The Sun.
London, England, 1842-05-23 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

JEREMY BENTHAM'S WORKS. Part XX.
Tait, Edinburgh, 1842.
The present part of this voluminous work, con-
tains the memoirs, correspondence, autobiographical
conversations, reminiscences, &c., of the great Father
of Legal Retorm, from the year 1799 down to the
year 1828. Among his correspondents during this
long period appear many of the most illustrious men
of the time; and among others, Dr. Parr, whose letters
to Bentham are remarkable for nothing so much as
incessant attempts at pleasantry of a most elaborate
and ineffective character. The Doctor possessed
considerable conversational powers, and could even
be smart and facetious on occasions, but his vivacity
deserts him the instant he takes pen in hand. His
letters are very sorry performances, stuffed with
pedantic Latin and Greek quotations, and constantly
mistaking far-fetched conceits for genuine, hearty
humour. In one of his lengthy epistles to Bentham,
dated from his Warwickshire parsonage, he speaks of
" those reptiles Walter Scott and Southey"—in allu-
sion, we presume, to their politics, for, vain as he was
of his own imagined superiority, he would scarcely
have dared to have spoken so contemptuously of their
intellect ! In all that constitutes genius, Scott and
Souther were as far superior to Doctor Parr, as he
himself was inferior to his great prototype, Dr. Johnson.
Another of Bentham's correspondents was the late
James Mill, author of British India, of whom the old
philosopher or recluse of Queen-square does not seem
to have thought very highly,for he says of him—" When
he differs, he is silent. He is a character. He expects
to subdue every one by his domineering tone—to con-
vince every body by his positiveness. His manner of
speaking is oppressive and overbearing. He comes
to me as if he wore a mask upon his face. His hook
on British India abounds with bad English, which
made it to me a disagreeable work." From the
correspondence inserted in the Part before us,
we should infer that Mr. Mill was a dry, matter-
of-fact man, not a little dictatorial, and certainly
not characterized by frankness or simplicity. Dr.
Bowring says that " no man ever reasoned with
stronger logical powers, or had ever a more accurate per-
ception of truth, than James Mill. His weaknesses were
those of temper. When listened to he was admirable ;
it was only when the tide of his feelings, and the
peculiarities of his nature met with resistance, that
he appeared in an unattractive light." We close our
brief notice of a volume, which is much more gen-
erally entertaining than we could have anticipated,
with a few of Jeremy Bentham's opinions of his con-
temporaries :—" Peel is weak and feeble. He feeds
upon old prejudices to prevent his mind from growing.
Canning and he are birds of the same feather.—Cob-
bat is a man filled with hatred of the human race.
His malevolence and lying are beyond anything.. -
.
Robert Owen begins in vapour and ends in smoke.
He is a great braggadocio. His mind is a maze of
confusion, and he avoids coining to particulars. He
is always the same, and says the same thing over and
over again.--Matthias's Pursuits of Literature' are
sad trash, written in the worst spirit by a trumpery
author.—Sir William Jones was considerably above
the par of lawyers, but his mind was narrow.—l
once had a good opinion of Napoleon, and as a
French citizen I voted for his being Consul for life.
His code was only for despots.—Eldon's eloquence is
gossiping; Ellenborough's is commanding; it is
fierce and atrocious, the object of my abomination.—.
One day I met Eldon at Wilberforce's. s -He had got
into a controversy with a man, who was greatly his
inferior, on the subject of law reform, and Eldon had
a triumph. I took no part in the argument, but ven-
tured on a joke or two, of which Eldon took no notice.
Ido not think he understood them." We can easily
believe that this was the case, for Bentham's waggery
was often exceedingly difficult ofcomprehension, if we
may judge from the specimens of it which he has left
on record in his voluminous correspondence. .

RELLINGSHURST.—A woman named Barns, the wife
of a labouring man residing at New Pound-common, in the pa'.
rish of Wisborough-green, having been ill for a long time, and
'being unable to account tor her indisposition, supposed, as did
her neighbours also, that she was bewitched, and looking
about them for the cause of the evil, their suspicions fell on a
woman of about forty years of age, said to be a very de-
cent, inoffensive creature; this idea had been entertained for a
longtime, and many schemes were put into operation to destroy
her influence, but all had failed up to thelatter end of last April,
when by some moans they became possessed with tke notion that
if they got some pigeons and burned them alive, keeping every part
of the room stopped up close, and not speaking while the ope-
ration was going on, they would effectually destroy the witch's
power. In order to reduce this scheme to practice, they pro-
cured pigeons and tied them in pairs back to back by their
wings and lighted a large fire, and stopped up the room as close
as possible ; some of the poor pigeons they opened at the breast
in order that the fire might burn their hearts white alive.
How many were burned the writer cannot say, but he heard a
neighbour state that he himself burned four, and he thought
they should have destroyed the witch if the house had been
closer. It i. supposed by the neibour3. that from a dozen to
sixteen pigeons were destroyed in this cruel manner.—Sussex
Express, -
DEATH or MR. ROBERT MUME.—We announced
briefly a few days ago the death of this distinguished writer on
natural history. We believe that a too ardent devotion to his
literary labours had undermined a naturally robust constitution,
and death arrested his career whilst the hope of life was still
string within him. Mr. Mudie was a native of Scotland, and
ie nf theth
the
'
mteannytereostpetchtes,
incidents of his early life bore a close resemblance to the
strictestw as in
tearmr,euisaelrfk-aeLecamteadn;. anlidemwaasn;
vicissitudes which chequered the youthful career of the late
Mr. Gifford. Without a friend or a patron, and even un-
aided by that notoriety which usually accompanies a sudden
development of talent in a limited locality, he was appointed
one of the Professors in a northern academy, after under-
going a severe comparative trial. He was subsequently
elected without solicitation, and without the slightest exer-
cise of private influence, the Rector of a classical and scientific
academy in the commercial city of Dundee, which situation
he resigned in 1820, to become a candidate for fame in our
metropolis. For the last 22 years of his life he devoted him-
self with unflinching energy to his literary pursuits ; and
such was the fertility of his genius, and the grasp of his indus•
try, that during this period he composed and published up-
wards of one hundred volumes, embracing almost every branch
of scientific and ethical inquiry. His most successful, and, we
believe, his most favourite efforts, were his several treatises on
natural history; and we cannot name two more original or
more delightful offerings to this fascinating study than his
" British Naturalist," and his " Feathered Tribes of the
British Islands," which have now taken rank amongst our
Erglish clbssics. The latest productions of his pen were
" The Heavens," " The Earth," " The Air," " The Sea,"
and " The Seasons," sonic of which, though written under
the languor of enfeebled health, evince the same vigour of
mind, the same fulness and familiarity of illustration, and rich
breadth of style which characterise the productions of the
manhood of his intellect. It is a sad reflection that. one who
has contributed so largelyto the instruction of society shouldhsve
had his labours so sparingly rewarded as to be left pennyless at
his death ; for we are grieved to learn that he has bequeathed
nothing to a surviving widow and his children but the conviction
of their melancholy bereavement.
The Bishop of -Versailles, wishing to reward the
exemplary conduct of the Cure of Meudon in his attention to
the sufferers on the occasion of the late railway accident, has
appointed bins Honorary Canon of the Cathedral. -
A few days ago, as the baggage was being landed
from a packet in the port of Marseilles, a loaded fowling-piece,
which was amongst it, went off by accident, and not less than
twely e. persons were wounded by its contents, but fortunately
the w.ound,s wftrp rpt serious.
Despatches from the Governor of New South Wales
were received yesterday at the Colonialroffice.

CONDEMNED SERMON, AT
- NEWGATE.
Yesterday was tho chapel of Newgate again
crowned in an unwonted manner, by those who,
from an acquaintance with the Lord :Mayor, or other
of the City dignitaries, could gain an admission, to
hear. from the Rev. Mr. Carver, the Ordinary to the
prison, a sermon addressed to that wretched man,
who, paying- the penalty of his cruelties and crimes,
this day perished upon the scaffold,. as a punishment
for his sins, and as a warning to others, who, like
him, may be induced to the committal of awful crimes,
that, whatever may be their lot hereafter, in this
world, at any rate, they shall not go unpunished.
The chapel was quite full, and there were a good
many ladies present.
The prisoners entered the place allotted to them
shortly before half-past ten, and at that hour
Daniel Good was brought in by Mr. Cope and two
turnkeys, and placed in the centre of the chapel. He
appeared very uneasy, and several times clasped his
hands, as-if engaged in inward devotion. His dress
consisted of a long olive-coloured frock coat, with
pockets outside, such as are worn by coachmen, drab
trousers, and a clean white neckcloth, neatly tied
round his neck. His face was somewhat paler and
attenuated than when we saw him at the Old Bailey,
and he appeared thinner ; otherwise he looked well,
and much better than on that occasion. The expres-
sion of cunning and indifference, which we then no-
ticed, seemed to have given way to a much more mild
and gentle appearance. He had the appearance of a
penitent man, and of one fully aware of the enormity
of his offences. On entering the chapel he was weep-
ing, and several times, in the course of the service,
tears were observed to come rapidly down his cheeks.
The psalms and lessons were very appropriate ;
the former were the 1,9, 14, 16, and 17 verses of the
51st, and the first four verses of the 6th Psalm. The
lessons were taken from the 12th chapter of 2 Sa-
muel, and the Ist chapter of James. At the conclu-
sion of the last psalm, the culprit appeared very
weak, and nigh fainting ; he dropped into the chair,
and some water was procured, when he soon re-
covered, and preserved his composure during the rest
of the service.
The text was taken from the Ist chapter of the
General Epistle of St. James, and the 15th verse—
" When lust hath conceived it bringeth forth sin, and
sin when it is finished bringeth forth death." The
Reverend Gentleman divided his address into three
pasts : Ist., the origin of sin ; 2d., its rise and pro-
gress ; and 3d., the awful results of sin. The origin
of sin he traced to our first parents, when unmindful
of the prohibition of their Maker, they tasted of the
forbidden fruit, whereby they became sinners, and sin
was for ever entailed upon their posterity. There
was therefore a secret inclination for that which was
evil in the hearts of all men, and though it might be
hid for a time, it only waited for an opportunity to
draw them into sin, the wages of which is death ;
this the Apostle called lust, desire, or concupiscence ;
it influenced all, and though it might not appear now,
yet might it, as in the melancholy example before
him, put forth, first the root, then the blade, and then
the ear—this, when completed, would bring forth
death ; and nothing but the mercy of Jesus Christ
could prevent his final destruction. The end of
sin was death, temporal, spiritual, and unless prevented
by the mercy of God, eternal. There was one before
him whose days and hours were numbered, who had
shcrtly to appear before that God, who saw not
as men saw, to whom all things were open, who
searcheth the heart and trieth the reins ; it
appeared that his fallen brother had been for
many years the slave of sensuality, and as usual,
the victim of intemperance; destitute of the fear
of God, ignorant of the deceit of his own heart, he
had readily yielded himself to the domineering influ-
ence of his besetting sin, soon sated with each one
who attracted his criminal observation, in a moment
of irritation, and yet with a previous cool, artful, and
deliberate purpose, he sacrificed the life of one con-
fiding unsuspecting partner of his guilt, in order that
he might revel in the short-lived enjoyment of a cri-
minal intercourse with another victim of lust. Such
had been the melancholy course of the individual be-
fore him: lust had conceived, had brought forth, and
it was now Omit to bring him to an ignominious
death. It was his duty, however, to recommend to
his poor fellow sinner, to look for mercy only to his
Divine Redeetner, and to remind him, in the words of
the prophet Isaiah, " Though your sins be as scarlet,
they shall be white as snow, though red like crimson,
they shall be white as wool." The Reverend Divine
then endeavoured to impress upon the unfortunate
criminal the necessity. for a full confession of his sin,
without" which there could be no true repentance ;
for a private offence, a private confession to his God
was a sufficient acknowledgment of his guilt, but a
public offence demanded a public and an open con-
fession. It was dismal to hear an earthly judge pro-
•nounce that sentence' which was about to separate him
from his kindred, his friends, and all he held dear in this-
world ; but how much more terrible would it be to'
hear the Almighty Judge pronounce the sinners'
awful doom—" Depart from me ye cursed !" In a
few short hours he was about to depart into eternity,
ind unless he had a new heart and a new'spirit, -and
was brought to genuine repentance, he would be ex-
posed to the awful sentence which resulted from
God's wrath, and which would endure through all
ages of eternity. Might the God of all power make
him aware of his miserable state, by nature and prac-
tice, which had brought him to the brink of the un-
fathomable abyss ; there was yet hope for him—the
gates of mercy never yet were closed on a contrite
and a broken spirit. As a last admonition, he would
remind him that "he that hideth his sins shall not
prosper, but lie that confessoth and forsaketh them
shall find mercy, and God will abundantly pardon
him." The Rev. Divine then addressed a few words
to the other prisoners, entreating them to take warn-
'ng by this sad example of the bitter fruits and fatal
consequences of indulging in the lusts of the flesh. To
the strangers present, also, he addressed a salutary ad-
monition, bidding them not to look as the Pharisee
looked upon the publican, thanking his God that he
was not as other men, unjust, extortionate, adulterers;
for to such a one he would say that he knew nothing
of the deceit and wickedness of his own heart.
The Rev. Gentleman commenced his very excellent
discourse at a quarter to twelve, and concluded at
half-past.
Good, who had appeared very devout during the
whole of the servic r, and who, during the reading of the
prayers, always went down upon his knees at the
proper times, was then removed, in custody of the
turnkeys, and clasping his hands together, in an im-
passioned manner, he exclaimed, as he was leaving the
chapel, " Oh, may the Lord be with you all I"

EXECUTION OF DANIEL GOOD,

THE MURDERER.

At eight o'clock this morning Daniel Good, the mur-
derer, expiated with his life on the scaffold, the awful
crime of which a Jury of his country had convicted him.
A lovely morning ushered in the day ; the sun shone in
the heavens with unwonted splendour ; all seemed joy
and gladness, and not one human being mid all the dense
crowd which surrounded the place of execution but
seemed happy and cheerful. Whilst such was the aspect
of affairs outside, who could tell the feelings of the
wretched criminal within ? Convicted by his country-
men, and his own conscience, of the most dreadful crime
which can be imagined—an object of detestation to his
fellow-mortals—about to leave this world without one to
pity or mourn over his fate—and with the prospect of a
dread eternity before him—his feelings must indeed have
been intense ; and little wonder, if in such a situation
reason should forsake her seat, and insanity usurp her
place. When we beheld the wretched man standing
almost lifeless on the scaffold, his face of a deathly,
clayey complexion, and his whole frame trembling, with
_large drops of perspiration standing on his brow, though
he felt not for his victim, we could feel for him, and we
would fain that the dread ceremony were over, and that
we were again wending our way homeward.
But me must descend to particulars ; and we shall
commence by stating that the crowd which had assem-
bled to witness the execution was, perhaps, more numer-
ous than had been seen for many years around the gaol
of Newgate. A great number of anxious visitants,
t‘No e
11:e
cdrgoawt Ludgate-hill 1 11 v
imt.ha was
spec-
tators, hour it were there
de-
termined if possible to obtain a good view,
teaintghdhatethildren. The
all night, and at one o'clock the street
c;evlaesekqutihtee
of beholding she
eimrop:dssambleem;
enfrtoararilylishaetrehasoeudr,,vaothmindetinla,
sur-
passed every thing we ever beheld ; the whole street
from St. Sepulchre's
intleaussse of humanfepr
eite b
thee i beings—men,
and high premiums were paid for every slot
spectacle. Up to the time of execution the mob ap-
peared in excellent humour, jokes were bandied about,
whence there was the least probability
loud peals of laughter and hurraing as an unfortunate
policeman passed through, were occasionally heard, and
the greatest excitement prevailed.
After attending divine service yesterday morning,
the
wretched culprit caused two letters to be written, one to
Molly Good, and the other to a Mrs. Spencer ; we could
not obtain access to them, but were informed that they
contained nothing of the slightest importance. At an
early hour last night he retired to rest, and slept soundly
sg—Caohmluela.nc:sla
flu• two or three boors ; be was awoke betimes in the
morning, and partook of a slight breakfast. At six
o'clock, Mr. Sheriff Magnay went to him, and remained
with him nearly an hour ; Mr. Carver, the Ordinary,
was also with bins directly he rote, and• never left Lis
side until the fatal bolt was drawn. At half-past five
o'clock, Mr. Cope, the Governor of Newgate, was with,
him for a short time, when he ryoutedly said, " Mind,
I'm no murderer." The Sheriff.; and their attendants
having enured the condemned cell, and the prisoner
having been handed over into their• custody, he wa
conducted to the Press-room, and sat down en r
bench with Mr. Carver on one side of him, and
Mr. Sheriff Magnay on the other ; at this that
he appeared to be suffering the greatest mental anguish,
and to be quite incapable of listening to the exhortation
to repentance to which the wirthy Divine was desirous
of drawing his attention. Seizing Mr. Cope by thi
hand, he said, "Oh, Mr. Cope, my best friend, I never
took her life ; I declare to God I never took her life ;'
and then, clasping his hands, he said, " The Lord havt
mercy upon me. I hoi e the Lord will take me and
ShONy me the gates of heaven. I never took her life, 1

never took her life." The Rev. Ordinary again urged
him to repentance and confession, reminding him that he
was now going to stand before the Judge of all. Upon
this the prisoner rose, and elevating his, right hand,
said, "I swear before Almighty God, as I hope for
mercy, I never took her life. The Lori be with you
all." He then shook hands repeatedly with the Sheriffs.
Again did the Rev. Divine exhort him to repent and
confess, saying,_ " You know the Bible says, 'lf we con-
fess our sins, God is righteous and just to forgive us our
sins, and to cleanse us from all iniquity;' and again,
' He that hideth his sins shall not prosper, but he that
confesseth and forsaketh them shall find mercy, and God
will abundantly pardon him.' " Tha culprit replied, " I
should tell you in a:moment if I did the act; if I had
any weight on my mind, I would unburden it. Why
should I tell a lie on departing from this world ?" At
five minutes to fight he rose from his seat, and adjusted
his dress, which was the same he wore in chapel yester-
day, with the air of a man who was going about his
daily occupations, and shook hands several times with
the Ordinary and the hangman. He then went up to
Mr. Cope, and whispering, requested that he would let
him have a little wine and water. Nearly a
tumbler of wine and water was brought to
him, and he drank it all off. Ile then
rose and turned up his coat sleeves with the utmost
composure, whilst the hangman pinioned his arms and
wrists ; his neckcloth was next removed, the culprit
telling the hangman that there was a pin somewhere
which must be removed before the neckcloth could be
untied ; his throat was then bared, the bell of the prison
began tolling, and the melancholy procession set out,
the Rev. Ordinary preceding the culprit and reading in
a clear and distinct tone the burial service. The culprit
walked with a slow firm step to the scaffold, and ascended
it without hesitation ; he glanced hastily round on the
immense multitude, and there was a tremendous yell
raised, so loud and so fierce as to be sufficient to strike
terror into the heart of the stoutest man. At this mo-
ment he turned very pale, and trembled much, but said
nothing. Scarcely an instant was occupied in adjusting
the noose, which having been accomplished, and the cap
drawn over his face, the executioner retired from the
scaffold. The signal was immediately given, the bolt
was withdrawn, and the unhappy man was no longer an
inmate of this world. The only motion we observed on
the withdrawal of the bolt, was a slight raising of the
arms, but it was only for a moment ; otherwise there
was no struggling, or rigidity of the limbs to be ob-
served. It might be said that he died without a struggle
and without a groan. At nine o'clock the body was cut
down and conveyed into the prison.
We cannot conclude our report without publicly ten-
dering, our thanks to Mr. Cope for the attention which
we, in common with the other representatives of the
press, received from him.