The Sun.
London, England, 1845-04-29 00:00:00

know, thay would see the wrong they dome. I have awfbr4.3
too much, and am while writing this, too weak and heart-
broken to qait this world like an Atheist. My sorrows have
been more than my strength (great as it has been) could
support. lam no longer the same young man who heard
sentence of death passed. without the distortion of a muscle.
My troubles, both sleeping and awake, have so shaken me
that I find it more easy to weep than to smile—every rising
sun dispels the dark mystery of fjiturity. Already I see
Death approaching me with incredsing strides. At night,
when I lay my poor, aching head to rest, ere I can close my
eyes, rude forms of shame and infamy attend my pillow;
and oh ! what dreams. One moment, and all is past. lam
again at home, every one cheering me with eager hands and
heart at my return—no longer condemned—no longer unhappy.
Then to wake and find my self stretched on a hard bed, and
surrounded by iron bars and gloomy walls, that deride my
anguish and mock at my distress. This is bitterness, in-
deed 1 Then talk not to me of the awfulness of death !
Death is the only friend that can make amends for all my
wretchedness 1 For me to continue such as lam were worse
than ten thousand deaths. Even death on a scaffold (that
shameful end) to me is far preferable to none. lam heartily
sick of the world that has treated me as though I had
always been a criminal in its estimation. No one ever
suspected me guilty of an unlawful breach until I Cainehither, and yet no one would take me by the hand. Because I
c.,uld spell and write, my poverty was a crime. Think you
then my thoughts still lingered behind, and that I wished
my days were renewed? My hopes of heaven are worth them
all. My home and an isolated friend here and there are my
only attractions, and I hope and trust that I shall
meet them soon where all is light and joyous—where the love
of God is the only mystery—where holiness and pure intel-
lect go hand in band; and the tear of gratitude—the only
tear! May you and I, my dear Sir, and all those who are
dear to us, be welcomed there, is the dying prayer of
Your poor unfortunate but faithful servant,
T. H. HOCKER.
_ _

The Rev. Mr. Davis, Ordinary, April 26,18 Z:
In the course of yesterday afternoon, the following letters,
written by locker, and addressed to Mr. Sheriff Sidney,
were politely handed to our reporter:—
Sir,—For some time before you kft me this morning, I had
resolved to remain entirely mute on the subject which so deeply
interests my very life. But, fearing that I might have made
a somewhat rash determination, I was glad of your offer to
visit me again this afternoon. I have seriously considered
your kind proposals again and agaic, and still the result is
that I decline answering affirmatively. Believe me, Sir, if I
felt disposed to repose confidence in any one, it would be
yourself. The female who wrote the letter, which we have all
read so attentively over, is the same person to whom I alluded
in my statement at my trial. She has already taken a
very material step in my favour, and a very welcome one in-
deed it is to me. lam now convinced that she will not
suffer me to be sacrificed through her silence. It is in her
power to clear me, and she will do it. I cannot do anything
until she comes forward voluntarily. lam fully aware that
by deferring such an all-important disclosure, I expose my..
self to the most imminent danger, and this I have felt through
the whole of my misery, since the moment I was appre-
hended. Ido not understand why she should, at such a time
as this, have occasion to go to Bristol. I cannot compre-
hend that part of her letter at all. My opinion is, that she
will either make her appearance here, or write again to-
morrow, or Thursday. God grant she may—until she do
one or the other, I shall be in the most agitated state of sus.
pense.—l remain, Sir, your most grateful, and obedient ser-
vant, THOMAS 11. ROCKER.
_ _ _ _ _

Mr. Sheriff Sidney, Ludgate-hill, Tuesday evening.

The other was as-tollows—:—

Honoured and dear Sir,—The knowledge of being per-
mitted to address you by letter I did not venture to antici-
pate, and such that I cannot half convey my sense of obliga-
tion to you. My condition is now a painful one indeed.
The only prospect which this life at present holds out to me
is immediate dissolution attended by the cruel exultation of
an unsympathising mob, and every species of ignominy. I
need not assure you that I feel my unhappy lot keenly—most
keenly—though I may try to shut my eyes against
the recurrence of former and happier scenes. My
dear parents—my unfortunate brother and my friends,
who still own me, will force themselves upon
my remembrance, rendering my distress well nigh
unsupportable. I am very far from wishing that any
one should look upon my late strength of nerve as constitu-
tional, or acquired by callousness and obstinacy. No, no, my
dear Sir, I never boasted the possession of a heart devoid of
feeling for another's misfortune, much less for my own. I
am condemned to die the death of a malefactor in accordance
with the deliberate, and, I trust, conscientious decision of 12
of my countrymen. May they never have cause to reproach
themselves with hastiness in-the discharge of so solemn a duty.
lam perfectly resigned to my fate. I hope hot from stoic
principles ; but from having seriously contemplated the really
awful consequences of quitting this bitter scene unprepared
for immortality. I pray that pardon may be awarded me on
deep contrition and prostration of soul, for my past youthful
imprudence and sinfulness. lam persuaded that unless the
natural heart be broken, and renewed by Divine mercy, how-
ever noble and amiable it may be deemed by the world, it
can never think of eternity without inwardly shuddering.
Oh ! that the rock of ages may so fix my wavering and
roving mind, in his love, compassion, and power, that I may
see my own wickedness and depravity, and look upon him
with faith and humility as my guide and Saviour. It is time
that I draw to a close ; but before I conclude, suffer me for one
moment to dwell on what perhaps ought to have formed the
chief subject of this letter. While I was at Clerkenwell the very
sound of " Newgate Prison" struck terror into me. I thought
that when I should leave it, I might bid farewell to kindness,
and honest, good-hearted men for ever. I found the officers
there as so many exceptions to their general character. They
treated me with the greatest consideration and kindness, and
I shook hands with them all at parting with a heavy
heart, while I listened to their good wishes for my happy
success. l came hither expecting nothing but harshness.
but how was I surprised to find that the same bene-
volent feelings which I had so lately met with were
exercise& almost more fully, if possible, by every one who
had to do with me here ; and now that I think of it, I
cannot but mention the brotherly sympathy and attention
of the man who is appointed my keeper, to whom 1 owe a
heart full of thanks ; when I have been at times melan-
choly or unwell he has taken it as much to heart as though
I were his devoted friend, indeed, lie is the companion and
sharer of all my feelings—may he always have such a friend
as he has been to me. But in justice to all connected with
this place, I ought not to particularise, yet I must not for-
bear the names of Mr. Davis, Mr. Cope, and Mr. Wright.
While writing of them, every grateful acknowledgment na-
turally follows. Last of all, though I may truly say the first
in my thoughts is yourself, how can I speak to you as I feel
—you have interested yourself in my misfortune in a manner
that I know of no other title than that of father that is suited
to you. Oh, may you never have the bitter experience of my
poor father, but be rewarded with that peace of mind and
tranquillity of conscience, which ever attend the Christian
philanthropist, and may you ultimately come to that crown of
glory which fadeth not away, of which I humbly hope to be
a partaker.—Believe me, Sir, your most grateful and faithful
servant, T. H. HOCKER.
Mr. Sheriff Sidney.

LOSS OF HER MAJESTY'S BRIG
SKYLARK.
(ANOTHER ACCOUNT.)
WEYMOUTH, APRIL 26.—Yesterday morning between 11
and 12 o'clock, and during a thick fog, her Majesty's brig
Skylark,from Plymouth to Portsmouth, with supernumeraries,
struck on a reef of rocks in Weymouth Bay, known by the
name of Kimmeridge Ledge. There was a slight breeze at
the time from the S.E., but it soon after freshened. Several
revenue cruisers went to her assistance; but as she struck
within an hour of high tide, and the wind and sea increased,
there were but little hopes entertained of her being floated
off. Towards the evening the crew and supernumeraries were
taken out and landed at Lulworth. During the night and
throughout this day it has been blowing a moderate gale,
with a heavy surf on the ledge; and the last account states
that she is full of water, and must in all probability soon go
to pieces. I have not heard of their being able to save any
of the stores, &e.

A schooner was seen to go down in the Portland race this
forenoon ; all hands perished. Some fishing smacks have
been as near to the wreck as it was safe to go : she is on her
beam-ends, drifting about in the race.
The smack Mary and Elizabeth, which went ashore in
Portland Roads a few days since, with wind blowing strong
from the S.E. has since gone to pieces. Had the proposed
breakwater been built, this latter loss could not have taken
place, as it would have afforded shelter from easterly gales,
from which it is now so much exposed.