The Sun. — London, England, 1863-11-24 00:00:00

MESSRS. JAY a nd CO. have now on show the most unique and perfect assortment of BONNETS, which their Manager has selected in Paris, and brought pack with her to this Establishment. 217, 240, 251, Regent-street. BONNET'S SILKS a LYON.—Every Article of commerce takes its title either from the inventor or tuactur er, and t he more perfect the production the ignAter is the credit which attaches to the originator. BONN ET'S SILKS are said to be incapable of identifica tion in the ; but the fallacy of such an assertion is ex pus dby the very trade mark of the firm, as exhibited by Messrs. JAY, of Regent-street. T he following interwoven mark may be seen at the end of eatth p i ece :--•• Manufacture de C. J. Bonnet et Cie., it Lyon et a I ujurieux." Wear guaranteed. TUN" ALMANACK, 1864. One Penny. on Thursday. ROYAL ENGLISH OPERA, COVENT-GARDEN. Under the Management of Miss Louisa ryae and Mr. W. Harrison. THIS EVENING, for the 34 time, Thilfe's new Opera, BLANCH r; DE NEVE RS : Miss Louisa Tyne, Miss Anna Hiles, Ntiss Emma Heywood ; Messrs. W. H. NVeiss, H. Cord, A. Cook, A. at. Albyn, C. Ly ill, J. Rou4e, and W. Harrison. To conclude with THE MARRIAGE OF GEORGETTE. Kiss Thirlwall and Mr' H. Corri. Conductor, Mr. A. Mellon. Doors open at half-past Six—Commence at Seven. THEATRE ROYAL D RURY -LAN E. - Managers, Messrs. E. Falconer and F. B. Chatterton. THIS EVENING, her Majesty's Servants will perform the Farce of BEAUTY OR THE BEAST. Principal cha racters by Messrs. Addison, G. F. Neville, Barret, Spencer, and G. Weston; Mrs Edmund Falconer and Miss R. Leclerq. Mier which, Lord Byron's Cho ral Tra g edy rd, Spence r ; aMANFRED. Messrs. helps, Ryder, Rayner, M,agreson, W Miss Eburne, Miss E. A tkinson, Miss Leclerc 1, an d Mrs. E. Miss Falconer. Vocalists — M iss Poole, Miss idtter, Cicely Note, Miss Heywood, and Mr. Swift. To conclude with an Origin al Farce, by W' rough and A Halliday, entitled MY HI,,'ART'S IN THE HIG-lILANDS ctiaracters by Mr. J. Neville, Mr. G. Weston, Mr. Warde Mr. J. Marris ; Mrs. C. Melville, and Miss tlarfieur. T R E A TRE ROYAL 'HAY Nil ARKET.- Sole Lessee and Manager, Mr, Buckstone. THIS EVENING, SILKEN FETTERS • M e asrs. Chas. Mathews, Chippenda le, W. Farren, Howe, .&c. ; Mesdames C. Mathews and M. Ilarris. F o llowed by T HLGoL DEN FLEECE. Messrs. Charles Stathew.4, Compton,Weathersby,&c.; Mesdames C. Mathews, L . Keeley. Griffith, it Fo ll owe d by COJL AS A CUCUMBER. Mr. C. Mathews. DAISY And LIT rix . . Commence at 7. CEIJM THEATRE. RUnder A t he Sole Managemen t of Mr. Fechter. BEL DP:AO-SIG (a Triumphant Success) will be repealed Evening until further notice. Every Evening EVENING, the Comedietta, by W. Gilbert, entitled ITNicLE BBY: Mess S. Widdicombe, J. G. Shore, Charles ; bliss-- P. Leclercq, and Carlotta Leclercq. After which, at Eight o'clock, BEL DE3IONIO, a Love Story, in Twelve Tableaux, taken from Stendhal's "Italian Chronicle," by Mr. fohn Brouzram. Principal charac ter by Mr. Fechter, supported by Messrs. Jordan, Char Brougham , Emery , Ray mond, Moreland, Smith Clifford, es ' C o llett, Andrews , Sims ; Miss Kate Terry, E. Lavenue, Mrs. Lee, and 31i8s Elsworthy. • Doors open at half-plst 6— commence at 7. LEA H.-EVERY NIGHT. MISS BATEMAN.—LEAH.—THIS EVENING, the 48th appearance of the great Tragic Actress, Miss BAIT MAN, in the character of LEAH. In consequence of the unbounded success with which Miss Bateman's imperso nation of the principal character in the new Five Act Drama of LEAH has been attended. Mr Webster begs to announce that it will be performed EVERY EVENING until further notice. JEW THE ATRE-RO YAL, ADELPHI.- k.l Sole Prom*',nor and Manazar, Mr. B. Webster. MIS EVENING, at 7, TIIE TRAGEDY QUEEN: Mrs. S ti ruing. At 8, the New Drama of LEAII : Bth weer of Miss Bate man, supported by lilessrs.Artnur Stirling, It. Phillips, Bil lint.cton, Stuart, Stephenson, Eburne ; Miss 11. Simms, and Mrs. Billing - ten. To conclude with TIIE IRISH TIGER: Miss K. Kelly and Mr. stephenson. ROYAL STRAND THEATR E. Manager, Mr. W. 11. Swanborough. THIS EVENDiG, MIRIAM'S CRIME. Messrs. Geo. Honey, Parselle, Belford, Turner, Miss K. Saville, and Miss Mandcrs. Atter which, MT NEW PLACE. Mr. A. Wood. To conclude with FAINT HEART NE VER WON FAIR L NllY. Mr. Leigh Murray, Miss Buf ton, Commence at 7. MHE THIRD EDITION OF " THE SUN," j_ Containing the Latest SPORTING INTELLIGENCE :an be had Every Evening of G. R. GLENIE, NEWS AGENT, No. 4, Connaught-terrace, Hyde-park. HIGH WATER AT LONDON BRIDGE. Tins* DAY.—Morning, lh. 2m.—Afternoon, lh. 27m, 170-moßitow.-Morning, lh. 50m.—Afternoon, 2h. 10m. The Weather—Sun Office, Nov. 24, 1863. THERIIO3.IETER. This day'at Two o'clock .. 51 Barometer-29.81. Wind—South'; moderate, with rain. 11, - - .4, „i • jg LONDON, TUESDAY, NOV. 24, 1863. Yesterday we gave from the Spectator, and also from the Morning Herald, certain flying rumours of the clubs as to Earl RUSSELL'S abrupt resignation (again! for he has before now resigned in that way quite suddenly) —the flying rumours, we repeat, of the clubs as to Earl RUSSELL'S resignation. To-day we transfer to our columns the formal contradiction given to those rumours by our official contemporary, the Morning Post, the recognisel organ, not of the Government, but of the noble lord the Chief of the Government. The breakers ahead, we are to under stand, therefore, though undoubtedly very serious, are not quite so serious, are not so absolutely unavoid able, that the Man at the Wheel of Foreign Affairs is drivenha by the instinct of self-preservation (as he 8 , tina, and again,tis grasp been driven before) to drop suddenl y h upon the spokes of that wheel, to unlash the dingy, slip into it, and drift astern into a po s i t i on t comparative safety, at any rate of relief fron t , es Ponsibility—thence to observe, as phlegmaticall y as need be, th e di rer f a t es awa iti ng his doomed and point colleagues. " Not t o put too fine t con tradiction to th e irlit upon it," the official of Lord RUSSELL'S resignation --once more °3"t it leaningth: his colleagues in the lurch —moans s imply N o t Yee. Things, as we hav " 7 plain words this— aidT he coach may b e look quiet bad enough for that s , , do not, as yet, going down hill it is true-- and the em:descent down romantic Ashburn _ have been Pace of its policy n to it in o f latterly rather a ccelerated by circu mstances, in s pite of the stubb orn skid slip p e d the shape of the do-nothing B u t, while running ilown. the Government. very heavy incline at rather an alarmin g pace a things, we repeat, don't look so entirely hop e l ess, that JOHNNY is tempted to upset the coach, again as if out of a pure love of mischief. But for it, coarse being, latterly, very much like the uncom. fortable title of one of Captain WIIYTE MELviut's latest novels, "All Down Hill "—the wheels of the State coach, the ribbons of which are handled from his box-seat with such a jaunty air by the veteran whip perched up there, in that place of honour and responsibility would hardly, we should suppose, have been doing better than crawl, even if they had not come—as they have fat inter vals occasionally—to a dead standstill. Non intervention, that is the order of the day—except in Japa-d, or, in another out of the way place, like cw Zealand. But in any matter of importance— though blood in flowing abundantly, blood that mi g Z h i t tn i: t e ic o st:tnehed by interposition of some kind, interve ntion i so ot herw Ise—Non-intervention ! Non insisted upon, in fact, that we should begin to look upon it as some newly discovered political u°ku panacea, far one thing, a s oldonly for this, that it is, as the hill s , an d f or ano th er that it is no Panacea at all. Th e b e lli gerents i n A mc rica are slaughtering one another by wholesale — m onths roll on and they are still at it. In H ea ven's name, says the French EMPEROR, let us a t least try to p ut a sto p to this hideous destruction of human li fe, which besides be ing uselesst threatens a lso to be interm inable. Non-inte rvention ter relit ion — n on - c. ter yen tion —is th e parrot :71-viti c) our wise and enlight ened Government! It is no affair -f of ours they argue: when, on the contrary, i t ie.._ imately and notoriously. Russia and Russian lf land are at daggers, scythes, swords, pistols, re lvers drawn with each other—old and young, rri 3n and,women, young girls and little children, are, th ere, the victims of Autocratic brutality. The sound of the scourge, or knout, rings in our ears from the of her side of Europe, through all the tumult of g: rowing Insurrection. And yet—the parrot cry of d iplomacy is, still, Non-intervention. So, now, in a more generalised way, in reference to the I 'rench EmrEttoß's proposition of a Congress, it is atimated at last, after a good deal of bewildered tesitation as to what reply ought to be sent in— ' Well, yes, if it could be done, it would be very de lightful, very admirable, and so forth—but it can't —and, therefore, with many thanks, No I In other words, we roust stick to it—that is, to our delibe rately chosen policy of Non-intervention. Certainly, Lord MELBOURNE'S whimsical remonstrance with his over-zealous colleague—" Why can't you leave it alone !" is being acted upon by our Administra tors—with a vengeance. The work of metropolitan communication is cer tainly going on as rapidly as the most enterprising spirit could wish. In every direction the lines are beginning to traverse our streets, and plans for the enlargement, extension, and junction meet us on every side, Within a very few years the whole face of the metropolis will have beep changed, and the engines go puffing and screaming over busy high-roads and quiet sqaares, where the inhabitants once certainly deemed themselves perfectly secure from any such intrusion. Great as are the dangers, however, those to come promise to be still greater, for it is said that no less than 36 schemes for metro politan alterations are included in the notices for the forthcoming session. As may be expected, these include a very wide range and affect most of our r metropolitan lines. The Underground Railway, as it is generally termed, is, it seems, to be consider ably enlarged, if th© necessary powers can be ob tained by the directors, who have given notice of an application to Parliament for additional powers for compulsory purchase of lands, for raising addi tional capital, and extending the time for complet ing the works of the Finsbury-circus extension. A good many other plans regarding the Metropolitan Railway are also under consideration, one of the foremost of which is its connection with the Victoria Station, by which means it would be in communi cation with the Brighton and Dover Railways. Other lines are no less active; the Tottenham and Hampstead Function, the Great Northern, Midland, and North Western lines are busily mapping out the northern districts of London, and propose to bring the northern suburbs within easy reach of the further ends of the city. One of the most striking of all the various schemes, however, is that of the East London, which proposes to avail itself of the long neglected and unused Thames Tunnel' thus at length bringing BRUNEL'S great achieve. ment to a directly practical use. It is certain that when that gifted, though occasionally erratic, man matured his bold design, and watched it carried gradually into effect in the face of tremendous diffi culties, he did not anticipate that the great work would be put to so little purpose during the years that followed its opening, or that it would remain nothing but au empty show, a profitless marvel. Still less did he con template the possibility of such a scheme as we have referred to being gravely propounded, by whose means the wonderful submerged tunnel will really become, as he intended it to be, one of the great highways of London. Theory and prac tice will have met at last, and both will prove to have existed in a greater degree than was supposed in the design of the first BRUNEL. It is to be hoped that the bills for these different extensions will re ceive careful consideration, and that the comfort and convenience of the public may be duly con• sidered. It will not do for the interests of com panies, and the schemes and jealousies of rival ex perimentalists, to weigh too heavily in the scale. It will be necessary to keep a jealous eye upon some of their movements, and to consult, despite all other influences, the general good alone. Another point worthy of notice is the expense and difficulty which now attend the efforts of the companies to get the land they require in the vicinity of the metropolis. This is in a great measure owing to the obstinate opposition which any attempts to bring the Hies into the streets occasioned some years ago, when the ground, every rood of which is now so precious, might have been had at an almost nominal rent . The angry and determined opposition which was sure to meet such plans, kept the railways to the suburbs, but the precaution was in vain. Little towns sprang up around the much dreaded stations, and directors and shareholders are left to deplore that the public shortsightedness should have en tailed so much unnecessary expense and labour in the carrying out of their adventurous schemes. We trust, as we have before said, that the interests of the public will be the primary object, and that all other considerations and influences will be made subservient to that one great end. The meeting at Stroud last week was distin. guished for hilarity at all events. There was no gloomy forebcding nor lugubrious retrospection in dulged in ; but all was replete with hearty goodwill and earnest endeavours to make the best of things. The remarks made at the evening entertainment were conspicuous for their originality. Earl DUCIE and Mr. HORSMAN vied with each other in humor ous remarks, that were yet not without their signi ficance in a higher point of view. When Lord DUCIE said that he would willingly go back to his old position as member for Stroud, he doubtless might have felt what he said, In one sense, a mem ber of the Commons holds a higher position than one in the Upper House, for he more directly represents the feelings of the people. Also, there was some solid grounds for the assertion of the noble lord, that the \ beet way to prepare the membe rs o f th e higher b t aileh of the Legislature for the right fulfilment of their arduous duties was to give them the °P P °r ttulit y of practising in the trying ordeal of the p -°l ' lll4 t use bly Certainly they would there I was told to them, see for themselvesll2 - * what they might not believe if it I and stirring p lPlee rand hear solemn truths expressed enunciated that may years after come ba c k to the with t: mind with irresistible force, and speak as ound of a trumpet to carry con viction to the mina,and bring truth before their eyes. Mr. HORSMAN, as u eul, was most entertain ing., and made a good hit i n the . inuendo that he , hoped Lord D UCIE wou ld Chan all, and give him hisg Places in reality if he did so at estate.Of course, at the more business 9ffairagraverton e ch aracterised the proceedings. Sir J. PAKINGTON seconded the re solution, which must have given him very great satisfaction, for it contained the cheering announce ment that the cause ho has so much at hea rt Was progressing in the right direction. Prominent as the right hon. baronet has been in instituting reforms in our navy, conspicuous as be took the lead in some of those improvements which stand out as landmarks of the age and beacons of the nation's progress, he has also attained an honourable, if a lesser, glory in the more sequestered but less stormy walks of peaceful life. His efforts have not been small nor few, neither have his successes been cir cumscribed. In lending the weight of his position and the force of his abilities to It is important I undertaking, he has at the same time gained de served popularity and rendered special services to a noble cause. Well does it portend for the country where learning flourishes, not in secluded halls of study, but through the limits of the land in its length and breadth; the more widely diffused is education, and the greater its influence is paramount, the higher will be the position of the state, and the more proud and prosperous its career. Sir J. PAKINGTON'S remarks were throughout very t ,a n evinced d th th at thoroughanetraarnseus t c n h eearnestness s ofappre ciation thrillingex pression, appropriate, t e his , whicha nsduibnthemselve s they ie e accompaniments to a discourse, and without which the most glowing eloquence, and the most astute erudition becomes as sounding brass or tinkling cymbal. He took a . bold course, and advocated the adoption of straightforward measures for the success of the undertaking. He urged in impressive language the most enticing prospects and the most special inducements which brought forward the cause in which they were then engaged, and most unquestionably pleaded for its prompt attention by all who had the time or power to do so. He forcibly pointed out the moral of his address, by declaring that all who assisted in the undertaking, or associated in its cause, were engaged in a work " to which, through life, they must always look back with satisfactien." This is strictly true, and when the mazes of public affairs have confused their minds, and the ascerbi ties of political feeling engendered bitterness among opponents, and, perchance, alienated friends, there will be a rallying point for divers interests, and a neutral ground found on which all differing parties can assemble frankly and fearlessly in the discus sion of the prospects and the essays for the pro gress of education. Apart from theories and plans, there is the convincing evidence of facts by which to test the validity of any new or great endeavour, and Sir J. PAKINGTON brought forward an un answerable argument of the efficacy, and a striking instance of the success of the undertaking, to do honour to which they were then and there assem bled. In 1859 there were only three candidates for the examination ; in the next year, 44 ; but in this one the number was no less 473. Surely this is a proof before which cavillers must be silenced, and at which demurrers can find no ground to stand upon. Yet the speaker did not confine his state. ments to the flattering side of the picture only, but wisely and kindly brought before his hearers the re verse side of the picture. Thus he evidenced the fact that in many of our colonies and in the various countries of Europe, men were ahead of us in point of education and information. This, however irri tating it may be to dwell upon, is a topic 'that should stimulate all who hear it. They should disparage no efforts of those who wore superior in their actual attainments, but be resolved to emulate, if possible excel, all other competitors in the noble raco of self improvement. The more these subjects are dwelt upon the greater good will be effected, 'and the more widely diffused will be the elevating influence. " Knowledge is power," is a well known saying, but how few really act upon what they profess to practise, and seek with might and main to enrich themselves and their neighbours with that solid and lasting possession which the chance and changes of this fluctuating state cannot affect, and which remain after houses and land are gone and spent, a most excellent treasure, and a most enduring heritage. Sir J. PAKINGTON exactly specified the object of such institutions as that which he then advocated with so much eloquence and earnestness, to enable the working man to make the most of the intellect which GOD had given him. There can be no higher end for human efforts than to ennoble the species, and by thus cultivating their facu!ties, and raising their aspirations, to fit them for further and better duties in this world, and to train them for the en joyment of a greater and holier existence hereafter. Altogether it may ba considered that this meeting at Stroud was a most successful one, and, as it eminently deserved to be so, it is the more gratify ing to notice its happy issue, and to expect from it an augury of future promise to this and similar admirable institutions. Another of those painful cases of starvation which of late have become distressingly frequent among us was brought before the notice of the coroner in the east end of London last week. The case pre sented some peculiarly painful features, and an im portant caution may be taught by it. There was no question in this instance of the negligence of relieving officers or the harshness of workhouse regulations ; the fault lay rather at the door of a body who usually discharge their arduous duties with tact, discretion, and efficiency. It seems that a policeman, about ten o'clock at night, found the deceased lying insensible in the street, Supposing him to be intoxicated, he got a stretcher and re moved him to the station, where he was locked up all night without food under the same impression. The next morning the mistake was discovered, for he was taken to the workhouse, where all he could do was to tell his name and ask for a drink of water before he again relapsed into unconsciousness, from which he passed to death. In all probability nothing could have been done for this poor man had his wants been attended to earlier. He was most likely too far gone for any care or kindness to have rescued him, but the fact is, nevertheless, the same, that a man dying of exhaustion was locked up all ' night without any assistance, and, if the case had admitted of a favourable termination the negligence or ignorance of the police would have destroyed the chance. It is not by any means the first time that such an accident has occurred, nor will it be the last unless more care is exercised. A very melancholy case occurred some time ago, when a respectable middle-aged woman, being suddenly taken ill at some distance from her home, was locked up in a similar fashion, to be found dead from apoplexy some time after. Such instances are, no doubt, rare, but they are not sufficiently so to justify the custom of locking up persons found insensible in the streets without first having the opinion of a surgeon on the matter. It is difficult, no doubt, for an unprofessional eye to detect the difference, and the police are naturally influenced by the much greater frequency of the one case than of the other, but the sooner a change is made in this respect the better, and we regret that the jury did not think it necessary to append a hint on this matter to their verdict. As any person may be liable to a sudden attack of illness, it is a matter of general importance that proper pre cautions should be taken by the police in cases of insensibility, and it is to be hoped that the recent unfortunate occurrence may have the effect of inducing greater care. THE SUN, LONDON, TUESDAY EVENING, NOVEVIBER 24, 1863. LITERATURE, The Wife's Evidence. By W. G. Wills, author of "Notice to Quit," &e. Three vols. Hurst and Blackett. The two great orators of ancient times elicited from their hearers a widely different species of approbation. The Romans listened with rapt attention to the eloquence of Tully, and at the close of the discourse were be lost in admirationt at the genius of the orator—" What an orator is Cicero !" Ear otherwise was it with the listeners of Demos thenes. At the close of his impassioned " Philippics," no word of praise was bestowed upon the speaker ; but, carried away by the power of his discourse, with one voice his hearers would exclaim, "Let us march against Philip !" We are not going to compare Mr. Wills with these giants of old, but the comparison is suggested to us by the conviction that he has framed the arguments and incidents of his story so happily, that his readers, before they stop to admire the eloquence of the author, will all be willing converts to his theory. Mr. Wills' own convictions upon the subject he has chosen, are evidently very strong, and there is nothing so powerful as conviction for convincing others. The preface to the book consists of a few lines from two totally different legal enactments. The first is the Act 12 and 13 Vic., c. 106, in which permission is given for the wife of a bankrupt to give evidence before the Court of Bankruptcy ! The other is the well-known formula of our common law, which forbids a wife to give evidence for or against her husband' in any criminal proceeding. Upon these two facts Mr. Wills has . very ingeniously story that with no great constructed improbabi a brngslity both laws to bear at different periods upon the same wife and husband. If the construction of the story is inge nious, the manner in whi c h it i s wor k ed out i s sin gularly effective, in the s i mp l e truthfulness and deep natural pathos with which the domestic tragedy is imbued. There is here no striving after sensa tional effect, but again and again the hearts of many readers will thrill and their eyes brim at the touch of that mighty power that " makes the whole world kin." The very openin g gives a happy speci men of the simple, natural manner of this nar rative : He sought to tell her these many days. Only yesterday, when he returned from his office in Fleet.street to his house in Hornsey-road, he laid a plot to tell her; but as he came languidly upstairs, his throat adust with the heat of a Lon don midsummer, and saw her bright welcome awaiting him on the landing, he lost heart, and bethought him it was a pity to lose that garnishing of smiles to his dinner and their light to the restful evening. Last night he was on the brink of a disclosure, as they lay waking and talking, but the announcement still faltered on his lips, He was a man on the verge of bankruptcy, and his wife must be made aware of his position somehow—he was obviously the pro per one to tell her, but still he held back the blow with a half-selfish mercy. And so, day by day, he defers the explanation until " at last, she told him," for not in vain had the devoted wife watched 'her husband's growing abstraction—" She had taken him by surprise. She had turned his flank with her ambushed sunshine, and whilst he wavered and doubted how to comfort her under the intelligence, her heart had read his secret, and she had applied herself to comfort him. , A very charming, loveable character is Eleanor or Nellie, the loving, devoted wife of the bankrupt, and afterwards of the supposed murderer. At her husband's trial before the Court her evi dence turns the scale in his favour. Later on the husband is arrested, and under most suspicious circumstances, for murder. At first poor Eleanor, knowing his innocence, is unalarmed. She declares she can explain matters in a moment, she was with him all the time ! Among all with whom she comes in contact no one ventures to undeceive her. Pious frauds are adopted, various excuses are made. As the time p asses b y, she grows suspicious and un easy. At last s h e f orces t h e pa i n f u l trut h f rom her husband, who thus gently and tenderly tries to break it to her. " Answer me now —you promised to answer me—are you going to reject me as a witness ?" " I will answer you; I have no power, love, to call you or reject you." "Are you going to shako my statement to the court ? Deal fairly with me before you commit me, for with God's help I shall appear." " I tun not going to shake my statement, Nell ; I shall not even speak. Coins, you are under delusion ; we have a good case, thank God, and your evidence will not be needed." " Not needed ?" she cried. " Why—why, you have no other evidence than mine ?" " It is happily needless," said he, "so slight is the case against me; and I shall not have the pain of seeing you come into a large public court, Nell, . , Thank God, my girl, we'll both be spared from such shame." " Shame I" she repeated, clinging to him. " I tell you, Will, when it is your lot I share I'd rather have it than half a throne." He caught her nestling figure into him with a moment's ecstasy of pride and gratitude, " I'd face the world with you, love," he said tenderly. " And so they never told you —they never told my poor girl ?" " Told me what ?" she cried, breaking from him in a terror. " Any bad news ?" "No bad news. There, be tranquil ; it is old, old news, old as the laws. Don't be uneasy, Nell; we shall have a quiet talk, as you wished, about this same evidence of yours; we don't mind who hoar us. There, don't look so wild ; there is nothing I have to tell you worth that wild fowl look. Now, Nellie, I suppose you, who have quite a business experience, remember that in business matters a wife is not recognisable as an agent in law. She is sup posed to be under her husband's influence and control. If you had debts, Nellie, which you never had—debts for bonnets and shawls and trinkets, which you are reasonably fond of, on reckoning day against whose names would these debts be entered ?" "You are trifling with me. But to-day I will not be set aside : yon must meet my questions," she said, again re called by his light manner to her resolve and mettle. " I am meeting your questions, Nell, but I may choose my own way. Who is liable for those debts, you or I?" " You would be," she said, impatiently. " And if you were to be sued for non-payment in a court of law, whose name would head the action, yours or mine F" " Yours." " And so poor Nellie seems to have no existence in law," he said, looking in her face with a nervous calculation and forced smile. " I see your drift, but you are not putting it fairly. I have read cases in the newspapers too often to be deceived. If a wife commits a felony, her husband is not answerable—she will be tried by herself; as she has existence in law." " I am talking of a wife's evidence, Nellie," ho said, solemnly watching her. "You are supposed to be under my complete influence, and your statement is assumed in law to be under toy undue direction. The law exists chiefly in mercy that a wife may not be forced to appear against her husband, but if she would appear for him, it is naturally supposed she is in collusion with hire, don't you under stand : she is hi fact flesh of his flesh, and must be pardoned should she perjure herself for his sake." "You cannot deceive me," she said indignantly. " You know well I was called as a witness in your examinations in the court of bankruptcy, and gave evidence perfectly good in law as to the surrender of all your property." " That was a civil case," replied her husband, "and the law with respect to civil cases is altered ; but in criminal cases—" " In matters of life and death, you would tell me," said she vehemently, " a wife is silenced, when a word from her would save her husband's liie. It is not true—l do not believe you; if I believed that, it would kill me," cried the poor emphatic Eleanor. The best argument poor Eleanor brings forward in favour of her cause is when, a little later, she is ap. pealing to the counsel : THE BENEFIT OF A DOUBT. tome "I do not k now th e l a w, sir. It seems like a prison, shutti ng ou t lif e an d truth. But I have heard that you give the p r i soner th o benefit of a doubt. You even receive the prisoner's own statement, and give it weight." "It is not given on oath," interposed the counsel. Let,us say that the evidence of a Christian woman, given on her oath in favour of her husband, may be liable to suspicion —the utmost suspicion and doubt—and be only the weight of a feather in the scale. Still, why should he not have the benefit of a doubt? Why must his wife sit silent till her heart bursts, whilst servants and enemies swear his life away? The lawyer replies to this with equal truth : "It is a law, besides, that really has a humane and merciful intention. Now, suppose you were possessed of evidence against your husband—dust the missing link that might be necessary to convict him, and you loved him as you do now—would it not bs a painful state of things if you could be dragged into the witness-box by a subpoena, and forced to give evidence which must convict him But here is the law you complain of, which has been framed to shelter him and you from such an unnatural position," These two considerations--tae wife's plea that she may speak for I.ser husband as he speaks for himself, and the lawyer's threat that such a permission might compel her to speak against him —these two considerations taken together seem to afford a solu tion to all the difficulties of the case. A person under accusation is not compelled to criminate hini- EARL RIISSILL, There is no truth whatever in the statement which has been circulated that Earl Russell is about to rebigu the Secretaryship for Foreign Affairs.._ post. ABOUT TUE ENGLISH OF IT !—To impugn our right to criticise Mother England a shaking," by quoting expressions from the Edinburgh Review (says that journal), is like saying Mr. Chase's threat " to give Old that 4 Wall wh°„.Bmokes a cigar in his own study has no tu WU a I "Zion who bring s a clay pipe into a drawing P not know how to behave himself. room '''- ^* self, but he is allowed to make any statement he pleases, his statements of course being regarded with suspicion. Why should not the same liberty be accorded to the wife •of the accused ? Without being compelled to criminate her husband, why may not her evidence as to facts be listened to—as the evidence of the culprit is listened to, with sus picion and incredulity perhaps, but still with the possibility that it may serve to elucidate the truth' The readers of Mr. Wills' powerful pages, who sympathise with the cruel heart-throes of poor Eleanor, will be solicitous, one and all, for some amelioration of the law which may render such a case as her's an impossibility. To strengthen the force of his appeal, and exhibit the unnatural anomaly of the law, Mr. Wills has introduced an episode of peculiar painfulness. Eleanor has a child, a little son of seven years old, who, by a sad fatality, had slept in the room in which the murder had been committed. The boy had been aroused after the murderer had left the room, and had beheld his father with the instrument of death that he had wrenched from the murderer's hand. This boy, unknown to his mother, is cross-questioned by the servants, and placed in the witness-hex. His guileless, inconsiderate evidence seals his father's doom, Here is a glimpse of this powerfully written and most heart-rending scene : A CRUEL CASE. Amidst the hush of the whole court-house a poor little wistful child stands there, neatly combed and cared for, and in a pretty gay walking dress—God forgive them ! worked by the poor mother's hand. The shrinking child stood there, altogether fascinated by the scarlet robes of the judge and his terrible wig. His lordship looked at it with studied indulgence—so pretty, so bright, and inno cent it was—a baby terror hi each round eye. There was a murmur of sympathy throughout the crowd, and all held their breath as one man. There were fathers there who felt an uncomfortable thrill, and unwittingly shook their heads as they looked at that pretty yellow-haired infant, and bethought them of the loved little folk at home. What if one of them stood yonder in the dock ?—if young May or bright-eyed Mat, were there in the witness box against them ? There was a universal vigil on all the crowd for one Im minent moment. When will the eyes of the mother and child meet? Rumour has got about that she has not seen it for more than a month, and never dreamt she should' meet it thus. Will she scream or faint, or struggle over towards it? At present she is sitting there with a petrified gaze of surprise and incredulity. Who brought her child here ? Who dared to bring it here ? Have they trained the little fawn to snare its father to death? the being he gave life to brought here to swear his life away ? What evidence can his child bring against innocence and truth? " What is your name, dear ?" said the counsel quietly. The child's eyes were fixed on the scarlet robes of the judge, who repeated the question soothingly. After some preliminary questions, he is asked who he saw in the room, when he awoke, besides the murdered man. "I saw papa." "There ran a shocked murmur through the crowd, po pularly called a sensation, and then a freezing silence again. " Had your papa anything in his hand?" came the velvet question—the judge cooed it out, entrapping the child on as it faltered and sobbed. It hangs on a hair if the child will speak. Should its gaze once catch the mother's starting eye, not four yards from it, it will be struck dumb. " Speak the truth, Johnnie," came a low voice from the dock—a low voice—a home voice, The child's eyes fell upon its father's face. • " Speak the truth, Johnnie ; don't be afraid," " Ho had a hatchet," said the child, and in another second his eyes, by some strange attraction, were dropped upon the mother's face. The child quivered as if it had been suddenly stung, and wailed aloud. " Oh, mamma I mamma I" "My lord," said the counsel, amid the buzzing court, " it is very painful, but really if we arrive at the truth th e mother must be removed." Yes, they may remove her now—the worst has been done, and all is over with her. She was passed along through them to the door without opposition, and she tottered out alone. Her shoulders are heaving with hysteric sobs, as she leans against the pillar, encircled with a greasy sym pathy, the villainous pity of the mob, which is shared by the pickpocket and the felon. The same dirty crowd which stare at her, and tell her story with rancid pathos, will not the less throng before the scaffold on which her darling stands. A strong pair of shoulders worked through the crowd towards her. Here comes old Michael, to shield and sup port her as well as he can. He gave her his arm and led her hastily away. " Bedad," he muttered to himrelf, as he hurried her on, " a kid in its mother's milk is nothing at all to this. Come home, roy poor darlint." This Michael Bryan, who attends on poor Eleanor in her anxieties, although himself convinced of her husband's guilt, is a capital character, very happily described. We have been reluctant, by our extracts, to spoil the interest of the story, and yet without quoting some of these passages, we could hardly do justice to the very forcible and pathetic elo quence so conspicuously displayed in these volumes. We have given but the merest outline, the faintest sketch of the exquisite tender delineation of the heroine—" a simple woman"—" a perfect wife." We commend her story to the lovers of sensation, and to the lovers of truth, for although a manifest fiction in its plot, this very powerful novel is true to nature in its characters and in its emotioas. My Beautiful Lady. By Thomas Woolner. One Vol., pp. 159. Macmillan. The author of this most charming production bids fair to assume the character of a very Crichton of Art. Hie reputation is already securely estab lished as one of the most gifted sculptors of his age. By his present venture he has suede good his claim to be regarded not as a versifier, but as a poet—non fit, sed nascitur. And, having an eye to the exceeding richness of the colouring, and to the exceeding music of the sounds in which he has here celebrated his Beautiful Lady in most sensuous and melodious song —we might augur well for his future as a Painter and as a Musician ! That is, if he were disposed now to throw aside pen and iok,as he has here abandoned fora while,w hen writing these pages, the chisel and mallet, hitherto familiar to his grasp— and,'in lieu of any of those artistic implements, were disposed to assume either the brush and mahl stick, or the score-paper and pencil. We know of hardly any one who more signally illustrates in our day the truth of a very subtle distinction often before now insisted upon by Sir Bulwer Lytton, but never more happily than in the pages of his newly published and remarkable collection of essays called " Castoniana." The distinction we allude to, thus, as having been so often before now enforced by the powerful arguments of that great writer — (once even it was by him dilated upon by word of mouth, --when he officiated several years back as chairman at the Farewell Banquet given to Mr. Macready the " Eminent Tragedian," upon the occasion of his retirment from the stage)—the sin gularly nice distinction between the comprehensive ness and what is called the " versatility" of genius ! Illustrating as we may say finally or conclusively this very admirable and just dis tinction in the tenth Essay (vol. 1., p. 160) of " Caxtoniana."—Sir Bulwer Lytton has just now remarked in the course of his " Hints on Mental Culture"—" The wider your range of thought the greater your chance and choice of original combina tions." The philosophic Essayist adding—(he who is himself Novelist, Poet, Orator, Dramatist, States man, Critic, Man of the World, Man of Fashion, and we know . not how many other characters be sides)—" The writer who adopts that counsel is vulgarly called versatile. That is a misno mer. It is not that genius is versatile because the objects within its scope ate various. If you have twenty thousand a year instead of one thqusand, you are not versatile be cause you do a great many things which a man of a thousand cannot do." And so is it precisely with Mr. Woolner, we may here very confidently assert. In his genius —for genius is his unmistakeably, and not merely talent even of a high order—in his gen ius,Thomas Woolner has so essentially the happy instincts of a true artist, that, we take it, success might almost with equal readiness have been his, whether the whim or the accident prompted him to the choice of the vehicle for the expression of his thoughts and emotions as an artist, from among the materials plastic in the hands of the Sculptor, of the Poet, of the Painter, of the Musician, meaning by the last-mentioned either the musical composer or the musical performer. A Sculptor ho is, and one endowed with v er y rare g ift s and capacities—as many an all but living and breathing block of marble attests. A Poet this volume before us de monstrates at once that he is—every atom as unmisa takably. Among the very few poets of the day, and we might number them up, unhappily, almost upon the fingers of one hand, he takes his place— not, observe! among the poetasters merely, who are, unhappily, nowadays, if anything, more than ever numerous. "My Beautiful Lady" is itself acomplete justification for what we are here asserting in re gard to its author. He sings in it so very tenderly, so very melodiously, at times so bewitchingly, always so gracefully, that he confirms and ex tends and advances our reliance upon his intellec tual powers. For ourselves Thomas Woolner is a mere name. We know not what manner of man he may be. We have no conjecture even as to his age. We know of him solely through his productions. We speak of him therefore quite dispassionately—uninfluenced by any personal predilection whatever, by any sympathy of friendship, by any kindliness born of mere acquaintanceship. But already the name of Thomas Woolner—though as yet no more then a name to us —is becoming for us the symbol of an unmistake able individuality. The intellectual powers, the moral sympathies peculiar to this true Poet, to this true Sculptor, to this genuine Artist, are thrusting themselves more and more familiarly upon our recognition—are forcing themse'.ves more and more upon our earnest and cordial appreciation. The thought out of which the poem before us has grown is identically the same thought that captivated the imagination of Edgar Poe when he was in quest of a theme for a short poem, that should at once ad dress itself to the hearts and feelings of the general multitude of readers—the premature death of some fair beloved : for Poe the Lenore of " The Raven," for Woolner—" Aly Beautiful Lady !" An the Poet Laureate sings of his dead friend throughout " In Memoriam"—so the poet here, who is laureated already by the garland he has woven for himself with the leaves of this charming volume, sings of his dead love. He sings of her loveli ness, of her purity, her grace, her gentle• ness, her virginal soul, her luminous intellect, of her little wayward freaks and fancies, all of them bewitching. He celebrates her in a curious variety of measures. He depicts her under a singular diversity of moods, and aspects, and acci dental circumstances. When he is lamenting, to himself, the inexpressible loss of her, it is thus, for example, that his emotions articulate themselves in words "No more she hears, where vines adorn Her windows, on the boughs Birds chirrup an arouse. Flies, buzzing, strengthening with the morn, She will not hear again At random strike the pane. No more on grassplat newly shorn With her gown's glancing hem Bend down the daisy's stem, In walking forth to view what flowers are born. Ah, dearest, shall I never see thy face Again; not ever; never any more? I know that fancy was but naught, and one Born of past hope. I kn3w thy earthly form Is mouldering in its tomb; but yet, 0 love I Thy spirit must dwell somewhere in this waste Of worlds, that fill the overwhelming heavens With light and motion ; that could never die I And wilt thou not vouchsafe one beaming look To ease a lonely heart that beats in pain For loss of thee, and only thee, 0 love ? Or bast thou found in that pure life thou liv'st My soul was an unworthy choice for thine, And therefore tak'st no count of its despair ? " While he is brooding over the birth of his exceeding love for her, he relates with a wonderful and beau tiful minuteness, how that love, so to speak, per vades and interpenetrates his whole existence. At the outset he is content simply to ease his heart of the delicious pang of his love by the mere asser tion of it ; as thus— " I love my lady ; she very is fair ; Her brow is wan, and bound by simple hair; Her spirit sits aloof and high, But glances from her tender eye, In sweetness droopingly." He lingers over the memory of her looks as she bewitched him— " Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O'er old elm-shadowed lawns. A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning's glow Hints a fall day below." Here, again, as evidence of tho truth of our remark as to the richness of the colouring thrown into this poetic picture of the poet's dead and gone beloved— " Fresh beauties, howsoo'er she moves, are stirred : As the sunned bosom of a humming-bird At each pant lifts some fiery hue, Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue; The same, yet ever new." Couplets there are in the poem that ccme to us like echoes from the choicest of the old poets—the great poets of the Elizabethan age. Instance— " My lady walks as I have watched a swan Swim when a glory on the waters shone." And what, in its way, could well be sweeter than this—how like again to the manner of the ou poets, and again, we would say, how rich a colouring in it ! " Her mention of a thing, august or poor, Makes it far nobler than it was before As, where the sun strikes, life will gush, And what is pale receive a flush, Rich hues a richer blush." The moral inculcated by this poem of " My Beautiful Lady," is as elevated and as pure and true as that which dictated to Alfred Tennyson the exquisite thought— " 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." For as the closing words at p. 149, "Years After," Mr. Woolner sings, in his turn 4, A ray has pierced me from the highest heaven — I have believed in worth ; and do believe." Three Parts, the Poem is divided into. The last of the three being simply and significantly devoted to the commemoration of " Years After" and of " Work." The intermediate part, part two, that is, being subdivided thus, also simply, also signifi• cantly, "My Lady in Death"—"Day Dream"— "My Lady's Voice from Heaven." It 18 upon the first part that the poet has lavished all his epithets of admiration upon his Beautiful Lady—singing of Herself, of her Glory, of Her Shadow, of Her Garden, of Love, Dawn, Noon, Night, of Wild Rose, and Tolling Bell, of Will o' the Wisp, of Given Over, and of Storm. The bouk as a first out breathing of the poetical faculty is very remarkable. It abounds in beauties of thought, of feeling, of expression. It indicates a power in the author that assures us he may readily, if he lists, produce even more enduring evidences of his genius with his pen as a Poet than (rarely gifted though he is in that strangely contrasting art) he could ever carve out of marble with his chisel as a Sculptor. Amok's Pocket Book for 1864. Illustrated by John Leech and John Tenniel. Pp. 192. Brad- bury and Evans. Whatever merit there is this year in the Pocket Book of our little old friend, " with the slight dorsal irregularity," as Mr. Thackeray, out of a charming delicacy in regard to the feelings of Mr. Punch, once circuitously expressed it when referring to the gentleman's rather prononce hump—Whatever merit there is in Punch's Pocket Book for 1864, be longs of right to Mr Tenniel. Not but what Mr. Leech's coloured frontispiece representing " A Rather Fast Steeple chase," is in every way worthy of that most graceful of all our caricaturist 3. Half a dozen more of his already very large family of pretty girls, havein that one print been added by his graphic pencil to our most pleasant remembrance. But, when that is said, all is said—for the fast steeple chase is, after all, nothing more than a merry hater skelter across the folding page of so much horseflesh and p:etty girls, mounted jockey-wise, in parti coloured riding-habits. Wh e reas, to the twittering pencil of Mr. Tenniel—for how much of gebuine fun and frolic are we not here indebted ! Of the letterpress hi s whimsical hand has condescended to illustrate with such preposterous extravagance of humour, we h ave absolutely nothing to say beyond this—thatitseems to us, in plain terms , j us t simply comicality in a state of delirium! It is a perpetual violation to the reader's common sense. [t is one of the most deliberate outrages ever perpetrated in cold blood upon all the fro H m a t v h in e g pr s n a: fo d n w nd hi d ch j , e n w t i e o n tu i r n n tn w w it h h ic a h s p e r n o s b e a o b f il r i e ti l e ie s f . we have been plunged, by a rash glance at this astounding exhibition of senile tomfoolery, called " Britishlion the Bagdificent," to compensate our selves with a hearty laugh over the wonderful little woodcuts, pencilled by John Tenniel, at the head of the several sections of the Almanack proper ! Vide, with a grave face, if you can—the grinning "buttons' in the Royal Household—the awkward squad, Turk, Russian, Spaniard, Prussian, Steek, tramping past as " The Ambassadors"—Darby and Dizzy, as spindle-shanked conspirators, about to plunder of its baubles the Table of "The House of Commons" —the Yokels reviewed by Clown, red-hot-poker in hand, at the head of Army and Navy—with other most ludicrous conceits. Yet, for the miscellaneous "Part II." of the Almanack—(usually made up apparently of the mere scrapings and leavings dropped about the floor of Mr. Punch's study, from the overflowings of his plethoric waste-paper bas ket)—Mr. Tenniel this year seems really to have reserved himself, and has certainly, in one or two instances, jotted down, there, his sense of the ridicu lous in the happiest vein of humour. His illustration to'' The Fast Bride," representing a couple of pretty girls boxing, is after the gracefully comic fashion of John Leech himself, the happiest of all the illus trators des demoiselles. But, for tte exquisite comi cality of every touch of the pencil in it, commend us to the representation, opposite page 162, of the snob-ball-room incident, celebrated in certain " Stanzas to Samuel" or Sydenham Seven Men The whole of this laughter-moving sketch 'con ceived and realised with the most delightful 503 0 of the ludicrous. It is worth just double or treble the cast of the entire Pocket-Buok, being, in effect; ono of the funniest sketches ever drawn by the great comic Cartoonist,, whose pictorial drill' leries are so often, as especially in this in' stance, not only done by, but done to a T. The Dictionary of Medical and Surgical Know . ledge. Ato I. By the Editor of " The Pic" tionary of Useful Knowledge." Houlston Oa Wright. This very useful and compendious medical die' tionary aspires to be a practical guide in health and disease for families, emigrants, and colonists. Te the latter, frequebtly debarred as they are from the advantages of medical advice, such a practical hand-book is likely to prove of great value ; while the advice it contains upon the diet and domestic management, and other means for preserving health, will ensure it a welcome with the fathers and mothers of families. In his preface the editor expresses a hope that his medical status will inspire confidence in the advice and prescriptions contained in this dictionary, but as his name is not affixed to the work, this claim upon our attention goes for nothing. The Theory of Foreign Exchanges. By Georgo J. Goschen, M.P. Second edition. One vol., pP• 140. Effingham Wilson. A second edition of this work, carefully revised by the author, has been rendered necessary by the great fluctuations which have occurred in the rate of foreign exchangessince the publication of the first edition. " The history of the foreign exchanges for the last two years," says Mr. Goschen, "is a history of revolutions. The movements which have occurred in many quarters have been almost uneX ampled in rapidity and extent." To such an extent has this been the case,,that he remarks in continua' tion that, "the exchanges of those countries which two years ago were selected as exemplifying the results of a depreciated currency or excessive irl' debtedness might have, on the contrary, been cited as instances of rapid recovery. The Austrian ex change has recovered fully 30 per cent. The Res' sian rouble has approached the par value of gold. la America, on the other hand, the very opposit e has °centred." The principal alterations in this edition refer to the American exchanges, whic h have received Mr. Goschen's most careful and atter tive consideration. DEATH BY ACONITE. • In an essay written by Dr. Headland, and pub' lished in the Lancet, of March 26, 1856, shortly after the accidental poisoning at Dingwall from the root of monkshood eaten by mistake for horaeradis h, a number of such cases of poisoning were passed in review, and the symptoms produced by aconite summed up as follows :—" First, tingling of till tongue; then, tingling followed by numbness of the face, and of the arms about the same time. Then o teeling as if the face were large, and sensation of tightness in the throat (both, protably, caused by paralysis of the sensory with more or less affection of the motor nerves). Next comes vomiting ; next loss of power in the lower extremities. The pulse is feeble ; the breathing laborious. Death ensues oy syncope or stoppage of the heart. Thera ma Y,, be brain symptom ; but they are not constant, The pupils, according to Dr. Headland, ar e dilated. It is interesting and instructive to notice how far the account given us of the sufferings 3 f the w retched man Hunt answers to this description. We are only partially informed of his sensations, an d when the police were first admitted to his hou se it WO his object to conceal them as much as possible, lest the administration of an antidote should be insisted upon. It seems that he retained his senses to the last, and was able to use his hand in writing just before his death. He was found vomiting, and continued to vomit. He was either unable or unwilling to swallow the emetics that were given to him. (A characteristic symptom of aconite poisoning is the palsy of the throat). Hunt was able to dress himself when the police insisted upon it. Dr. Buckle then found him sitting in a chair, retching violently. The countenance was pale, and " the eyes had a r smarkable expression, the pupils being very much kiilated," This bears out the statement made by D. Headland, which has been much questioned, as beiJig opposed to that of Dr. Perira, and others, whose dictum that the pupils are contracted under the influenc e of aconite has been generally accepted by toxicologists. Dr. Buckle tells M that hi s pulse was scarcely perceptible, the txtion of the heart extremely feeble, and the breathing quite. After the second emetic had been forced down, and all the contents of the stomach seemingly ejecte d ' Hunt exclaimed, " Oh, my heart !" He eoulai not walk straight, but fell against the wall, apparet:tlY without the use of his arms. He was, howeve r ' able with some difficulty to write a short note to his employer within a quarter of an hour of his death. He had admitted to his medical attendant that " b e might have taken aconite." The inflamed state o f the stomach observed after death may have been due to the sulphate of zinc emetic. The right side of '.the heart was distended, the lel`t eraPtY• Dr. There was no other notable morbid sympto.m: Buckle conjectured the presence of aconite .in the c ontents of the stomach and the vomit by the appli cation of the only known t est—the physiologalal one. Two drops found in a bottle produced Una characteristic tingling, followed by numbness, of the case of poi soningaapplicable, on a ccount of the sm all dose taken, or other circuen" tongue. his teat t conceivew may yhs oi inapplicable, stances, it is as well to consider how far a m ed'' cal witness would be justified in relying on the testimony o f such symptoms as those recorded of the man Hunt. Prussic acid, digitalis, belladonn a ' nicotine (or tobacco), all produce death by synceP e ? with a tendency to vomiting, and great prosts'a tion. The rapidity of its action, and convulsions , i f the patient live long enough, distinguish the first of these agents. Tobacco contracts the pupil. Belle donna, like aconite, dilates the pupil and canoes e difficulty of deglutition; but belladonna confus o the mind and causes degrium. Foxglove maY b° more easily mistaken for aconite, if we suppose tb e oumbing action of the latter to be concealed by t b patient. It may cause detail by syncope, with dilated pupils, without brain . YalptoUlB. Judg ll3 % of the case of Hunt by his sym psonis only, no ? b e could positively affirm that he died ofhe ac t though it would seem very pro be ble ; for Nv_ ...A distinguishes aconite from all other poisons, almui stamps it with a complete individualivlL is the production of arzesthesio without consciousness. There is tingling, followed by a u tba ness, first of the tongue, next of the lace, 13 ,ext 0 1, „ 0 arms, and lastly of the rest of t he surface sins an d lower extremities. Hunt may have felt all MO,. expected before-hand to feel it; but he said no7a about it, for until he felt himself dying ber,,, s a recall he did not wish it to be known that he n :"__ .al taken poison. Dr. Headland recommends atube";ll. charcoal (to be mixed with wate,-, and . gIV s ..3 large quantities, followed by a.zinc emetic) e a 1 .5 0 only known antidote to the poison of aconit • has found that " ocouitina is quickly taken 1.1,! ' ..acuet , most obstinately retained b y this agent. "7-44"