The Sun.
London, England, 1853-01-20 00:00:00

LLOYD'S SHIPPING-(THIS DI r.)

LONDON Jan. 20.—Wind at Noon, W. light breeze,
and cloudy.
DEAL, Jan. 19.—Wind, W.S.W. Arrived—Neptune,
Sydney, Now South Wales ; Sunmer, Manilla ; Niagara,
Shanghae ; Lancastrian, China ; Clarendon, Maubmain
Bowes of Shoatham, Penang; Goleonda, Calcutta; Mozam-
bique, Valparaiso. Arrived from the River, and sailed—
Calypso, for Jamaica.
LIVERPOOL, Jan. 19.—Wind, S. to S.W. Arrived—New
Margaret, Calcutta ; Severn, Africa ; Town of Liverpool,
Pernambuco ; Boss Grant, Gonaives ; Eva, New Orleans ;
Charles Cooper, do. ; Bellcarry, do. ; Hebe, do.
iSailed—
Caledonia, San Francisco ; Queen of the Westmßautielndons,
Ayres ; Sir Henry Pottinger, Shanghae ; Bedston, Masale-
pßaathaia ;
m;
Agnes,lndi ValparaisoTris,nidad; ;Bowlin' do.
nlla ; Alby,
Vengeance,
Mgan
Lalquayra ; John Henry, New Orleans ; Anne Armstrong,
do. ; Westmoreland, do. Judah Tours, do. ; R. B.
Tours, do. ; American Union, do. ; Mary Caroline, do. ;
Allegro, Apalachicola ; New York Packet, do. ; Brandy
Wine, do. ; Industry, Savannah ; Harriet, Charleston ;
Massachusetts, do ; Scotia, Baltimore ; Mero Castle, do. ;
Peter Rolt, do. ; Eastern Queen, Philadelphia ; Phoenix,
do. ; Julia Howard, New York ' • Glenburn, Boston.
Off Port—Cora, Dicky, Sam, and Australia. The Jane
Watson, Sydney, C. 8., to Dublin, which was abandoned
on the Bth of January, was passed on the 14th, in lat. 49
idt :or fw
down
loarnd tot—i
thet
(hse) latterNlaenplank
N. long. 13 W. with loss of bowsprit and foremast.
c
t hits lit,hdeasyn" Alert,J waanfs.o re2uWot)
The' Daniel. Webster' has put back with loss of bowsprit,
main&c.,
lost fon
ffcot oPnpotmact r
shoar.
York. • •

LITE.RATU.RE.

THACKERAY'S NEW WORK.

The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in
the Reign of her Majesty Queen Anne. Written
by himself. Printed by Smith and Elder, over
against St. Peter's Church, in Cornhill. 3 vols.
The readers of " Pendennis," the lovers of
" Vanity Fair," have been grievously disappointed
this season. No new novel from their favourite
author ! No pleasant hours passed in the com-
panionship of William Makepeace Thackeray !
Somewhile since they were beguiled with a delusive
hope that such a pleasure was in store for them.
They looked forward to some new satire on the
faults and follies of Vanity Fair, redeemed,
perhaps, with more softening touches than were
visible in the former exposition. They anticipated
—but no matter what they anticipated ; they have
met with, as we have said, a grievous disappoint-
ment. In the place of their old familiar friend, with
his easy style and lively sarcasm, they find themselves
suddenly face to face with a stranger, habited
in unusual garb, addressing them in unaccustomed
speech. The effect is similar to that which we
have most of us experienced when the servant,
throwing open the door, pronounces some familiar
name : we rise, hasten forward to welcome some
dear friend, and, lo and behold ! an unknown
visitor presents himself ! The air of empressment
changes into constraint, cold formal bows take the
place of more cordial salutations, and, do what we
will, embarrassment is perceptible on both sides.
Mentally we feel wroth with the innocent cause of
the mistake, and heartily wish that Colonel Esmond
_ .

had sent up his own card instead of substituting
that of our old friend Thackeray ! Regrets are

useless now, however ; the introduction is effected;
the acquaintance has commenced, and we musi
make the best we can of our new visitor,

Ifi the ars celare arten,, Mr. Thackeray has here
assuredly proved himself a proficient. This is not
a disguise, but an absolute transformation. In
saying this, however, we intend only a very quali-
fied compliment. There are disguises, habitual
among authors, which sit gracefully and lightly as
his lady's scarf round the knight's accoutrements,
which adorn, but do not encumber the wearer.
Not so with the livery of Queen Anne, as assumed
by Mr. Thackeray. In that grim attire,
every natural grace is lost. But why are
we speaking of Mr. Thackeray ? He is not
in this hemisphere ; he is now beyond the
Atlantic, and his spirit is not in this book ; it

is the Production a Colonel Esmond. With
Colonel Esmond, then, we have to deal, and let us

deal with him accordingly. Henry Fimond is by
right the Lord Viscount Castlewood, but the world
is suffered to remain in ignorance of this fact.
The marriage of his parents had been at first
known only to a few, and when Henry becomes
aware that such an event had taken place, he re-
fuses' from an exaggerated generosity, to deprive
his benefactors of their imagined rights. In his
youth, after his father's death, he had been kindly
festered by the then Lord Castlewood, a cousin of his
father's; he had been the playfellow and tutor of his
lordship's children, Francis and Beatrix; and when
Lord Castlewood is killed in a duel, and Henry be-
comes aware of his own rights, he has not the heart to
dispossess the children of his patrons. He suffers
Francis to lord it as Viscount Castlewood, and only
aspires, himself, as the crowning ambition of his
life, to win favour in the eyes of Beatrix, the object
of his unavailing adoration. The history which oc-
cupies the three volumes, gives, in the first place,
a detailed account of the author's childhood and
youth, hinting at secret intrigues, having the
restoration of James 11. for their object, in
which Esmond's father and his second wife are
implicated ; then, on the death of Esmond's
parent and the succession of his cousin,
an attractive picture is given of the domestic life at
Castlewood under the new rule. The attractive
portions of the picture, however, soon fade away ;
some pages follow which will chill the hearts of the
sentimental unless they meet the author's asser-
tions with an emphatic denial in the outset. This
is one of the occasional instances in .which the
censor of "Vanity Fair" appears to guide the pen of
Colonel Esmond, as he gives with a masterly hand,
an undoubtedly clever and cold-blooded analysis of
the gradual decay and death of Love—a history of the
decline and fall of the idol from its shrine—in fact,
an elaborate illustration of that sad and beautiful
thought of Mrs. Hemans :
" to make idols, and to find them clay,
And to bewail that worship."
Lady Castlewood, on her first introduction to us,
is young, considerably younger than her husband,
beautiful, and gifted in no common degree. Lord
Castlewood is a kind-hearted man, indulgent to
others, but most indulgent to himself, and far in-
ferior in abilities to his wife, who regards him,
notwithstanding, with a passionate devotion.
Gradually, however, Lord Castlewood wearies
of his lady's society, the chaso and the
wine-cup are his delights • and as, in his indul-
gence of the latter, he sinks lower yet beneath her
level, Lady Castlewood sadly awakes from her de-
lusion. Her disappointed heart turns for conso-
lation 'towards Esmond, her youthful protege.
This affection is however a profound secret to all,
and is only made apparent to the astute reader by
the most covert hints. One passage, indeed, '
exhibits the author's power ; it reveals no
mean knowledge of the depths of the human
heart, and considerable adroitness in their
delineation. We allude to that passage when,
on her husband's death, Lady Castlewood.
visits Henry in prison, where he is confined for
having been one of Lord Castlewood's seconds, in
the duel which cost him his life. Esmond, full of
sorrow for the death of his friend, full of gratitude
and sympathy for his lady, and knowing, in
his own heart, that he has just sacrificed his right-
ful inheritance in order to benefit the children of
his patron,—Henry, feeling all this, is grieved
and amazed when the widow, weeping for her
husband, overwhelms him with indignant re-
proaches for having taken part in the fatal duel.
In the vehemence of her sorrow and anger Esmond
only sees unjust displeasure; but in every word
the reader perceives the wrestling of a heart divided
against itself. The old love for her husband,
aroused by his sudden death, and her dawning
affection for Henry, filling her with remorse, she
gives vent to her self-reproaches in reproaching
him ; but every word of anger is an unconscious
avowal of love. Estranged for a while from
his old friends, Henry Esmond enters the army,
and takes part in the celebrated victories of
Marlborough. These campaigns and the incidents
relating to them are detailed with almost weari-
some particularity, varied by occasional visits
to England, where Esmond resumes his in-
tercourse with the Castlewood family, and
assays to obtain a victory, more difficult than
any of Marborough's, over the unconquerable
heart of Beatrix. No two characters could be more
dissimilar than those of the mother and daughter.
Lady Castlewood is gentle and submissive, and
overflowing with tenderness; Beatrix is proud and
ambitious, her heart is a stranger to love, and her
hope is to surmount her beautiful face with a
coronet. How can the nameless Esmond affect
her ? In vain he wins distinction in the army—
in vain for years he alternately pursues her with
perseverance or retires in despair. At length a
bold scheme suggests itself to the Colonel. All the
Castlewood family are Jacobites at heart, and Bea-
trix is the most zealous of the number. As the death
of Queen Anne draws near, the Legitimists grow
doubly anxious for the succession of the old line,
and Esmond proposes to bring over secretly the
exiled Prince, the son of James 11., and the brother
of Queen Anne. Young Lord Castlewood is abroad,
and has been gained over by the exiles ; in his com-
pany, using his passports, the Prince travels to
England. The old servants have been dismissed
from the London residence of Lady Castle-
wood, and no one remains who remembers the
features of the young lord. The strangers arrive,
the Prince passes for Lord Castlewoo, remain-
ing at home on account of ill health, and receiving
visits only from those who are in the secret. Es-
mond and Lord Castlewood attend on the royal
guest, and great is the indignation, and cruel are
the tortures of the brother and lover, as they witness
the undisguised admiration of the Prince for the
fair Beatrix. The lady is sent home to
Castlewood ; the Prince has had an interview
with Queen Anne, the plot of the conspiratorsprogresses, the day! of the grand attempt ar-
rives— all is ready for the coup de main,
which shall transfer the Crown to the brows of
the " rightful" King, when the principal personage
is found wanting! The Prince has disappeared.
He has followed Beatrix to Castlewood. Her
brother and Esmond pursue him, the latter breaks
his sword in the royal presence, and renounces his
allegiance, and reads the Prince such a lesson on
the laws of honour, as for the time impresses and
converts him. The trio return to London, and
as they enter, they hear, for the first time,
that announcement which has since become
so strangely proverbial, " Queen Anne is
dead !" From their carriages they listen to
the proclamation of King George I. The disap-
pointed " Pretender" retires from the kingdom.
Beatrix follows him ; her fate Esmond scorns to
tell, but his love—the love of so many years' dura-
tion—has perished. It ceased to exist the mo-
ment when Esmond discovered that she gave direct
encouragement to the advances of the royal lover.
The sequel of the story jars upon the feelings of the
romance reader. Esmond, taught by experience to
value the abiding affection of his " dear mistress,"
makes her his wife! Although Lady Castlewood's gen-
tleness and self-abnegation have won the reader's sym-
pathy, her marriage with the lover other own da,ugh-

- -
ter—with one who had been accustomed to call her
mother—is most unsatisfactory and repugnant.
Esmond and his wife retire to some American
estate belonging to the family, and there the
Colonel pens this history of his early days. One or
two passages we must quote as specimens of Colo-
nel Esmond's style. The first speaks of his visit
when abroad to the grave, in a convent cemetery,
of Sister Marie Madeleine, the deserted wife of Lord
Castlewood :

" 31/' MOTHER'S RESTING-PLACE.

" Esmond came to this spot in one sunny evening of
spring, and saw, amidst a thousand black crosses, cast-
ing their shadows across the grassy mound, that particu-
lar one which marked his mother's resting-place. Many
more of those poor creatures that lay there had adopted
that same name, with which sorrow had re-baptised her,
and which fondly seemed to hint their individual story
of love and grief. He fancied her, in tears and darkness,
kneeling at the foot of her cross, under which her cares
were buried. Surely he knelt down and said his own
prayer there, not in sorrow so much as in awe (for even
his memory had no recollection of her), and in pity for
the pangs which the gentle soul in life had been made to
suffer. To this cross she brought them ; for this hea-
venly bridegroom she exchanged the husband who had
wooed her, the traitor who had left her. A thousand
such hillocks lay round about, the gentle daisies
springing out of the grass over them, and each
bearing its cross and requiescat. A nun, veiled in black,
was kneeling hard by, at a sleeping sister's bedside (so
fresh made that the spring had scarce had time to spin
a coverlid for it) ; beyond the cemetery walls you had
glimpses of life and the world, and the spires and gables
of the city. A bird came down from a roof opposite,
and lit first on a cross and then on the grass below it,
whence it flew away presently with a leaf in its mouth ;
then came a sound as of chanting from the chapel of the
sisters hard by ; others had long since filled the place,
which poor Marie Madeleine once had there, were kneel-
ing at the same stall, and hearing the same hymns and
prayers in which her stricken heart had found consola-

lion. Might she sleep in peace !—might she sleep in
peace ! and we, too, when our struggles and pains are
over. But the earth is, the Lord's, as the heaven is ;we
are alike his creatures, here and yonder. I took a little
flower off the hillock, and kissed it, and went my way,
like the bird that had just lighted on the cross by me,
back into the world again. Silent receptacle of death !
—tranquil depth of calm, out of reach of tempest and
trouble ! I felt as one who had been walking below the
sea, and treading amidst the bones of shipwrecks."

The next is of a very dissimilar character, and
gives a sketch of some of the foibles and virtues of
Sir Richard Steele :

" The gentlemen ushers had a table at Kensington,
and the guard a very splendid dinner daily at St. James's,
at either of which Esmond was free to dine. Dick
Steele liked the guard-table better than his own at the
gentlemen ushers', where there was less wine and more
ceremony, and Esmond had many a jolly afternoon in
company of his friend, and a hundred times, at least,
saw Dick into his chair. If there is verity in wine,
according to the old adage, what an amiable-natured
character Dick's must have been In proportion as he
took in wine, he overflowed with kindness. His
talk was not witty so much as charming. He
never said a word that could anger anybody, and only
became the more benevolent the more tipsy he grew.
Many of the wags derided the poor fellow in his cups,
and chose him as a butt for their satire ; but there was
a kindness about him, and a sweet playful fancy, that
seemed to Esmond far more charming than the pointed
talk of the brightest wits, with their elaborate repartees
and affected severities. I think Steele shone rather than
sparkled. Those famous beaux-esprits of the coffee-
houses (Mr. William Congreve, for instance, when his
gout and his grandeur permitted him to come among
us) would make very brilliant hits—half-a-dozen in
a night, sometimes— but, like sharp-shooters, when
they had fired their shot, they were obliged to retire
under cover, till their pieces were loaded again, and wait
till they got another chance at their enemy ; whereas
Dick never .thought that his bottle companion was a
butt to aim at—only a friend to shake by the hand."
Here, again, is a specimen of power displayed
in a portrait of MarlboiJugh

" Our chief, whom England and all Europe, saving
only the Frenchmen, worshipped almost, had this of the
godlike in him, that he was impassable before victory,
before danger, before defeat. Before the greatest ob-
stacle or the most trivial ceremony ; before a hundred
thousand men drawn in battalia, or a peasant slaugh-
tered at the door of his burning hovel ; before a carouse
of drunken German lords, or a monarch's Court, or a
cottage table where his plans were laid ; or an enemy's
battery, vomiting flame and death, and strewing corpses
round about him—he was always cold, calm, resolute,
like fate. He performed a treason or a court bow, he
told a falsehood as black as Styx, as easily as he paid a
compliment or spoke about the weather. He took a
mistress, and left her ; he betrayed his benefactor, and
supported him, or would have murdered him, with the
same calmr ess always, and having no more remorse than
Clotho when the weaves the thread, or Lachesis when
she cuts it. In the hour of battle I have heard the
Prince of Savoy's officers say, the Prince became pos-
sessed with a sort of warlike fury ; his eyes lighted up ;
he rushed hither and thither, raging ; he shrieked curses
and encouragement, yelling and hooting his bloody war-
dogs on, and himself always at the first of the hunt.
Our Duke was as calm at the mouth of the cannon as
at the door of a drawing-room. Perhaps he could not
have been the great man he was had he had a heart
either for love or hatred, or pity or fear, or regret or re-
morse. He achieved the highest deed of daring, or
deepest calculation of thought, as he performed the very
' meanest action of which a man is capable ; told a lie, or
cheated a fond woman, or robbed a poor beggar of a
halfpenny with a like awful serenity and equal capacity
of the highest and lowest acts of our nature.
" His qualities were pretty well known in the army,
where there were parties of all politics, and plenty of
shrewdness and wit ; but there existed such a perfect
confidence in him, as the first captain of the world, and
such a faith and admiration in his prodigious genius and
fortune, that the very men whom he notoriously cheated
of their pay, the chiefs whom he used and injured (for he
used all men, great and small, that came near him as his in-
struments alike, and took something of theirs, either some
quality or some property—the blood of a soldier it
might, be, or ajewelled hat, or a hundred thousand
crowns rom a king, or a portion out of a starving
sentinel's three farthings—or (when he was young)
a kiss from a woman, and the gold chain off her
neck ; taking all he could from woman or man, and
having, as I have said, this of the godlike in him that
he could see a hero perish or a sparrow fall with the
same amount of sympathy for either. Not that he had
no tears—he could always order up this reserve at the
proper moment to battle ; he could draw upon tears or
smiles alike; and whenever need was for using this cheap
coin, he would cringe to a shoeblack, as he would
flatter a minister or a monarch ; be haughty, be humble,
threaten, repent, weep, grasp your hand, or stab you
whenever he saw occasion ; but yet those of the army
who knew him best, and had suffered most from him,
admired him most of all ; and as he rode along the lines
to battle, or galloped up in the nick of time to a battalion
reeling m before the enemy's charge or shot, the faint-
ing men and officers got new courage as they saw the
splendid calm of his face, and felt that his will made
them irresistible." -
Notwithstanding such evidences of undoubted
ability we must confess that we have perused
Colonel Esmond's revelations without pleasure ;
and we are afraid, we must add, without profit also.
A similar feeling, we are confident, will be expressed
by the majority of those who, like ourselves, have
turned eagerly to the book on account of the double
authorship. We are confident they will exclaim
with .us—" Hold ! enough. No more of Colo-
nel Esmond ! But as much as he pleases of Wil-
liam Makepeace Thackeray."

The First Lieutenant's Story. By Lady Catharine
Long, author of " Sir Roland Ashton." 3 vols.
Hurst and Blackett (successors to Colburn).
The motto of this work is taken from " Prover-
bial Philosophy :" " Take care that the standard
of thy soul wave from the loftiest battlements."
The object of the authoress is to carry out this
sentiment in her story, and she succeeds : the high-
est principles are laid down and the best feelings
inculcated. Yet there is this objection to be made :
there are too many solemn discussions and gloomy
reveries described. The character of Captain
Normanton is, it is to be trusted, unnatural ; for a
greater wretch could scarcely be imagined. Melan-
choly is the pervading spirit of the tale. After
all enemies are defeated and all troubles apparently
ended, the principal actors retire to Italy, the birth-
_

place of the heroine. But peace is not 'to be their
portion, nor can they find repose. The resistless
enemy appears, and sweeps away the mother and
child from the long-sought, dearly-valued home.
The hero, Wilfred St. Clair, returns to the duties
of his profession—" his march was o'er the moun-
tain wave, his home was on the deep." Many
years subsequent to these tragic events, he is sup_
posed to relate his story to a young friend in
the
silent watches of the night. It was a fitting hour
for the recital of such sufferings ; the ocean rolling
around was a true reflex, in its rage and restless-
ness, of the troublous scenes he had passed through ;
while the starry firmament abovethe
serenityshedspirit, ham
slsn lumb joosi
most
whichfeadv con-
-
oeul inr
---
versation exemplifies St.Clai
able moment :
" The pang that shot through me, as a suspicion of
the truth all of a sudden flashed on my mind, I cannot
describe. If there was a being in the world I loved,
nextof whtoos
whose happiness
it w
was he. Yet here Bruce—if there was one in the way
woofu lad forsnuodtdenl
worldsfoun d
hma vy es
esll;t o oads,
it
all lI
thought, betweensdo him and his best wishes—him and his
love ! t looking at him in consternation for a
minute. Then, incapable of saying another word, I left
the berth.

" I sat down at the foot of the companion, and tried
to arrange my thoughts. I was always rather given to
day dreams—things which, if often of dangerous ten-
dency, are not always without their use—at least I have
found it so. In my reveries I had often liked to fancy
myself in such and such situations, and to think what
would be my feelings and course of action under them.
Amongst other things I had tried to fancy what I should
do if ever I found Mary liking any one better than me ;
or if I saw any one liking her whom I thought more
worthy of her ; and in both cases I had imagined myself

acting the most magnanimous part, and sacrificing my
happiness to promote theirs.
" And now I really found myself in such a case. I
had not the smallest doubt but that Bruce had fallen in
love with her ; and no presumption of self-complacency
could make me but acknowledge that he was infinitely
my superior in many ways, and infinitely more worthy
of her affection. What, then, should Ido Should I
conceal his love from her ? Or should I tell her of it,
and offer to give up my own claim if she thought she
could like him best ?
" But how could I give her up How even bear to
run the chance of doing so ? The thought seemed to
drive me mad Yet, where then was all the splendid
generosity with which I had always determined to act ?
Was the first trial to overthrow it ? I could not endure
that thought ; and in a transport of self-devotion, I
rushed back to the berth where I had left Bruce, deter-
mined to ascertain whether my suspicions were, or were
not, correct ; and, if they were, instantly to inform Mary
and give her perfect freedom.
" Had I allowed myself a moment's pause I do not
think I could have done it • and perhaps there was after
d3e3 x
:11
std,cms,tb,
losayyerysetoadhfusaenarfel
ykcaahnhsi
ssa
doi
fvwioetarer chivalry
left him.
may,thh nnn.
Io sound!eu
and sense n
founds e in it
Bruce a toge t h
sittinge altogether.
engaged
ye
dngotonoees7bteuh".o
ucygoohnud,
ani't
iloennabglela
engagement
ay
eon,
nn, `that
hi
in-
deed, tf.
the heart I fully believe it to be on both sides now.
But I was hasty in speaking to her ,- and she is young,
and hasn't seen many people, and before the time comes
for our being ready for everything to be settled, she
might you know perhaps see somebody she might like
better than me—who might deserve her better, and who
might like her not better, but as well as I do ; and I
only wish to say, and I hurried on as if I feared dying
before I could get it out, that if it ever were so, I
should not wish to stand in their way—l should wish
her to be happy in her own way.'
" And why do you wish to tell me this, in par-
ticularl ' said Bruce, without altering his attitude, though
his voice trembled as he spoke.
" 'Because you are the only person in the world that
I know of, who, if he did love her, could love her, I
think, as well as I do, and deserve her better ; and
because I think you do love her.' And I felt as if I
must have dropped dead when I ceased speaking.
" I once read of a man,' said Bruce, still leaning
down 'in some review it was—whose horrid hatred to
another was so great, that, though he meant to kill him,
he would not do so till he saw him in the act of com-
mitting a murder, which he himself had worked him up
to, in order that he might be at the acme of his eller-
mities at the moment that his soul was hurled into per-
dition. Now, being your friend, St. Clair, if I had in-
tended to murder you, I would have waited till you had
uttered the words you have just spoken—the brightest
and best that ever fell from mortal lips !'"

SPORTING INTELLIGENCE.

EPSOM JANUARY STEEPLECHASES.
WEDNESDAY.

Free Handicap Steeplechase of 10 soya. each, 5 ft, with
60 added, over the usual steeplechase course ; the
winner to pay 10 soya, towards expenses. Twice
round and a distance—about 4 miles.
Mr. C. Higgin's Forest Lad, aged, 9st 81b (Weaver) 1
Mr. Sait's Sam Hood, 6 yrs, 9st 12 (Owner) 2
Mr. T. Barnard's Quickstep, aged, lOst 41b (C. Boyce) 3
Mr. Hilton's br g, by the Cardinal, 5 yrs, 9st 41b

(J. Holman) 4
Mr. Barclay ns The Brewer, aged, lOst 41b...(P001e) 0
Mr. C. Higgin's Simple Peter, 6 yrs, lOst (J. Tasker) 0
Mr. Hill's The Brave Buck, aged, 9st 121 b (Burrows) 0
Mr. Mundy ns Robin Hood, 6 yrs, 9st 81b

(W. Griffiths) 0
Mr. B. Land's The Screw, aged, 9st 61b (W. H. Treen) 0
Betting-5 to 2 agst Quickstep, 7to 2 agst Cardinal
gelding, 5 to 1 agst Simple Peter, 6 to 1 agst Forest
Lad, and 6 to 1 agst The Screw.
Won by six lengths; the same between the second and
third.

SELLING STEEPLECHASE of 5 sovs. each, with 30 added,
for all horses, 12st each ; the winner to be sold for 100
sovs., if demanded, &c., and allowances if to be sold
for less. Three miles.
Mr. Barnard's Young Lottery, aged, lOst (201.) _

(C. Boyce) 1
Mr. H. May's Susan, aged, lOst (201.)...(Donaldson) 2
Mr. Holland's Ottoman, aged, lOst (201.) ....(Taylor) 3
Mr. J. Brown's Bullfincher, lOst 71b (301.)...(Ab1ett) 0
Mr. Allibone's Cashier, 6 yrs, lOst (201.) ...(Planner) 0
Mr. Searle's Harlequin, aged, lOst (20/.)...(Hackett) 0
Mr. Smith's Harkover, 10st (Poole) 0
Betting-6 to 4 agst Young Lottery, 4to 1 agst Bull-
fincher, and 5 to 1 each agst Ottoman and Susan.
Won by several hundred yards, a fine race between
the second and third, which was won by a head. Winner
sold for 110 guineas.
FREE HANDICAP HURDLE RACE, of 5 sous. each, with
30 added, over six flights of hurdles. About two
miles.

Mr. Price's Tom Gurney, 4 yrs, 9st 101 b (Owner) 1
Mr. B. Land's Odiham, 4 yrs, lOst 61b (W. H. Treen) 2
Mr. Saxon's Caurire, lOst 81b (Hopwood) 0
Mr. Sait's Simon the Cellarer, lOst 41b (Owner) 0
Mr. Heaven's Gulnare, 5 yrs, lOst 21b (Higgins) 0
Mr. Barling's Harriott, 6 yrs, 9st 101 b (Eatwell) 0
Mr. C. B. Durston's Lady Babina, 6 yrs, 9st 81b
Rodney) 0
Betting.-2 to 1 agst Caurire, and 3to 1 agst Odiham.
Won easily by three lengths.
The little interest the above events had excited was
neutralised by the weather, which was gloomy and un-
inviting in the extreme ; and it is almost needless to add
that the course was in anything but a fit state for racing,
or that.the attendance was thin, speculation dull, and
the meeting, as a pecuniary speculation, a failure.

GIIANO.—The Governor of the Falkland Islands has
just sent home despatches announcing that Guano has
been discovered in large quantities in those islands.
The climate there being less dry than at Lobos, the
guano is not of equal value to the Peruvian product ;
but there seems to be no doubt that this discovery in
the Falkland Islands will prove to be one of great value,
both in a trading and an agricultural sense.
THE BICESTER RAILWAY CATASTROPHE OF 1551._
Another of the actions against the London and North-
Western Company, arising out of the Bicester catas-
trophe, has recently been settled. Mr. Neville, one of
the sufferers who sustained injuries, and who in conse-
quence lay at Bicester for some time, brought an action
against the company to recover compensation for the in-
jury done him. Ultimately it was arranged that the
subject should be decided by arbitration. Under the
award Mr. Neville has, we understand, been adjudged
300 guineas. We are informed that the company at one
time offered him 2,0001. to settle the action, and that
Mr. Neville required 3,0001.
EMIGRATION PROM SOUTHAMPTON.—The emigrant
barque Caucasian, 600 tons, the first vessel chartered
by her Majesty's Emigration Commissioners for convey-
ing emigrants from this port, arrived yesterday from
the Thames, having been delayed by the unfavourable
weather which has recently prevailed. The Caucasian
will embark as soon as possible 222 adult emigrants, and
leave for Adelaide, South Australia,
with the utmost' de-
spatch. The new emigrant depot in the Southampton
Dock premises, prepared by the London and South-
Western Railway Company, is now nearly completed,
and was on Tuesday and yesterday occupied by a large
number of emigrants arriving by the railway, amount-
ing in all to nearly 450, who are waiting for embarka-
tion by the several ships which have been taken up by
the commissioners. The arrangements at the depot for
the convenience and comfort of the emigrants, although
not yet quite completed, are very excellent, and have
apparently given general satisfaction. Most of the emi-
grants who have arrived apparently consist of the under
class of farmers, and of farm labourers and mechanics,
with their wives and innumerable children. There are
many single men and plenty of young and unmarried
women, the whole being in high spirits for the commence-
ment of their long and promising voyage. The dietary
scale adopted in the depot has been found most ample,
and on conversing with the emigrants there appeared
to be nothing they wished for to augment the com-
forts provided by the Government commissioners during
their temporary sojourn in Southampton. Proper male
and female officers are in charge of the depot, who exer-
cise a rigid supervision over the emigrants, and preserve
most satisfactory order and regularity. The building is
lighted throughout with gas, warmed with hot water,
and the cooking and other appliances are of the best
character, while the classification of the dormitories and
sleeping apartments of the married couples, single men,
and single women respectively, is properly adapted for
preventing confusion and immorality. The Caucasian
will be followed by the Calliope, Harriet, Ramillies, and
Bolton, all to sail from Southampton this month for the
Australian ports, the first-named ship being hourly ex-
pected at Southampton to embark emigrants for Mel-
bourne and Port Philip.
SHOCKING DEATH OP A CHILD ON THE SOUTHDOWNS.
—A painful sensation has been created in the town of
Lewes from the death of a boy, named George Peters,
the son of a labouring man, residing in the Cliffe, who,
having lost his way on Tuesday afternoon on the hills
between Glynde and Lewes was exposed during the
whole of a tempestuous night to the weather. It ap-
pears that the boy, who was between eight and nine
years of age, was of a very timid nature, and was known
to be'particularly frightened at thunder and lightning.
On the afternoon of Tuesday he was induced to accom-
pany a boy of the name of Holmes to the residence of
Lord Dacre's gamekeeper, at Glynde, after which they
separated, the boy Holmes taking his way to Ringmer,s
and the deceased the footpath across the hill t Lewes,
on which he was seen by a shepherd in thete afternoon)
in Riley. He was then (about ploy of
thetrai trueg ht
coursedirectionm ig
might
r havethe town,
arrived a
however, at d hadthhaenit hehee
bgyt pursuedoo u
aday-
light. There can be no doubt, howev
wasveniTotitisdt .e.
roue, and
eaurdigheotntsrtacankt as;flaanehdeeof lightning theevhertnniinngg
were
the d iero farecti theponaorfalyeed hills, it
render
id
iiseb.re be-
cameanvedehmisplfeacteullytiFs
insen-
sible, and it is most probably
by my ow
a g tp
party
thatr to ywho
circumstance
went
iis
that he was not discovered
search of him on the hills with lights. At the inquiry
before F. G. Gell, Esq., and a respectable jury, on
Thursday evidence of the finding of the body having
been given,Mr. George Hother, surgeon, deposed :
There was a mark on the left cheek, and a, few slight
scratches on the face. There was nothing sufficient to
cause death. Both hands were clenched, and had grass
in them. The pupils of the eyes were much dilated, the
mouth partially open. The hair appeared to have been
raised on his head as if by fright. His clothes were
quite wet through. My opinion is that he died from a
convulsive fit brought on by great fright. The jury
found a verdict to the effect, " That deceased died in a
convulsive fit produced by fright, combined with expo-
sure to the weather during the tempestuous night on the
Downs,"—Brighton Guard*.