambles in the rich wild sceneries of Hal lanishire he published an account of Robin Hood and his haunts, while his later rambles in Sheffield and its adjacent parts form the sub stance of the present imprint. If judgment may be drawn front the pages before us, Mr. Hall is possessed of an affectionate and thoughtful mind, whose inherent excellence colours with its own pleasant light no less the scenes on which he dwells, than the persons with whom he mingles; and the appreciation of his honourable principles was marked in more cases than his marriage, by. bestowals of high faVotir on him by his masters. Whether the reader accompany him over the Mapperley Hills—luxuriate in his company amid the green glades of Sherwood—soliloquise with him over the " Riley grave-stones," or rejoice among the trossachy wildernesses of Grives—Mr. Hall will always delight with his natural joyfulness of heart, and instruct with his antiquarian scraps of " Little John" and " bold forester Robin." It is pleasureable to observe that Mr. Hall's quondam friend and acquaint ance, Mr. Thomas Miller, the basket-maker, now in London, whom our author speaks of as having noticed him in " his low estate," by "inviting him to his humble abode, and reading his manuscripts to him," is the publisher of his present book. KNIGHT'S PICTORIAL SHAKSPEARE. Knight, London, 1842. 1 • In this Number (which is the forty-first) we have the entire play of Pericles, illustrated, as usual, with several clever engravings, and containing, at the end of the drama, some remarks, whose object is to prove that it was undoubtedly Shakspeare's production. SLAVE STATES OF AMERICA.-2 Vols. Fisher, London, 1842. In his former volumes on the United States, Mr Buckingham confined his observations chiefly to the North; his present ones are- taken up with sketches of the South—that is to say, of the Slave States of America. He visited in succession all the chief towns and cities of this vast region, taking careful notes as he proceeded, of every thing worthy of remark ; and was particularly struck—though probably not much surprised— with the deep hold that the question Of slavery had taken of men's minds. Every where he found them prejudiced to the lash and bitterest degree on this point. As for ar guing with them, the bare idea was ridiculous, for though candid, moderate, and quick sighted enough on other matters, here they tolerated not even a hint of' a difference of opinion. A prudent reserve, therefore, became indispensably necessary, for had Mr. Buckingham openly avowed that he was an abolitionist, and looked on slavery as the disgrace and curse of the southern States, it is more than probable that he would have fallen a victim to his frankness,, and been Lynched without the slightest ceremony. llis volumes furnish us with little that is novel, whether in fact or argument, on this difficult question; but as they discuss it in a rational and dispassionate manner, diligently avoiding any high-wrought appeals to the passions, they will make just the sort of deep and lasting impression that the author would' most desire to make on the minds of his readers. In Virginia, observes Mr. Buckingham, the soil has been so much exhausted, that the wealth of the, planter consists chiefly, if not entirely, in his negroes. " These," he goes on to remark, " are regularly bred and multiplied for sale, like' cattle; and as the progeny increases, the more saleable portions are selected, and brought on to the South, or sent to the slave-market at Washington, or :me times sold in Virginia itself. They are thus passed on fiorn the State whtre their labour is not in demand to the rising States and territories in which labour is in request; and, accordingly, in the Augusta Papers, as in the Washing ton Journals, every day are to be seen advertisements offering cash for likely negroes !' A slave-trade is thus carried on throughout the Southern -States, under the gentle name of the removal of slaves from one state to another ;' and it leads to the separation of husband and wife, of parents and children, of brothers and sisters, without the most distant hope of their ever meeting again; and from all the infor mation I could obtain on this subject, the negroes feel the separations as acutely as any whites can do, and are un happy for years afterwards. Here, however, as every where throughout the South, slavery is a topic on which no man, and above all, a foreigner, can open his lips wiiiout imminent personal danger, unless it is to iletend and uphold the system. The violence of the measures taken against the few who from time to time venture to express themselves in favour of abolition is Kai as to strike terror into others. I feel assured that it would not be so dangerous for a man to preach the right of resistance to despotic authority in St. Petersburg or Vienna, to inveigh against Popery at Rome, or to denounce Alahomedanism at Constantinople, as it would be for him to p-oclaim himself either by his pen or his tongue, an abolitionist in the slave-holding Sta' es." In another place speaking on th e su bj ec t, Mr. Buckinghatn observes it was not denied that there were many instances in which white men became fathers of offspring by their own negro women ; - and -- as the children fol low the fate of their mothers, such offspring would be his slaves, and might be lawfully sold by him as his property, and often were so disposed of ! " With the city of New Orleans, the capital of the South, the author was greatly delighted. According to him, it is one of the gayest and most bustling places in the world, remarkable fbr its noble display of shipping, its passion for balls, theatricals, and all sorts of public and private amusements, its splendid buildings, and, more particularly, its superb ho tels. Its inhabitants, however, have an ugly trick (the monsters?) of mot paying for their newspapers, and hence thy Editors of the New Orleans Journals are kept in a constant state of tribulation and discomfiture! Now we look on the habit of non-payment—particularly when it exhibits itself in this repulsive form—as one of the blackest sins that a .man can commit. We can forgive himfor not paying a tailor's or an apothecary's bill ; his non-payment of a lawyer's bill we can almost adthit to be a virtue ;.• but we cannot find it in .our hearts to excuse his non-payment of his daily newspaper. Suc h an omission argues a degree of moral depravity that . cannot but deeply shock the nice sensibilities of all who are disinterestly engaged in accellerating the March of Mindf• We close our brief notice of these volumes, with the remark that they con tain some spirited ,descriptions of voyages up the Mississipi,.and, generally speaking, are impartial in their views of" Melt and Things'? in America. LUTHER. A Poem. " The following pages," says Mr. Robert Montgo mery, in his Preface, are an attempt to reflect in a poetical form, by a series of mental tableaux, some of the prominent features and prevailing expressions in the life, character, and work, of the fearless Luther. Though each view be divided and distinct, yet it is hoped that, in the spirit of its resulting effect, the poem will be found combined into the unity of a moral whole." As regards " unity," Mr. Montgo mery's poem has not much to boast of—at least so far as design is concerned, for it is by no means confined to an 'illustration of Luther's character, but is con stantly wandering into matters utterly irrelevant. The author's fondneis for description, in which he chiefly excels, is an ignis fatuus that is for ever lead ing him from his right track into marshes and quag mires, from which he with, difficulty emerges. "% e look on his poem, therefore, rather as a collection of striking insulated passages, thrown together without method or logical consecutiveness, than as one com plete, effective, and consistent whole. It is, in fact, A solemn rhapsody, or rather detached series of rhap sodies, on Life, Death, and the great Mysteries of Mind and of Creation, for which Luther, and the strange incidents in his career, form the mere pretexts. Its moral tone, however, is consistently maintained throughout ; and in this sense—but in this sense only —it may lay claim to the praise of " unity." That Mr. Montgomery has elaborated it with uncommon care, is evident in every 'page, but we hardly think that his most laboured passages are his most success ful ones. Few people walk easily or gracefully on stilts, or on tip-toe; and our author is no exception to this rule. He pleases most when he is most natural and unaffected, and lays aside that ambitious air of pretension with which he is but too apt to enunciate the merest common-place. Words, however bulky and sonorous, are not ideas, nor is common-place less common-place because it is shrouded in cloudy and verbose phraseology. We have said that Mr. Mont gomery excels in description ; he does so in a high degree, as the following fervid and eloquent passage will prove : But, in the cross and by the cross perused, How featured with significance sublime And beautiful, this breathing world becomes ! Creation, by the plastic charm of faith Transmuted, like a boundless temple stands, Haunted and hallowed with perpetual Christ. Lo ! the broad earth a solemn area seems, And the arch'd sky a bended ceiling grows, Whose lamps are planets in their burning shrines ; Wonder is priestess ; and the mingled choirs,— The organ music roll'd from waves and winds, While the deep worship is th' unconscious swell Of Nature, when her blent hosannahs rise, To bless the Architect•and Lord of all. There is another passage executed in the,same spi rit, with but one exception, which we shall presently notice : Though the sun Burn like a sacrament of beams, Filling our eyes with reverential light To watch him ; though the moon's poetic brow, Be lovely, calm'd with most celestial grace, And yonder meek and melancholy stars Thrill like the pathos of eternity Our pensive bosom, not , in these we boast, Though beautiful ; nor in the sacred Deep, That chants his lone and everlasting hymn Of waters, like the psalmody of waves In worship; nor in all the gorgeous Things That Nature in her granaries of life Concentres, can the God-taught spirit trace Matter for largest triumph.—Nor can Mind, Such wonder claim as that Great Scene demands, That once on Zion did on God reflect Back on His glory with retorted blaze— Himself !—in full expression there revealed, When burst thy heart, Immanuel ! What does Mr. Montgomery mean by " the pathos of eternity,?" In the 'Scriptural sense in which he uses the term, it conveys no distinct idea to the mind; for there are but two forms in which eternity can de velope itself—that, we mean, for the good, and that for the wicked; the former is the eternity of rapture —the latter, certainly not of " pathos," but of a far deeper sentiment—namely, " wailing and gnashing of teeth." To apply the word " pathos," therefore, to the biblical notion of eternity, is a sheer absurdity. But vague, unmeaning figures of speech like this, abound in " Luther,' Thus we are told that priest craft and falsehood are That terrific pair Who poisoned truth, and made the Church become The gaol where thought was guillotined, and died Conceive the idea of guillotining thought—that is to say,_ of applying a material weapon of destruction to an immaterial essence! Really fustian of this sort would disgrace a fourth-form school-boy ! Here is another specimen of our author's lax and incongruous mode of expression : The sightless finger of the fairy breeze Wanders about, and with a dimpling touch Ripples a stream, or turns the air to song, Till, like a psalmody of woven breeze, Fancy admires it. Begging Fancy's pardon, she must be a great ass to admire any such tiperation on the part of the " light fingered" zephyr ; and a still greater noodle if she imagines herself capable of conceiving anything like a "woven breeze !" The idea is evidently drawn from the loom of a Manchester manufacturer, which is about the last place we should ever suspect a poet of resorting to for imagery. Having thus pointed out some of the d e f ec t s of Luther," it is but right that we turn to the brighter side • and that we may not be supposed to pait,with Mr. Montgomery in ill humour, we quote a fine and solemn descriptive passage of the mysterious influence that Night at times exercises over the thinking faculties : Deep trance of night ! a mystic power is thine, 1 hat properties creation with.a charm Beyond what day-dreims in their brightest glow Can emanate, whate'er the scene they gild. But, oh if ever into heart of man The Midnight, like a mute religion sent Her spirit, surely, when the captured monk Down the diva chambers of the Wartburg paced, Thy genius then in solemn glory reign'd. There, by his . windosed turret, lofty, bleak, And lone, unharrn'cl, in holy peace he mused, The past revolved, and o'er the future pray'd. But there be moments in this life of ours Beyond the weal apocalypse of words To e'er unveil ; fo,,charged with secret might, They master with Perplexity immense, Or into voiceless sentiment, transform Our inward being : like a cloud, we seem to float In formless vacancy, with fruitless gloom Begirt and blinded, till forced nature feels By truth replenish% and uistinctive thoughts Rise from the heart, pathetic, soft, profound, Like tears of pity in .a good man's eye. Then all we have been, are, or hope to be, Blends in strange climax, and the soul's o'ersway'd With big emotion, or with breathless prayer. All that we have been—yes the night restores. Form after form we loved, or knew, or fear'd, Moves o'er the platform of the summon'd past, While dead eyes open, and familiar smiles Fall on our hearts; or household voices ring. NEWSTOKE PRIORS. 3 Vols, Bentlej, London, 1842. The object of this. tale is to show the folly— not to say the misery—of a life devoted to ava rice, and bent solely, no matter by what means, on the inordinate acquisition of gain. This useful moral is illustrated by the career of Frederick Vavasour, a young man of good family con nexions, but as poor as a church mouse, who early in life marriosa beautiful orphan , girl as poor as himself. Shortly after their union she dies, leaving two children, one of whom is taken to reside with a maiden aunt, while the other, Blanche the heroine of the story—remains under her father's roof, As Mr. Vavasour, though related to a rich old . gentleman of the same name, who owns the fine estate of New stoke Priors, is merely a curate, with the slen derest possible income, he is compelled to prac tice the, most rigid .economy; and this habit, pursued from necessity for years, eventually de generates into confirmed avarice. Gold, in fact, is the only idol that Mr. Vavasour worships, and so earnest becomes his desire fin• its acquisition, that on the death of his relation, the wealthy proprietor of Newstoke Priors, he is induced to burn his will, by which he bad left the estate to another relation, Edward Vavasour; and in consequence of the deceased thus appearing to die intestate, the whole of his landed property devolves on the guilty miser. But increase of wealth brings no increase of happiness; on the contrary, fear, distrust, and remorse, are engen dered in Frederick *Vavasour's mind, and he gradually sinks beneath an accumulated load of suffering. After his death, Newstoke Priors is restored to the rightful owner, Edward Vava sour, who marries Blanche, after the usual mistakes, mistrusts, and apprehensions, on both sides. The principal petsonages in this story are sketched with a firm, bold, steady hand. Frede rick. the miser, in particular, is drawn with ex ceediv skill, and the gradual progress of his debasing, soul-blighting- infirmity, exhibited with an ability that proves the author to be well read in the human kart. An old maid, Miss Letitia Bransby, is also a spirited, though some what coarse, sketch. There is nothing hysterical nor exciting in the narrative ; indeed, in one portion of it—that, we Mean, where Frederick Vavasour is represented as destroying the will, and thinks himself unobserved—Miss Wadding ton is, we think, too cold and tame ; the scene is one that would have warranted far more im passioned treatment. Calm, uniform good sense, however, is the author's forte, and not strong sensibility, for the delineation of which she appears to have no relish. Her novel is of a quiet, domestic character, true to life in the main, and therefore very likely to find numerous admirers. For our own part, we infinitely prefer it to the tales of the convulsive and spasmodic school. LORD CAMPBELL'S SPEECHES. Black, Edinburgh, 1842. The speeches contained in this volume were deli vered between the years 1830 and 1841, either at the Bar or in Parliament, and are characterised, if not by brilliant, impassioned elopence, or caustic wit and humour, at least by strong good sense and. force and ingenuity of argument, set off by the graces of a simple, colloquial, but uniformly graceful style. Lord Campbell is anything but an ambitious or flowery orator ; he essays no lofty flights of declamation, makes no incursions into the airy regions of fancy ; but maintains an even, _sober tone throughout his speeches. Occasionally,. but not often, we detect in him something of the sly, shrewd humour of the Scotchman ; and he is essentially national in his self possession, and readiness and dexterity in argument. His speech on Parliamentary Reform—cold as it may be deemed by some—is well worth a re-perusal, if only for its abundant display of adroit reasoning, and the quiet, but triumphant manner in which it disposes of the favourite common-places of the Anti- Reformers. Many more flashy and animated speeches were delivered during that stormy period; but we are acquainted with few that will better bear the test of a rigid examination. By a note attached to this able oration, we are informed that Mr. Croker has " re gistered a vow in Hea,en" never to " sit in a Re- ' formed Parliament." Really this is afflicting intelli gence to the three kingdoms which constitute Great Britain! Think of the author of " Talavera '—a poem whose lot it was to break its publisher's heart, and mesmerize every reader who had the hardi hood to read a page of it ;—think, we say, of a statesman and poet like this, solemnly recording his determination never again to enliven a British Senate by his fancy, or enlighten it by his Burke-like pre science and sagacity ! The Right Honourable Gen tleman has much to answer for in registering so un patriotic a vow, for he cannot but be aware that be reaved Albion daily bewails his retirement in sack cloth and ashes, and, like Rachel mourning for her children, " refuseth to be comforted." But there is balm in Gilead ; and though a Croker be lost to us, it is soothing to reflect that We still possess a D'lsraeli, for which last inestimable blessing we feel that we can never be sufficiently grateful to Divine Provi dence. But to return from a digression into which the pardonable sensibilities of patriotism have be trayed us. Those who desire to get a taste of Lord Campbell's best and most characteristic manner should read his famous speech on the trial of Norton v. Melbourne, which exhibits all the best qualities of an advocate—shrewdness, quick insight into character, unerring appreciation of motives, harmonious and methodical disposition of argument, racy touches of sarcasm, and, not unfrequently, a strain of feeling that makes a direct and forcible appeal to the heart. His Lordship has dedicated his volume to his brother, Sir John Campbell, of Edenwood ; and the language of the Dedication deserves praise for its modest and un affected simplicity. FINE ARTS. BENEVOLENCE. As this plate professes to be merely a preparatory etching for a highly-finis' edmezzotinto engraving, it would not by quite fair to subject it to a minute and rigid criticism we shall content ourselves, therefore, with the remark, that what the artist proposed to ac complish he has accomplished, and most successfully. His outlines are all distinctly and naturally defined, and when his pleasing group of the widow and her young family comes to be filled up, and have some deeper shadows thrown into it, the added force and variety of expression thereby imparted to it, will pro duce all the effect that the engraver could possibly de sire. The subject of the sketch is one of simple, but deep and obvious interest. Two young ladies are represented as having just entered the cottage of a poor widow, who is surrounded by her children, one of whom rests her head on the mother's shoulder, while a second is playing with a coral in her lap, and a third nestles close by her side, as if half-scared by the entrance of the stran gers. A prettier and more interesting family group it would be difficult to Ind. The widow moves evidently in the humblest walks of rustic, life, but all that is coarse and squalid in such life, is studiously kept out of sight ; and we see nothing but what it is delighful to contemplate—the peace, the simplicity, the neatness, and„ good order of a homely, but carefully tended household. The refined taste of the artist has elevated his subject, without lifting it up into the ideal, or violating probability. Rus tic life has its poetic as well as its prose side, and the glimpse we here catch of it, is the one that is most attractive to the fancy just such a sketch, indeed, as Burns has presented to us in his " Cotter's Saturday Night." The countenances of the fair visitors, who are gazing with benevolent interest at the mother and her young children, are full of cha racteristic expression. The plate is engraved by Egleton, from an original painting by Drummond. -- HER .MAJESTY'S.. THEATRE. Her Majesty's Theatre opened on Saturday evening ft r the season with a new opera, a new company, and a new manager. Mr. Lumley, who has undertaken the arduous task of the management, is not, however, altogether un used to, or unacquainted with, the manner in which the affairs of this theatre have hitherto been conducted, having been for some years the legal adviser and per sonal friend of poor Laporte. Ho could not have studied in a better school, for it should never be ( forgotten that it is to Laporte that we are in debted or our acquaintance with Grisi and Persiani with Tamburini, Rubini, an d L a b lache; with Mimi() and Coletti ; and in short, with all those who have, dur ing the last ten years, made ours the first Italian Opera in Europe. Mr. Lumley's programme - promises well.' Grisi, Persian', Lablache, and Murio are engaged. Tam burini's Italian engagements will prevent his appearing in London this season ; but in the list of new aspirants for public favour, we find the names of Ranoini, of Ma dame Frezzolini (the prima donna, par excellence, of Italy), and Signor Poggi, in addition to those of Mademoiselle Adelaide Moltini, Guasco, and Santi, who made 'their appearance on Saturday evening: The opera chosen for the opening. was Donizetti's Gemina Di Vergy. The Scene is laid at the castle of the Count De Vergy, near Arles, and the action is supposed to take place about the year 1428. The Count De Vergy (Santi), one of the nobles of Charles VII. of France, has been long married to Gemma (Mademoiselle Moltini), but their union is child less. At a tournament at Arles, he sees and loves Ida ra Greville (M. Bellini). He dispatches Rolando (Galii) to his faithful steward Guido (Panzini) at the castle, with orders to break to Gemma the tidings that she is no longer the Countess de Vergy, as" he (the Count) has divorced her, and intends marrying Ida. Trunas (Guasco), an Arab, who had been taken prisoner by Rolando in Palestine, and who is passionately, though secretly in love with Gemma, on hearing Rolando de ' liver his message to Guido, bursts out into passionate imprecations against the Count. : Rolando rushes at him with his dagger, when Gemma' makes her appearance, and calms the tumult. She is left alone with Guido, who breaks to her the heart-rending intelligence of her husband's intentions. In the next scene we find Tamas with a bloody dagger, with whiCh he has just stabbed Rolando. The sound of trumpets announcing the arrival of the Count, Tames leaves 'the dagger on a table and rushes out. The Count enters, finds the bloody dagger, and imagines that Gemma has stabbed herself. Guido, however, enters, and informs him of what has taken place. Tamas is arrested, and condemned to die. Gemma enters, and, with her ladies, begs his life may be spared, and the Count grants the request. She then implores the Count not to divorce her, recals to his' me mory his former vows to her : he is on the point ofl yielding, when the music announcing the approach of Ida is heard. The Count casts off Gemma, who impre cates vengeance on his head, and Tamas secretly vosrs to revenge Gemma's wrongs upon the Count. A trio in this scene, "Un suo sguardo," exquisitely sung by Guasco, Santi, and Mademoiselle Moltini, was loudly applauded, and, in obedience to the unanimous call of the house, repeated. In the second act we find Ida preparing for her nuptials. She is sitting alone in herchamber, and Gemma enters dressed in deep mourning. Ida, surprised, asks who she is, and Gemma replies that she was Gemma's attendant. Ida observes that her mournful garb little suits with the splendour of the approaching nuptials, and commands her to leave the room. Gemma replies that it is hot yet time, What prevents you ? asks Ida. The wife of De Vergy— (DiVergy la moglie) is the reply; uttering which, Gemma seizes her rival, and dragging her for ward, reproaches her with having seduced the affections of De Vergy ; Ida calls for assistance, -and Gemma, drawing a dagger, holds it to Ida's breast, - and commands her to be silent. The:Count rushes in with his sword drawn, but Gemma, threatening to stab Ida if he advances a step, commands him to throw his sword on the ground; he obeys. She is about to stab Ida, when Tames rushes in and disarms her. In this scene Mademoiselle Moltini exhibited histrionic powers of the highest order. She seemed Co revel in all the luxury of revenge, and her reproaches to her faithless husband - were given with terrific energy and truthfulness. The next scene takes place in the antichamberot the chapel in which are being celebrated the nuptials of DeVergy and Ida. Gemma enters, and is speedily followed by Tamas, who has watched all her proceedings. He urges her to fly—she rejects him with scorn ; she sees the nuptial ceremony proceeding in the chapel, and, stung to madness, consents to fly even with Tamas rather than remain, and bear the cruel insults of her rival. The duet with which this scene closes, " Taci parto, lo schiavo fedcle," is the gem of the opera, and was exqui sitely given by Guasco and Mlle. Moltini. Gemma, left to herself, becomes calmer; aspirations for revenge give place to holier thoughts, and she determines to enter a cloister. The attendants on the nuptials rush from the chapel in confusion. De Vergy has been stabbed at the altar by Tamas, who proclaims that love for Gemma induced him to do the deed. She turns from him with horror, and he exclaiming—" I have avenged thee: I die"—(Ti vcndicai morro")—stabs himself, and the curtain falls. Such is the plot of this opera—a plot, to the capabilities of which, we regret to say, Donizetti has done anything but justice. Common-place as Donizetti's music gene rally is, the music of this opera is• more than usually so, there is not a single original idea from the beginning to .the end, and with the exception of the duet and trio to which we have alluded, there is nothing noticeable in it. It was successful—very successful—but its success was owing partlyiii - ^the .knterest of the iub ject, but more to the exertions a Midemoiselle Moltini and Guasco, who possess powers of a very high order,. and who exerted themselves to the utmost. Mademoi selle Moltini is young and very pretty, with a most ex quisitely formed hand and arm; in person she reminds us very much of la diva Sontag. Mar voice, which is a pure soprano of great power, is exquisitely sweet and highly cultivated. Guasco is in person tall, his countenance is very expressive, and his voice, which is highly cultivated, is a full and rich tenor. As an actor, also, he is entitled to high rank. Mademoiselle Moltini and Guasco were both called for at the fall of the curtain, and received those plaudits which they had so richly merited by their ex • ertions. The new Ballet of Giselle au Les 14'ilis fol lowed, with Carlotta Grisi and Perrot as the hero and heroine. The following placard was handed round the house:— " HER MAJESTY'S .THEATRE. " Saturday, March 12, 1842. " The indulgence of the Nobility, subscribers to . the opera, and the public, are respectfully requested in behalf of M. Perrot, who is suffering from a severe pain in • the leg, but to prevent a total disappointment, has most kindly consented to appear." His apology, however, was unnecessary, for Peirot went through his part with his usual grace and agility, while Carlotta Grisi seemed the very " Muse of the many twinkling feet." The scenery was beautiful and the ballet was completely successful. The National An them was sung between the opera 'and the ballet. The' house was very well filled, the audience being more nu merous than is generally the case on the opening night. CAPTAIN GRAY'S NARRATIVE OF AN ESCAPE FROM THE GHILZIES. (From the Bengal Harkaru of Jan. 3.) We have the pleasure to-day to lay before our readers a most interesting narrative of the escape of CaptaiisGray, of her Majesty's 44th Foot, from the design of the Ghilzies • and it' will be seen from it that the quern Deus volt perdire principle was in full operation on the fate of poor Burnes, who entirely disregarded the correct information sent to him by Captain Gray, himself an excellen linguist, and there fore well capable of comprehending what the friendly chiof related : " I commenced my march from Cabul at daylight on the morning of the 2d of . October, with an escort of twenty Hazir Bash horsemen, furnished me by Sir A. Burnes, and proceeded as far as a village called Boodkhah, about six milT from Cabul, when one of the dak runners came up to me, stating that a Kafilla had been plundered by the Ghil zies the previous night, at a, place called Te zeen, and advised me not to proce6d till I had heard from Sir A. Burnes, to whom they had reported the circumstance. I, in consequence, went off the road, and remained there till I could hoar something. further, but was not kept long , in suspense, when I perceived a horseman galloping ikp in my direction. It was one from Sir A. Burnes, With a note for me, wishing me not to proceed any further, as the pass was not safe, but to go into the village f Boodkhah, and there remain till I should dear from him again. I therefore took his advice, and n the evening of the 3d got another note from him, ` ‘ aying there was a party of 400 horsemen going in tay direction, and that I might embrace the opportunity of accompany ing them as far as Gundamuk ; that the chief was a very respectable and trustworthy man, requesting me at the same time to be altogether guided by his advice. I accordingly left the village and joined his camp on the evening of the 3d; and at daylight on the morning of the 4th, we commenced our march towards the Khoord Cabul Pass, and on 'gaining the mouth of it, found it in possession, of the Ghilzies, who were so strongly posted on the heights, that the chief thought it advisable not to attempt a passage, but en deavour to get through another pass called the Chi naree. 'We then shaped our . course for it, and on reaching it, found it also in *Session of the enemy ; finding this to be the case, the chief held a consulta tion with his sirdars, when they Unanimously agreed to try another pass, stating at the same time that the na tural difficulties of it were so great that he was afraid we should not be able to surimnint them ; however, it was decided that the attempt shcruld bP -made, and I am happy to say we surmounted every difficulty, and having got safe through by four r.m., took up our camp in the dry bed of a river between Sa Baba and Tezeen. Everything appeared to be quiet until be tween eight and nine o'clock, when some people ap peared on the hills that surrounded us, and challenged some of our escort, saying that if they would give up the two officers, K— and himself, they should re ceive 3,000 rupees for each of us, and that the es cort would be permitted to proceed without moles tation. The answer they received from our party was, "That the officers were under their protection, and protect them they would to ,the very last.' The sentence was scarcely finished, when a shrill whistle was heard in the hills, followed by a, tremendous volley from the sides, and directed on my tent, which was the only one in our camp. I immediately jumped out o f b e d, put on my clothes as quickly as possible, and had the tent struck. I then got our escort to saddle their horses, and be prepared in case the enemy might descend ; but, findin4 they had no intention of doing so, but were determined to pick us off without ex posing themselves, our party thought it necessary r that they should be dislodged, and commenced f ascending the hills on each side, the enemy all the time pouring on us a most destructive fire ; and, after a contest of several hours, they succeeded in driving them from the heights. We were engaged from k between 8 and 9 o'clock, at which time the moon had just got above the hills that surronnded us, and threw her light on our party below till four o'clock the following morning, the sth. On the re turn of our party a council of war was held, to which we were invited ; the chief said, he had sent for us to know what our wishes were, whether we wished to proceed or return, that the whole of the passes of Gundamuck were in possession of the Ghilzies, that one of them had 5,000 men in it, and that none of his escort had a single ball left. I replied, `lf such is the case, I would certainly advise our returning to . Cabul,' when a very young man, a sirdar, son of the Naib Shurreef, at Cabul, started up and said, lam directed to escort these officers as far as Gundamuck ; we have sustained the attack of last night, and why should we fly ? No; `forward' is the word with me,' and, stroking his beard at the same time, which is considered in the light of an oath with them, they all followed his example, saying, Pesh,' which is Forward.' The chief then directed me to have my cattle loaded, and to disguise ourselves which I accordingly did, borrowing from amongst them one thing or another, and by day light on the .sth we were on the move towards Gundamuck, and on reaching the Parree Durra or Fairy Pots, we found it literally alive with Ghil zies. We in consequence halted for a few seconds to consult ; however, it was thought advisable not to attempt it, but to take another direction across the Doblee and Udruk Budruk Mountains into the Leigh non Valley, which we did, and it is only wonderful how we ever effected it ; the ascent was dreadful— only one at a time could ascend; however, we got over the difficulties, keeping on at a pretty good pace for fear of the enemy overtaking us, which they did not do till about the close of the evening, when they came up with our straggling rear, cutting up every one they could lay hands on ; we had a great many camp followers, who were returning to the provinces, and mostly all on foot ; they were all cut up, poor fel lows ; and several servants of K— (six of them), his tent, bed-clothes, and two tattoos ; and it was not till about four o'clock on the morning of the 6th we halted at a village called Mumrour, our party coming in by twos and threes, having been on the move for 23 hours without even a halt. You niay guess the state we were in when I tell you that the moment we got into the village; K— and I just tied our horses to a tree, and fell down fast asleep in one of the public roads of it, and had scarcely lain an hour, when the chief sent for me, and informed me that we were not safe in the village, and that he advised our proceeding on to one that we would be safe in. Away we started, and between seven and eight o'clock that evening, reached the fort of Teer Ghurree, or Tigree, as it is called ; we were then put into a hut, which was surrounded by a high wall, and there remained for seventeen days, expecting every moment to have our throats cut. On the morning of the 7th, the chief of our party, Mahomed Uzzeen Khan, came to me and said he had something to communicate. I consequently took him aside, when he told me that he was very much alarmed for our safety ; in fact, that the whole of Affghanistan were determined to make one cause of it, and to drive out and murder every Beringhee in the country, that there was not the least reliance to be placed on our escort, and that the country round about, and Cabul itself, were ready to break out. On hearing this from so respectable a chief and several other people, I thought it my duty to apprise Sir A. Burnes of it. I immediately sat down and wrote him an official letter, acquainting him with what was going on, and that treachery was at the very threshhold of their doors, and also informing him of the attack upon us near Tezeen. A new difficulty now presented itself—how the letter was to be con veyed to him ; however this was very soon settled by the chief, who said that he would give the man who took it and brought back an answer twenty rupees and a khelat. It was taken and delivered to Sir Alexander Burnes, and the bearer of it brought a letter to the chief, acknowledging its receipt, but I never heard a line from Sir A. Burnes. This can easily be accounted for—the idea of my writing and telling such bigwigs that treachery was on foot ! Had I been a little political' they might have given ear to it. What has been the consequence of his credulity ? Why lie, his brother, Swayne, Robinson, and Raban, of ours, and several others, were murdered in his house ! I only regret I did not keep a copy of the official letter I wrote, for I certainly would publish the whole transaction. As it was official, Burnes ought to have laid it before Sir William M`Naghten and the General. lam not aware he did not, but strongly suspect so, other wise he would not have suffered as he did. Whilst we were, I may say, prisoners, several old Mollahs used to come in and see us, and I very soon found out the drift of one man's visits, and therefore begged •of K— to let me conduct the whole of our plans for leaving the place we were in. During our con finement I had received several letters . ' from a Captain P. Burn, at Gundamuck, requesting me to proceed with the escort with me to support. On the receipt of his letter I sent over to the chief of our party, and requested him to allow me to take the party to his assistance ; he said he could not, that he was sent for the sole protection of the property on the Leghnon Valley, and that on his leaving it the Ghilzies would immediately attack the places and destroy the whole valley. I wrote to Burn to this effect, acquainting him, at the same time, that the party was not under my command, but, on the contrary, that my hands had been completely tied by Sir A. Burnes previous to my leaving Cabul. However, several notes passed between Captain Burn and myself, and his chief object appeared to me to be to gat us out of the delemma, we were in, and he wrote rather a severe letter to the chief, who appeared to be much annoyed, and came over to us, and asked me if we were anxious to go. I replied, 'We are, and that if he wofild give me 20 horsemen, I would make the attempt to Gundamuck.' He said, ` Very well; the day 'after to-morrow be ready to start; in the mean time I will send out people and find out the state of the pass to Jellalabad. I said, I wished to go to Gundamuck to Captain Burn.' However, before the day arrived for our departure, he came and said it was impossible to go, as we were literally surrounded by the Ghilzies, and put us off for a couple of days more. We were obliged to submit, but at the same time determined not to be put off another day, and made every preparation for starting. Two days previous to our leaving, the old Mollah came and asked me if we had made up our minds as to when we would leave, and in what direction. I told him that we had, that we should leave on such a day, and go to Gundamuck ; but at the same time must tell you I had a most faithful and intelligent spy in my service—my muleteer. Through him I heard of all that was going on ; consequently, on the morn ing we started he took me on one side, and told me that the Mollah had been very busy in planning our destruction ; that he had taken the Ghilzies off the pass leading to Jellalabad, and had placed them on the road to Gundamuck. Shortly after this the chief sent word that he was ready to start. We did , so at daylight on the morning of the 23d of Oc- I tober, all the party fully expecting that Gunda muck was to be our destination, and on our reaching the junction of the two roads I asked the chief to let me have 50 men, and that I would make the best of my way to Jellalabad, and not to Guncln,- muck ; I was determined on doing so, and by five o'clock that evening reached it, a distance of forty miles. I went and called on the Governor of the place, and requested him to give me protection, which he did ; halted the 24th, and by the 28th reached Peshawur, where I considered myself safe ; halted a day there, and in 15 days reached Ferozepore ; halted there four days, and at Loodiana two, and arrived at Kurnaul on the morning of the 3d of December, a complete Affghan, with a beard, &c., as long as my arm. My disguise saved me many a shot, and, tharl God, I have got through all my difficulties without even a scratch." The Marquis de N. resides in a small mansion in the Rue Ville I'Evoque, having a garden, thewall of which runs back to the Rue de Surenne. Two evenings ago the Mar quis remained at home alone, the Marquise having gone to a party, taking two of the servants to attend her, and given the rest leave to absent themselves, so that the only person left in the house besides the Marquis was a couturiere, who came to work by the day. The Marquis was busily engaged in his Cabinet, but about nine o'clock had occasion for some papers which were in another room, and went to get them. On passing the private apartments of the . Marquise he ob served a light, which in her absence he knew ought not to be there, and on entering found three men engaged in open ing the furniture and taking possession of everything va luable. Preserving his presence of mind, the Marquis ac costed them, and told them' it was in vain for them to at tempt to fly, as the whole of his establishment was within call. Two of the thieves, however, made a rush past him and escaped. He seized the third, but this fellow, being stronger and younger than the Marquis, broke from his grasp and followed his fellows, passing the workwoman, who came on hearing the cries of the Marqui s . Police-o ffi cers wereimmediately afterwards called in, and ascertained that the fellows had made their way into the garden by an old and badly-fastened door from the Rue de &reline, had cut through a shutter by means of a centre-bit, and thus got by a window on the ground-floor. Numerous skeleton keys and other implements of housebreaking were left behind by the robbers, of whose persons the Marquis'-was able to give a full description. As yet none of them have been taken. They had pocketed a valuable repeater, many rings, and other jewels of high price, but their booty would have been much greater had they not been interrupted. The day before yesterday a thief wa.s arrested in the elnirch of Notre-Dame as he was attempting to draw money out of one of the poor-boxes with a. bit of whalebone, hav ing at its extremity some bird-lime. On being searched, 1')0 francs in gold were found upon him, for the possession of which he could not account satisfactorily.—French Paper. " The Infante Don Francisco , " s ays a Madrid Cor .respondent of the Prease, " has requested of E s p ar t ero th e ' admission of his second son, Don Enriquez, into the Spanish navy as a midshipman. T he Re g ent i s said not only 'to have granted the request, but even to have at onee made the young Infante a Captain." THE LATE SEVERE GAi%E. The effect of the late hurricane has been mi. .st disas trous both by sea and land. In Dover and its a eigh bourhood much damage has been done to prop erty. Among the many unroofing; that took place, there was no one more singular than that of Mr. I. B. Tersvm's Waterloo Rooms, the entire sheet-copper covering of the building having been lifted from its moorings eight o'clock on Thursday morning, and precipitattell from a height of upwards of fifty feet into the street, about eighty feet off, without doing injury to any one, though many persons were passing near the spot at the time. We have not had so severe a gale during the whole of the winter. The encroachments of the sea, and consequent loss of land, on which small tenements were erected to th e west of the town, continue in A. serious degree. Several chimneys also were thrown down, and some houses un roofed, in the course of Thursday morning. A very large quantity of beach has been driven by the st.►rm into the entrance channel, which, however, it is hoped, may be removed at low water, before the next spring tides. Yesterday, about noon. a collier standing to the west ward was seen to have in tow a boat containing some men. The boat was observed, on quitting the collier, to make for the harbour, but the flood-tide was too strong, in consequence of which the Blue-eyed Maid hovelling-boat stood out to sea, and succeeded in towing into the harbour the boat, which contained eight un happy men, a boy, and a dead man. It appears they quitted - the brig Mary Coxon, of North Shields, at the moment of her foundering at sea, and were thirty-six hours in the boat without food, so that the cold was the Occasion of the death of the poor fellow. Four vessels are said to be on shore to the westward of Boulogne ; one (a large American), with a crew of seventeen, out of whom only five are reported to have been saved. The schooner Emma, of Portsmouth, from London, with a general cargo, drove from her anchors under Dunge ness, and came in contact with the brig Hope, of Rye, when she was abandoned by the crew, and is supposed to have foundered, having received great damages.— Crew saved except two. _ On Thursday, during the gale, the Minerva, of Jersey, from Sunderland, with coals, sunk off Calais. The crew were saved from the sinking vessel by Mr. Slater, Second Master of her Majesty's steam-packet Widgeon, who, along with a crew of Englishmen, put off from Calais to their rescue in a whale beat, at great personal hazard, the sea running very high across the mouth of the har bour at the time.—. Doter Chi °nide. ENGLAND IN THE NINETEENTH CE N- TURY. flow and Parsons, London, 1842. • The two Parts before us of this periodical contain descriptions of the counties of Cornwall and Lanca shire, accompanied by illustrations, executed by some of our ablest engravers in a very supe rior style of art. The sketches of Liverpool convey a very vivid idea of the architectural beauty of this rising and wealthy town, and no public build ing. of importance, or place of popular resort is omit ted. Some of the most striking and picturesque scenes of Cornwall are also dPlineated with rare skill and spirit. Of its sort, the present work is decidedly the best of the day, and far surpasses all our old Eng glish itineraries, both as respects design and execution. HALL'S IRELAND. Part 17. How and Parsons. London, 1842. The account of the city of Dublin, which deserves praise for its singular minuteness and accuracy, is brought to a close in, this Part, which contains, in addition, some curious details of the scenery, prin cipal towns, romantic buildings, and other peculiari ties of the county of Meath. The Part is embellished with two excellent engravings, a neat and careful map of Cavan, Westmeath, and Meath. pink, ua embeceloeun.myet,p, which attoilinlideedvbtheyirtieb,n agnwn theae sr ERECTION OF THE STATUE TO ADM Ili AL SIR. PULTENEY MA LCOLAI. (Abridged from the Carlisle. Journal.) Wednesday last having been fixed for the ceremony of erecting upon its pedestal the Statue of the late Admiral Sir Pulteney Malcolm, upcn:which Mr. Dunbar has been engaged for the last two years, the little town of Lang helm, whose inhabitants have been on the qui vice since the announcement was made ; began early to assume a more than usually bustling appearance. The band which paraded the street early in the morning reminded the good folks of the town that an interesting e v e n t was a i hand, and notwithstanding the dirty state of the roads, occasioned by the snow which had fallen during the night, a large number of persons residing the neighbourhood assembled to witness the ceremony. The statute had been erected on the Ist March, but had remained covered, since. that time. One o'clock on Wednesday was fixed upon for unrobing it. Before the , paraded about the streets, accompanied by an efficient band of music. Shortly after . one o'clock, a procession situated was formed, and headed by Sir James Malcolm, Sir C. hour arrived, a banner of eye on accom panied few yards in front of the town house, in the centre of the street. The site has been well chosen ; the statue and Malcolm,musmusic, and proceeded o t e h n e e i d r edto friends,the andmo panied by J. Little, E s q., of Bombay ; J. Scott, Esq., is town.tlie first sir j. object A f a t i h o tt o t i m, astrikesnd Sirh e Barugh ; J. Connell, Esq., of Langholm ; Mr. Dunbar, &c., mounted the platform erected in front of the monu ment for the occasion. The band then struck up " Bute Britannia," and the cloth having been removed from the statue the crowd gave three hearty cheers. The statue, which is seven feet high, stands upon a. pe destal of granite eleven feet', high, so that it is raised eighteen feet from the street level. It is made of the most durable Italian marble, and represents Sir Pulteney in the costume of a British Admiral. Ilis left hand rest: upon the hilt of his sword, and his right upon the Orders of St. Michael and St. John, which appc.nr on his breast. All who knew Sir Pulteney say the likeness is admirable. The front of the pedestal bears the following inscription: ' I n honour of Admiral Sir Pulteney Male( dm. G.C.8., G.C.M.G., born February 21 , 1768, died July 20, 1833." The statue and pedestal together weigh about ten tons. The whole is enclosed by four strong iron rails resting horizontally upon four blocks of granite cut into the form of cannon. ' After a brief address, suitable to the. occasion, by Sir James Malcolm, the procession and crowds dispersed. At three o'clock, afterwards, upwards of fifty gentlemen sat down to a dinner at the Crown Inn, and a party of forty, comprising the tradesmen of Langholm, in another room. A ball afterwards, at eight_o'clock, in honour of ' , the occasion, was well attended. ROBBERY AND TORTURE IN TURKEY. We find the subjoined from Smyrna, 19th tilt., in the Malta Times : " I related in my last a short account of a daring and, ultimately, as it turns out, successful attack on an escort in charge of a sum of money belonging to the Turkish Government, on its way from Aidin to Constantinople. The robbery, as then stated, would excite little curiosity, as the ends of justice seemed nearly all satisfactorily answered. Both the facts and results, however, differ so widely from that state ment, and seem with evil so portent, that nothing less than a full and detailed account will serve to convey an adequate idea of them. In the first stages of the horrible persecutions which I am now about to relate, such wp the secrecy inculcated and observed, and such the tendency of the stories industriously circulated to allay or divert public curiosity, that suspicion, though long wakeful, was nearly lulled to repose, when suddenly it became known that torture had been applied to two of the prisoners, the surgeon of the Greek Hospital having been sent for to attend one of them, who was dying under its effects ! A thrill of horror, like an electric shock, ran through the whole Christian community. It appears, then, that instead of nine mule-loads of money, there were twelve ; but the amount is the same-400,000 piastres. The attack was made, not from or close by a kaffene guard-house, but about mid-way between two kaffenes, an hour's distance from each other. In stead of a robber having been seized, and, on being questioned, had confessed, and, in consequence of this confession, a great part of the -gang had been arrested, and nearly all the money found, only one of the number has been discovered, and he only cognisant and abetting—not present at the affair. Of the money, only one mule-load, and that by mere chance, the animal being found dead on the mountains ; it appears that it had been wounded in the affray, broken loose, and ran on till it fell dead with exhaustion. The gang seem to have made a successful razzia of all the rest, led them safely to the sea-coast, near Vourla, and to have got clear away with their boot}' in two open boats waiting there to receive them. The whole party was composed of Turks and natives of Samos. Of the two prisoners above alluded to, one is a Turk who confessed not by questioning, but by torture, that he has leagued, though not pre sent, with the robbers ; he is the Bollook-Bashi, or head of the guards at one of the kaffenes. The other is a Greek, arrested on mere suspicion, and now reported dead. Two other Greeks are also reported to have expired under the horrid tortures to which they were subjected to extort a confession of what they knew nothing. In vain they protested their ignorance ; torment after torment was added, until death released them from their sufferings. The torture was inflicted as privately and secretly as possible. Every exquisite suffering that a fiendish imagination could devise was remorselessly inflicted. They were first bastinadoed ; the temples were then crushed by balls of bone pressed by a band twisted behind t he head till the eyes started from the sockets. Needles were forced up the fingers; boiling oil poured on the breast. If they still lived, red-hot horse-shoes were applied to the feet, the wrists were turned, and a red hot brass basin placed upon the naked head ! Other atrocities were perpetrated, far too horrible to name I Two of those who suffered most severely, confessed all they knew, even before torture was threatened. Against these there were some grounds of accusation. It appeared by their own account, which is also con firmed by other evidence, that being at their occu pation on the hills, they were seen by the rob bers, who obliged them, on pain of death, to go to the next village to buy provisions.. Had they disobeyed—much less denounced—these bandits, murder surely awaited them. More than fifty per sons in all have been tortured or imprisoned. Some of them have been released. Amongst those remain ing are three Primates of the village of Bouja, being held responsible for the conduct of one or two vil lagers who have been arrested on suspicion ; whilst from the confession of the Bollook Bashi it appears evident that none of these were any way concerned in it. The various European Consuls, and such of the respectable merchants as were known to have in fluence with the Governor, proceeded to the Konak to endeavour to induce him to mitigate the severity - of these proceedings. Their humane intentions were however fruitless, and some of them were not even ad mitted to his presence. Said Pacha, the Governor, be it known, is a most devout and rigid Mussulman. Dur ing the day he has a Mollah by his side reading the Koran. Being very regular in his devotions, he always retires from the scene of torture at the appointed hour. He was married.to a daughter of the Sultan, but the Princess died some time ago. Latterly he was Governor of Aidin, where he still governs by deputy. His cruelties there to the Greeks are said to be of the blackest dye. At the time of the pro mulgation of the celebrated Hatti-Scherif of Gull- Hane, he was one of the leading Ministers of the Porte, and the document bears his signature. No sooner did these shocking facts become known, than the English residents petitioned the British Consul to interpose all his influence and authority in behalf of the sufferers. This example was followed by the French residents. The only answer Mr. Brant could make was that Said Pacha might question his right to interfere ; that he might place himself in a false position by attempting it ; but pro mised to refer the case immediately to Sir Stratford Canning. But the frenetic rage of the Pacha has not stopped here. His vengeance could not be glutted, by his unheard-of cruelties to the Sultan's subjects, he has dared to insult his master's best friend and ally (England) by bastinadoing two Anglo-Greeks. One of them, a farmer, he imprisoned on suspicion of knowing something of the robbers ; the other, by trade a butcher, was seized for selling meat at a higher rate than that fixed by the Governor. In vain did Mr. Brant remonstrate and claim exclusive jurisdiction over them ; in vain he warned him of the consequences of his refusal to give them up to him. They were both brutally beaten. RECOVERY OF A PERSON APPARENTLY DROWNED. —On Saturday morning. shortly before ten o'clock, a man named Campan, a cork-binder, while passing from a ship on to the north quay of the London Dock, fell overboard into the water between the vessel and the wall quay, and disappeared under the bottom of the ship, which it was found necessary to haul off from the berth she was in, before the drags could be made available. This occupied some time, and after the third drag with the grapnels, the body of the man was recovered. He was apparently dead, and was con veyed in the most careful manner, with the head elevated, to the guard-house near the western entiance, where the admirable and complete apparatus, kept always in readi ness by the London Dock Company, was put .in requisition, and Mr. Bloomfield, a surgeon, of High-street, Wapping, was ' immediately fetched. On his arrival, he found the body in a warm bath, and friction being applied by the dock officers and police. There were no signs of life; bnt.Mr. Bloomfield de termined to persevere. He inflated the lungs, and used a, variety of other means to res'ore animation ; and it was net until three hours had elapsed that the least animation.-look place. The surgeon and his assistants continued their mutat* attt ntions, and they had the gratification of sewing the :',a l t Mr. Illoomfield was in attendance upon him all day. c a a_ it was not until late on Satinday night that he P"n° 4ic e t l i l i lt patient out of danger. This is not the first been seccess'ully treated in this dock by Mr. B '" may in some measure be attributed to the t excellent ores tore persons arrange ments made by the London Dock Comps) , th 3 ; a n d warm beds are apparently drowned, while the warm ha always kept in readiness. pc;fi whisk MARCH I I.—The sa les 1 BRISTOL SUGAR-MARKET, a, it was natural to ex of sugar in the past weekihave.breietant'ed question relative to the peet, very trifling. The l ong Agitated probably business will be resumed more actively. I ._ duty being now recently arrived per privately disKtse u et. in the general D 2 It is currently reported that the cargo Y Heliance, from the Mauritius , has been of for cash, and will not make its appearance to —Bristol Merct.rv, manes about i to be d e cided ,