The Sun.
London, England, 1839-02-26 00:00:00

SKETCHES AT RANDOM.

CORONERS'
INQUESTS.
It affords an interesting problem to those who study
human nature, to divine the cause of that eager and
excited attention with which the ,rceeedings on
Coroners' Inquests are always watched:
i.
One would
have thought that in the dreadful exhibitions: of Kaman
woe, and appalling displays of human crime, whL'h often
take place at these inquiries, combined with details so'me'-
times the most revolting and disgusting, there would be"
powerful repulsives, instead of attractions, to human feel-
ings. But it is just the reverse, and those inquests are al-
ways most densely crowded, in which the spectacle is the
most horrible, and the crime most awful. Long before
even the legal authorities, or the still keener senses of
the Penny-a-lintr who luxuriates in the " Tragic cccur-
rence," or Fiendish Murder," have " scented" the event,
the doors of the building in which the investigation is
expected to be conducted, are besieged by hun-
dreds of earnest spectators, all anxiously waiting for the
time when they may enjoy the frightful exhibition.
'Those philosophers who believe in the existence of

a principle in our nature, which absolutely delights, to a
certain extent, in another's sufferings, and who to this
principle trace what is usually called " sympathy," will of
of course, quickly decide this problem. Those who hold
that the origin of all sympathy in others' afflictions, is the
fear lest we ourselves should soon become par-
takers of the same calamity, may likewise be able
without much trouble, on their theory, to elucidate the
question. But to those metaphysicians who teach the
innate goodness of hum-in nature, it will be much more
difficult to solve : and, indeed, may appear an inexpli-
cable mystery. We, however, who bind not ourselves

to any of these theories can, in the mixed elements of
our nature discover something approaching to a satis-
factory explanation, without broaching any new
or paradoxical hypothesis.

If the crowdsv-vho attend Coroners' Inquests were
all, or chiefly of the lowest class, we might be obliged
to have recourse to the discreditable theory of human
nature's entire depravity. The principal portion, at
least, of those who gain afbnittanee into the Inquest.
room are persons of the middling order in society—very
respectable, substantial individuals. To account for the
eagerness with which they observe Caeproceedings we may
allow something perhaps for that " carnivorous" cha-
racter which foreigners reproach us English with—
something for the indefinable feeling of interest, not to
call it, according to severer moralists, delight, with
which man gear's on the sufferings of his fellow-man—
and something for that natural interest which amounts to
almost a sense of apprehension, in the crime, or
the calamity, which coming so near us, makes
us feel that it places us in some degree of
jeopardy. But we think the main source of
this intense curiosity is to be found in that irre-
sistible attraction which mystery always exerts on human
nature, and which, when united to anything dreadful,
rises to nearly an oppressive height. Thus it will be
seen, that wherever the mystery is most profound—
where, for example, the event to be inquired into took
place many years back—the interest excited is pro-

portionately exciting and general.
Whatever the cause, the result is unquestionable, in
the untiring scrutiny with which inquiries of this kind
are watched, the minuteness with which the smallest
detail of evidence is canvassed, and the slightest hint
discussed, by the enwrapped spectators : in the mur-
mur which runs through the gazing crowd, when some
fresh vestige of a death-struggle is describ d, and the
hushed and breathless silence which accompanies the
discovery of any new mark by which a murderer may be
tracked.

Little doubt can be entertained that the same feeling
which prompts this eager attendance on inves-
tigations into the tragedies of real life, attracts si-
milarly-interested crowds to the representations of
those mimic scenes of horror—those imitations
of slaughter anti crime, which so disfigure that lowest
and most degraded class of dramatic exhibitions, the
blood-shedding, poison-drinking, throat-cutting, ghost-
seeing " melodramas," which " draw " such full
" houses" at the minor theatres, and in which a fierce
fight is sure to be " encored," and an " awful death "
vehemently applauded.
There is something strikingly opposite to the breath-
less :interest of the spectators in the off-hand, cool in-
difference of the authorities engaged in these post
mortent investigations. It presents a melancholy evi-
dence how much callousness is produced by familiarity
with horrors ; and how easily the mind accustomed
to the dreadful views it with with unconcern. The
Beadle marshals the Jury _
„to behold the hor-
rible spectacle of mortality, as carelessly as he
would lead the charity school-boys to Church ; the
i Surgeon, with professional precision, states the "
lure of the injuries inflicted" (as they are technically
called), and the Coroner, with a business-like
air strongly contrasted with the agitation of
the witness, to whom perhaps this is the
first of scenes so dreadful, puts the usual ques-
tions, and notes the answers with clerkly formality—
" Ah, you found the throat cut : how much ? Three
inches, eh ?"

They think not—how should they ? They have be •
held ►nany urrimely deaths, 'tis their business ; they
think not of the corpse of the poor suicide—of the
mental agonies, the physical afflictions, the days of
fruitless toil—the nights of sleepless woe—the pangs of
destitution—the silent misery of want—the burning
tears shed over starving wife and famished children—the
hopeless prospect of despair whk:ll must have driven
the unhappy creature to seek relief front the burden of
life, in the oblivion of a reckless self-destruction. And
when the morbid curiosity is fully salated in the revolt-
ing narrative of misery and death—and when custom

or charity hits dictated the regular verdict, " fel() de se"
—it's sickening to see how rapidly the horrors of the
scene arc forgotten in inquiries after—dinner T.

PANORAMA OF ANCIENT AND

MODERN ROME.

We were favoured yesterday with a private view of
this Panorama, which we incline to think will be among
the most successful—if not the most so—ever painted
by Mr. Burford, first from its choice of subject, and
secondly, from the skilful manner in which it is treated.
The Panorama of Rome consists of two separate pic-
tures, in one of which the artist takes in the whole city
with the surrounding country.; and in the other, he
confines himself to a delineation of the Coliseum, with
those portions of Rome immediately adjacent, such as
the ruins of the temple of Venus ; the famous arches
of Constantine and Titus ; the Via Triumphalis ; and
the (still better known by all readers of Horace) Via
Sacra. The first thing that rivets the spectator's atten-
tion in this last picture, is the prodigious extent of the
Coliseum ; and next, the grace of its proportions, still
visible though the structure be in ruins ; the simplicity
of its architecture ; and, more especially, its exquisite
adaptation to the purposes for which it was erected.
Mr. Burford has evidently studied this part of his sub-
ject with deep attention ; for nothing can be more mi-
nute or correct in its details than his sketch of the in-
terior of the Coliseum, with its winding stair-cases,
covered galleries, arena for the gladiators, and seats for
the patrician Romans. The air of perfect desolation,
too, which he has contrived to throw over the gigantic
structure, is singularly striking ; though in places, espe-
cially where lie has to exhibit the progress of vegetation
among the mouldering wails, we cannot but think that
his colouring is a little too vivid. His sketch of the
arch of Constantine, which stands out in the foreground,
abutting en the Coliseum, and the long branching per-
spective of the Via Triumphalis, is undoubtedly the
greatest panoramic triumph he has yet achieved. Of
the famous Via Sacra, of which Horace has left
left us so delightful a reminiscence—and where,
it may be remembered, he met his " Bore,"
who stuck to him with the tenacity of a leech—of this
well-known Roman street we just get a glimpse, enough
however to satisfy us that it must have been a fashion-
able lounge in its day, for it is in the immediate vicinity
of some of the most splendid buildings in the ancient
city. In summing up our notice of this picture, we
must not omit to mention the skilful and vivid effect
produced by the deep blue sky of Rome, as seen through
the wide rents and ruins of the Coliseum. There is
here some well-contrasted colouring. The view of Mo-
dern Rome is a picture, as might be expected, of more
details than any that we ever remember to have seen,
from the pencil of Mr. Burford. St. Peter's is, of course
the prominent object in this painting, and fixes attention
rather by the grace and lightness than the size of the
building. The Panorama is take. from the tower of the
Capitol, the best point from which such a comprehen-
sive view could be taken. In the immediate foreground
is the Forum ; and at a slight distance rise the arcades of
the Coliseum, the ruins of the Caesarian Palace, and tem-
ples and columns, and arches without number, and of all
varieties. The Sabine Hills, backed by the lofty Appen-
nines, form the boundary of this view; and the inter-
mediate space is defined by Mr. Burford with consum-
mate skill. Horace's Sorace is not the least interest-
resting feature in a landscape, every part of which
teems with objects of interest.

Mr. Charles Kean is now fulfilling his third
engagement this season at the Bath Theatre with undi-
minished success. . . .