The Sun.
London, England, 1842-03-14 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDON, MONDAY MORNING. MARCH 14, 1842.

,CAL SCENE.

sit pt,
i
.a'ER OF THREE CHILDREN BY THEIR
-'e4HEterda R' and SUICIDE of the MURDERER.
of th:
at a quarter to nine o'clock, one
place !ncsty morning,
appalling and tragical events that have taken
rielPiu the City, within our memory, occurred. The
al actor •
r the melancholy affair was a man named
thc'eel!e Lucas, and the scene of the frightful act was at
1,,,1181 No. 3, Zion-gardens, Aldermanbury.
alt
llt2rn the facts which we were enabled to collect, it
0,,;71," that LRCMS, who was thirty-eight years of age,
aiii that
whole of the house in question, and let out
eossi 'of it but the kitchen and attics ; and his family
a he 91 his wife and three children—namely, George,l
hed, aY, aged ten years ; Ann, aged seven ; and A -
tserod four ; and Ann Hammond, the niece of Mr.
ttl,szteti eighteen.
Condit who is described as a steady, sober, a•ndrswealsl
wareheetn roan, had been employed for many }.ears lLsenlan, in different situations in the City, but
for the slackness the of trade has been out of employ
ao he, •,ast six months. This circumstance has preyed
xpresrl'Y upon his mind that he has once or twice lately
haasel'fe.d his fears that he would lay violent hands upon
deteilt and Upon those occasions his wife, who is a very
tuaatLand sensible woman, used every effort and argu-
t tilo',ner Power to dissuade him from harbouring such do: unt, and was
So as , • in hopes that she had succeeded in
'tirth a' ne latterly appeared more cheerful.
_The>rif-
aetits noor or attic of the house consists of three be
' the first of which wasaoceupied by Lucas and his
Georzat . bed room • the second by the eldest boy,
Ro wh° slept in a' small cot • and the third by the
At %ingest and Ann Hammond.
'lowa seren °'clock this morning Lucas got up and went
~,2tairs as
usual, leaving his wife in bed, and in a
left `titinAtwoltes after was followed by Ann Hammond,wo also
e Yc'uager children asleep, and at eight o'clock
;114.siel'all,,-' came down stairs, and found her husband
'lig his At this time Lucas was employed in clean-
-soarte t""cts, and those of his children, and up toa
1? his in°,lllne o'deani clock nothing particular was observable
M re than usual. When he had done
`Ltehea- -tied boot" more than usual. When he had done
'till ." tis '.'te and shoes he shaved himself in the
when he had done, Mrs. Lucas, having
1%0 if hf-rs of his laying violent hands upon himself.
woulds"ePut up shim razors for him. He replied that
la""vtts u-stut them up self, and having wiped the one
-"'g, he went to the drawer for the purpose; as
tNaa:s'eas supposed of puttin." them up ; but, as it
coards a
eltrasta PPeared, he did not do so, and from this
"pasta
there can be no doubt that at this
.time he.
e• lated the frightful act which he in a few mo
},;lt waactrwards became the principal actor of. .
-i,tll.ld,tit custom on every. Sunday morning to bring
t'isioth'exi down stairs to he dressed, preparatory to
th4tled Cern to church, and at the time before men-
t"osla o,t asked his wife 'in the calmest manner if he..
)414. '41,4 for the children ? and she requested. he
vetted e then proceeded to the attic, and as it ap-
tspatZB first victim was the little girl Ann, who he
ro in a shawl, and carried from the further
isrrttilasrett,,to,that in which himself and his wife had slept,
e ner on the front of the bed cut her throat
apttrto ear.
Pl!"tecarried the little boy, Alfred, to the same
.eilainleaPalnancienrg him on the bed, also cut his throat in
ht/°llhtefelodest son was his last victim, and there is nod
?tabueter frost
fact of his having one stockingan
dNtitt°, • that the poor little fellow was in the act of
"•;„„wilen his wretched father summoned him
ill'ageetieu„.• It would seem her.e, from the carpet in the
at of '"l'ag from the room in which he had slept, to
ttlqea third room where he was murdered, being
It.rttgtl4ll that
.the poor little fellow had
Nl* 417 hard, and his cries were so loud as to be
11l the next house.
f,„elve,„_,
on
et4tis
tgreuttTg him inside the door, his wretched
and then his own, as both fell
41;tOlete tselese togethear;the boy on his left side, and the
ca his right• both heads are not more than
.t' tie -'s aPart. M Lucas, thinking that her husband
k 1 Ts.
eee fr 'nrs much longer than was necessary,. s.ent her
,14 ell the kitchen to see what was detaining him,
41''itts girl •
l'-erllerutb°;° (Int
of her aunt's bed, with his
• as hals bheensbefore described. She instantly
it oce-00,u,t for assistance,e and Mr. Pearson, a gentle-
ts 1,0 mg apartments on the next floor,. ran up-
krihz,l4 Airs. Lucas, when the appalling sight above
ka aka s; presented itself.
aprni wa i t ntly given, and police-constable
Wilrra s ns
h was on the beat, awl
he iskt rews, 155, w
flir Henry Wallace, 6, proceeded up
.stairs, but
ihrialiel;°l the anha unhappy man had by this time accom-
i'h ettch'ts °bject in pso-determined a manner that death
ti,, Prpsee4Se must have been
.instantaneous. The scene
Thated itself in the third room baffles descrip-
tl) e r withwhich the murderer effected his
ast razor
"i
stiikl'as held firmly in his right hand, and its blade
of yes 11 object, as it is in a round position, with its
f g on the right cheek of the poor boy.
t4l e Police
het the man enter.ing, the blood was still flowing
eah the to undii, an an immensity lay below the bonies,
I,er . astable did not feel warranted in disturbing
derableY be nThe feerngs of Mrs. Lucas on
.beholdingeothue.
bettler-imagined than described, anti
11,1-4 almicars were for some time entertained that she
No Y bereft of reason, but
.by the soothing in-
-4e4ltie °f. several ladies in the neighbourhood she soon
erg
ip grm,ed.
epnens, a lady residing next door to_ Lucas,.
4C h •
I' attic at the time, and hearing the dreadful
vb'.atter4ll, -laha.l the children, she knocked violently at tht
(baring that something serious was the.t
ors, ll,,tiltened down stairs, and went in to acquame
a"e4s Of her suspicions but at this moment th
v.: The known.
h'kftl lelancholy event having gained immediate_
the many -Cln' a great crowd of persons soon collected,
-ss 111,,ItaY wet.' anxious to get a view of the bodies; but
ttootie,
(m duty prevented their curiosity being
14 ,
-I;aw the Superintendent of City Police, ar-
taalt.t4te %en (1)*(,') k, and gave directions to the constable
giehlk bodiesuew ere to remain in the same situation in
rib is c s were found ntil viewed by a Coroner's Jury.
eseTof
itleraeumiwn'hduuth.ouse conversant with the hor-
, i 1806, murdered all his fa-
?ils44"s4l Ihtiarnshoula ; 'and of Steinberg, a German, but r.e-
thatft destroyed
Eatillpeutonstreet, Pentonville, who, in
Lefevre,Pv his mistress, and her
,including an unweaned baby. Riseau was
a,,_sraa-i; 'l' the laws of his land ; Steinberg, like Lucas,
ir
R.t''lled his own destruction, and was buried in the
,„ tilt: of Ray-street, Clerkenwell, a fele de se.
iirL (FURTHER PARTICULARS.)
tCdt for four_ years past worked. as a warehouse-
L!'oar,, 'louse of Mr. Bassett, in Wood-street, but in
aid out •' ittSt left his situation, since which time he has_
oh; elnploy. He had always been a very steady
1--011 h Nan, and. was much respected.. On Saturday
sill I:ilZt,irhead,. to rest with his wife, apparently in his
g first one into the rooms where his
der
artdighi slept, almmlas his gone
to see that they were
of went o'clock yesterday. morning he got up
yamhatr"a?„ll.llo.stairs into the kitchen, and talked. to his
s c10w„31',,,, no symptom of uneasiness. His wife
rev t Wa"e•ati?out eight o'clock,in and he remarked that
he would take the child-
t"l. wa 11 a fine.morn
th,7fore going to chgurch. He then cleaned his
kmllll/4411 ..hil•lren's shoes, and afterwards shaved him-
he~wi,ae had finished he put the razor into the case,
tab Plies asked him if she should put it away, to which
No I thank you, my dear, I'll put. it away
read Ile then said, " While you are getting bieakd
lelfPd'a-stY,l'll go and fetch the children down ;" an
th,;`e Proceeded up-stairs.
fa; elt4,--4, not been gone more than five minutes when.
aa-,ltOt child was heard to scream in a frantic
hk 'lkt the niece went up stairs to ascertain what
ativ, she Olattea, Before, however, she arrived at th,e,
1)4,1 thia it"iPitnr,,rd her cousin exclaim, "
.o.h, cruel father
t 4:Po h t 3 that her uncle was chastising him, hesitated
1 t thee Proceeded farther. She at length, however,
ha ;i4 seo top of the stairs, and then along the passage
tetlt 1.1.1 where she herself slept with the two
'Platt to ~euildrPn, and found the door was shut. She
'Pa
ti "Pea it h f d that something had been
eta haat , Ut 01.111
31) ri!tit4 ;11St it. With some difficulty she at_ last
,thQ heo pushing the door open, when to her horror
orc,m,fel:;-:e,_(l that the obstruction had been caused,
Inas:
otai4Ot 'Jetty of her little cousin. Her scrc,atuse
tloakrtar 't• Luca'stairs, who on learning the e.
and° 11•13 •
's ''n
tiro again, screaming murder, when she sank
.i-14 Passage in a swoonand con.tinued in a
A gibe'tilfittsetousness the whole of the day
thNelde,t gest room lay the bodies of Lucas and his
ightftlaY in a large pool of blood, with their
troeeiulrt ae.;ol ear to ear, the latter with only his
• ieittyg km.4.one stocking on, laying on his side in a
'4411e'4 dress just within the door. The father,.
,heed,• ss was stretched on the floor,. in the_t
"4th room, his head resting. on his righ
'sf the 1,1; ()Pen razor clenched in his right hand, the
441aR°4g. into", e laying upon the cheek of the poor boy.
° The room where Lucas and his wife
:I)l4akke eiLl'eene presented itself, which was enough
A sympathies of the most obdurathe, andbut
(Irtt h„.„ntest heart. Two innocent babes, w
'erer"llol-tr before were enjoying their
nearlylte
cireseae,jd frettlY'N. in their blood, with their heads
ward's cs a„, meir bodies. They, too, were in their night
gh, thgela were lying on the bed with theirdhuenadas
'l° sTaaP anea'sq the bed. The little girl had
44(1 e of the be awl wrapped round her. She lay on
that"etweea bed and her younger brother on the other,su
thil could 111 the bed-curtain had been placed,
tit4s-4teutost not both be seen at one time, and from
tvhiaf.rorrl th"ce, coupled with the fact of their being thoir lierer()cm in which they slept to the one in
Nitth thp "ides. were sacrificed, and from the observa-
tog leoriste' boy, " Oh, cruel father," it is supposedav_ oraer t her thr t` had first fetched the little girl, and h
have the his °at, placfd, the bed-curtain before her, in
Ne lea re; Item. viefim should not see her. He must
eik 114A:trued for the youngest boy, as there were
itNalftle SitritifttrbiL°()Cl upon his night-gown, and served
'4llt r his manner, and then went into the third
th 4 'nto the then only living child, and having brought
It-sia%r 1:-Presence of his murdered brother and sister,
des the
tlinitleiewfehl(l.2w,lnade his escape, and this no doubt
eae resisted L'! ais screams were heard. It is evi-
hi3 Of his "is murderous father with all his might,
sheehildLret, Th;PPears
throat n ands Wag Ctit and the frightful gash
to have been inflicted by more than
Theta. Y ‘.vere all three remarkably fine healthy
°'eloek Lora .
trNkld Yesterea a 3 or visited the premises about one
tc):, but to learn the particulars of the horrid
Mae, ?dship e7tt'lu!rl going up stairs to see the bodies.
gage gave in
to the police to keep the
lit
_hos s.Possible, and allow no one to enter the
itatiattse seasatlolv_ho resided in the Gardens.
Ala,„:deseri4, Produced by this event is of the most
that7arilsu6, un, and thousands of persons have visited
was etou itaeertain the truth, scarcely believing
-vwcled th2luty could be perpetrated. The stree
whole °I the day by well-dressed per-
t

sons of both sexes, who evinced the -deepest sympathy
for the unfortunate wife of the murderer.

The police have been in attenance all the day to pre-
serve order, but their presence seemed not to be re-
quired, as the great number of persons assembled were
of acl tss not likely to render the interference of the
police necessary.

LITERA,T URE.

CASTLES AND ABBEYS OF ENGLAND.

Part II

er and Hasetten. London, 1842.

The idea of this work—as we observed in our notice
of the first Part—is a good one, arid will please by the
force of association and recollection in the reader's mind,
for who is there that has not, at one time or other,
gazed with wonder and delight on some of our fine old
monastic and baronial edifices, and recalled at the sight
a host of inspiring historical reminiscences ? To have
visited Tintern Abbey and Warwick Castle are epochs
in a man's life—at least if he has the slightest imagi-
nation—for each is perfea of its kind, and revives a
thousand stirring recollections of the olden time, when
the mitred Abbot and'the mailed Baron were lords of
the ascendant in—what Mr. Daniel calls—" Merrie
England." In the work before us, it is proposed to
give pictorial illustrations; accompanied with appro-
priate letter-press explanations, not of one or two
only, but of all the remarkable Castles and Abbeys in
the country; and if we may judge from the spirit
and taste evinced in the Parts already published, we
should augur that the speculation will be a successful
one. In the present Part, there is a picturesque
sketch of that fine old relic of ancient magnificence,
St. Alban's Abbey.

CURIOSITIES OF LITER 4TURE. Part VI.
Moxon, London, 1842.

The present Part of this well-known, enter-
taining, and, to a certain extent, instructive
work, contains an admirablB essay on " The
Philosophy of Proverbs" and another entitled
" The History of lyew, Words." The work, we
understand, will be completed in twelve Parts,
of which six have already appeared.

DRAMATIC WORKS OF WYCHERLEY, CON-
GRE VE, VANBURGH, (kr. Part VI.
Moxon, London, 1842.
This Number contains not less than four of our
most sterling comedies, and is got up with much
neatness, as is the case with all Mr. Moxon's re-
publications.

RAMBLES IN THE COUNTRY.
Thomas Miter, Netvgate• street.
Our English counties have of late years been
fortunate in the produCtion of original and think-
ing minds among the mass of their working
population, and of these, who by virtue of
self-culture, have risen. superior to their early
lot, at least a score have blossomed between
Sheffield and Nottingham. It is from the
former of these plaCes that Mr. Spencer Hall,
the author of these rural saunters, derives his
paternity, and exhibits another instance, in his
own person, that the mechanic, in his dust and
lowliness, carries in him the true elements of hu-
manity; and, though born the denizen .of a
thatched cot or a mud hovel, has a mind fitted to
receive the rays of 'knowledge, and a capacity
for communing with nature and her beauties.
At a " Sherwood Feast," held by upwards of
100 labourers, artizans, and farmers, in the
vicinage of the old ForeSt, last year, Mr. Hall
recounted to his guests the growth and origin of
his awaking fortunes. The method by which he
learned to read was novel. His father was a
shoemaker, and having several tiers of last rails
in his work-shop, got the alphabet printed in
large and small characters, arid pasted these at
intervals along the rails. As soon as young
Spencer could scramble about, he tried to walk
by holding on these rails; the letters caught his
eye and amused him, and thus lie learned simul-
taneously to walk and read. During his boy-
hood, every occupation that offered itself in the
locality—stocking-weaving, cotton-winding, po-
tato and barley-planting, distracted his attention
by turns for the procurement of his daily liveli-
hood. But amid. these perpetual harass-
ments the original spirit of the man burned
restlessly for information, and the food
of books was the manna on which he fed, when-
ever, and at all times that he could obtain them.
For books and conversation, the pawnbroker,
the schoolmaster, and the exciseman had his
gratitude, the last of whom enriched hint with a
copy of Franklin. With odd halfpence and
savings he procured sundry little sixpenny tracts,
which he devoured, and engaged himself in the
affectionate employment, forming the first essays
of his yet untried pen, ,in writing the love-letters
of a fell Ow-companion, since dead. He next
served an apprenticeship of seven years under
Mr. Shaw, the publisher of the Nottingham
Review, and his successor was so well gratified
with his exertions, as at the expiration of that
time to advance him a sum of money,
capable of enabling him to raise his
own printing office. ,Subsequently, he started
the Sherwood Penny Magazine. From his
rambles in the rich wild sceneries of Hal-
lanishire he published an account of Robin
Hood and his haunts, while his later rambles in
Sheffield and its adjacent parts form the sub-
stance of the present imprint. If judgment may
be drawn front the pages before us, Mr. Hall is
possessed of an affectionate and thoughtful mind,
whose inherent excellence colours with its own
pleasant light no less the scenes on which he
dwells, than the persons with whom he mingles;
and the appreciation of his honourable principles
was marked in more cases than his marriage, by.
bestowals of high faVotir on him by his masters.
Whether the reader accompany him over the
Mapperley Hills—luxuriate in his company
amid the green glades of Sherwood—soliloquise
with him over the " Riley grave-stones," or
rejoice among the trossachy wildernesses of
Grives—Mr. Hall will always delight with his
natural joyfulness of heart, and instruct with his
antiquarian scraps of " Little John" and " bold
forester Robin." It is pleasureable to observe
that Mr. Hall's quondam friend and acquaint-
ance, Mr. Thomas Miller, the basket-maker,
now in London, whom our author speaks of as
having noticed him in " his low estate," by
"inviting him to his humble abode, and reading
his manuscripts to him," is the publisher of his
present book.

KNIGHT'S PICTORIAL SHAKSPEARE.
Knight, London, 1842. 1
•
In this Number (which is the forty-first) we have
the entire play of Pericles, illustrated, as usual, with
several clever engravings, and containing, at the end
of the drama, some remarks, whose object is to prove
that it was undoubtedly Shakspeare's production.

SLAVE STATES OF AMERICA.-2 Vols.
Fisher, London, 1842.
In his former volumes on the United States,
Mr Buckingham confined his observations chiefly
to the North; his present ones are- taken up with
sketches of the South—that is to say, of the Slave
States of America. He visited in succession all
the chief towns and cities of this vast region,
taking careful notes as he proceeded, of every-
thing worthy of remark ; and was particularly
struck—though probably not much surprised—
with the deep hold that the question Of
slavery had taken of men's minds. Every-
where he found them prejudiced to the lash
and bitterest degree on this point. As for ar-
guing with them, the bare idea was ridiculous,
for though candid, moderate, and quick sighted
enough on other matters, here they tolerated
not even a hint of' a difference of opinion. A
prudent reserve, therefore, became indispensably
necessary, for had Mr. Buckingham openly
avowed that he was an abolitionist, and looked on
slavery as the disgrace and curse of the southern
States, it is more than probable that he would
have fallen a victim to his frankness,, and been
Lynched without the slightest ceremony. llis
volumes furnish us with little that is novel,
whether in fact or argument, on this difficult
question; but as they discuss it in a rational and
dispassionate manner, diligently avoiding any
high-wrought appeals to the passions, they will
make just the sort of deep and lasting impression
that the author would' most desire to make on
the minds of his readers. In Virginia, observes
Mr. Buckingham, the soil has been so much
exhausted, that the wealth of the, planter consists
chiefly, if not entirely, in his negroes.
" These," he goes on to remark, " are regularly bred and
multiplied for sale, like' cattle; and as the progeny increases,
the more saleable portions are selected, and brought on to the
South, or sent to the slave-market at Washington, or :me-
times sold in Virginia itself. They are thus passed on fiorn
the State whtre their labour is not in demand to the rising
States and territories in which labour is in request;
and, accordingly, in the Augusta Papers, as in the Washing-
ton Journals, every day are to be seen advertisements offering
cash for likely negroes !' A slave-trade is thus carried on
throughout the Southern -States, under the gentle name of
the removal of slaves from one state to another ;' and it
leads to the separation of husband and wife, of parents and
children, of brothers and sisters, without the most distant
hope of their ever meeting again; and from all the infor-
mation I could obtain on this subject, the negroes feel the
separations as acutely as any whites can do, and are un-
happy for years afterwards. Here, however, as every-
where throughout the South, slavery is a topic on which no
man, and above all, a foreigner, can open his lips wiiiout
imminent personal danger, unless it is to iletend and uphold
the system. The violence of the measures taken against the
few who from time to time venture to express themselves in
favour of abolition is Kai as to strike terror into others. I
feel assured that it would not be so dangerous for a man to
preach the right of resistance to despotic authority in St.
Petersburg or Vienna, to inveigh against Popery at Rome, or
to denounce Alahomedanism at Constantinople, as it would be
for him to p-oclaim himself either by his pen or his tongue, an
abolitionist in the slave-holding Sta' es."

In another place speaking on the subject,
Mr. Buckinghatn observes it was not denied
that there were many instances in which white
men became fathers of offspring by their

own negro women ; -and-- as the children fol-
low the fate of their mothers, such offspring
would be his slaves, and might be lawfully
sold by him as his property, and often were
so disposed of ! " With the city of New Orleans,
the capital of the South, the author was greatly
delighted. According to him, it is one of the
gayest and most bustling places in the world,
remarkable fbr its noble display of shipping, its
passion for balls, theatricals, and all sorts of
public and private amusements, its splendid
buildings, and, more particularly, its superb ho-
tels. Its inhabitants, however, have an ugly
trick (the monsters?) of mot paying for their
newspapers, and hence thy Editors of the
New Orleans Journals are kept in a constant
state of tribulation and discomfiture! Now we
look on the habit of non-payment—particularly
when it exhibits itself in this repulsive form—as
one of the blackest sins that a .man can commit.
We can forgive himfor not paying a tailor's or an
apothecary's bill ; his non-payment of a lawyer's
bill we can almost adthit to be a virtue ;.• but
we cannot find it in .our hearts to excuse his
non-payment of his daily newspaper. Such an
omission argues a degree of moral depravity that.
cannot but deeply shock the nice sensibilities of
all who are disinterestly engaged in accellerating
the March of Mindf• We close our brief notice
of these volumes, with the remark that they con-
tain some spirited
,descriptions of voyages up the
Mississipi,.and, generally speaking, are impartial
in their views of" Melt and Things'? in America.

LUTHER. A Poem.

" The following pages," says Mr. Robert Montgo-
mery, in his Preface, are an attempt to reflect in a
poetical form, by a series of mental tableaux, some of
the prominent features and prevailing expressions in
the life, character, and work, of the fearless Luther.
Though each view be divided and distinct, yet it is
hoped that, in the spirit of its resulting effect, the
poem will be found combined into the unity of a
moral whole." As regards " unity," Mr. Montgo-
mery's poem has not much to boast of—at least so far
as design is concerned, for it is by no means confined
to an 'illustration of Luther's character, but is con-
stantly wandering into matters utterly irrelevant.
The author's fondneis for description, in which he
chiefly excels, is an ignis fatuus that is for ever lead-
ing him from his right track into marshes and quag-
mires, from which he with, difficulty emerges. "% e
look on his poem, therefore, rather as a collection of
striking insulated passages, thrown together without
method or logical consecutiveness, than as one com-
plete, effective, and consistent whole. It is, in fact,
A solemn rhapsody, or rather detached series of rhap-
sodies, on Life, Death, and the great Mysteries of
Mind and of Creation, for which Luther, and the
strange incidents in his career, form the mere pretexts.
Its moral tone, however, is consistently maintained
throughout ; and in this sense—but in this sense only
—it may lay claim to the praise of " unity." That
Mr. Montgomery has elaborated it with uncommon
care, is evident in every 'page, but we hardly think
that his most laboured passages are his most success-
ful ones. Few people walk easily or gracefully on
stilts, or on tip-toe; and our author is no exception to
this rule. He pleases most when he is most natural
and unaffected, and lays aside that ambitious air of
pretension with which he is but too apt to enunciate
the merest common-place. Words, however bulky
and sonorous, are not ideas, nor is common-place less
common-place because it is shrouded in cloudy and
verbose phraseology. We have said that Mr. Mont-
gomery excels in description ; he does so in a high
degree, as the following fervid and eloquent passage
will prove :

But, in the cross and by the cross perused,
How featured with significance sublime
And beautiful, this breathing world becomes !
Creation, by the plastic charm of faith
Transmuted, like a boundless temple stands,
Haunted and hallowed with perpetual Christ.
Lo ! the broad earth a solemn area seems,
And the arch'd sky a bended ceiling grows,
Whose lamps are planets in their burning shrines ;
Wonder is priestess ; and the mingled choirs,—
The organ music roll'd from waves and winds,
While the deep worship is th' unconscious swell
Of Nature, when her blent hosannahs rise,
To bless the Architect•and Lord of all.

There is another passage executed in the,same spi-
rit, with but one exception, which we shall presently
notice :

Though the sun
Burn like a sacrament of beams,
Filling our eyes with reverential light
To watch him ; though the moon's poetic brow,
Be lovely, calm'd with most celestial grace,
And yonder meek and melancholy stars
Thrill like the pathos of eternity
Our pensive bosom, not, in these we boast,
Though beautiful ; nor in the sacred Deep,
That chants his lone and everlasting hymn
Of waters, like the psalmody of waves
In worship; nor in all the gorgeous Things
That Nature in her granaries of life
Concentres, can the God-taught spirit trace
Matter for largest triumph.—Nor can Mind,
Such wonder claim as that Great Scene demands,
That once on Zion did on God reflect
Back on His glory with retorted blaze—
Himself !—in full expression there revealed,
When burst thy heart, Immanuel !

What does Mr. Montgomery mean by " the pathos
of eternity,?" In the 'Scriptural sense in which he
uses the term, it conveys no distinct idea to the mind;
for there are but two forms in which eternity can de-
velope itself—that, we mean, for the good, and that
for the wicked; the former is the eternity of rapture
—the latter, certainly not of " pathos," but of a far
deeper sentiment—namely, " wailing and gnashing
of teeth." To apply the word " pathos," therefore,
to the biblical notion of eternity, is a sheer absurdity.
But vague, unmeaning figures of speech like this,
abound in " Luther,' Thus we are told that priest-
craft and falsehood are

That terrific pair
Who poisoned truth, and made the Church become
The gaol where thought was guillotined, and died
Conceive the idea of guillotining thought—that is to
say,_ of applying a material weapon of destruction to
an immaterial essence! Really fustian of this sort
would disgrace a fourth-form school-boy ! Here is
another specimen of our author's lax and incongruous
mode of expression :
The sightless finger of the fairy breeze
Wanders about, and with a dimpling touch
Ripples a stream, or turns the air to song,
Till, like a psalmody of woven breeze,
Fancy admires it.
Begging Fancy's pardon, she must be a great ass to
admire any such tiperation on the part of the " light-
fingered" zephyr ; and a still greater noodle if she
imagines herself capable of conceiving anything like
a "woven breeze !" The idea is evidently drawn
from the loom of a Manchester manufacturer, which
is about the last place we should ever suspect a
poet of resorting to for imagery. Having thus pointed
out some of the defects of Luther," it is but right
that we turn to the brighter side • and that we may
not be supposed to pait,with Mr. Montgomery in ill-
humour, we quote a fine and solemn descriptive
passage of the mysterious influence that Night at
times exercises over the thinking faculties :
Deep trance of night ! a mystic power is thine,
1 hat properties creation with.a charm
Beyond what day-dreims in their brightest glow
Can emanate, whate'er the scene they gild.
But, oh if ever into heart of man
The Midnight, like a mute religion sent
Her spirit, surely, when the captured monk
Down the diva chambers of the Wartburg paced,
Thy genius then in solemn glory reign'd.
There, by his.windosed turret, lofty, bleak,
And lone, unharrn'cl, in holy peace he mused,
The past revolved, and o'er the future pray'd.
But there be moments in this life of ours
Beyond the weal apocalypse of words
To e'er unveil ; fo,,charged with secret might,
They master with Perplexity immense,
Or into voiceless sentiment, transform
Our inward being : like a cloud, we seem to float
In formless vacancy, with fruitless gloom
Begirt and blinded, till forced nature feels
By truth replenish% and uistinctive thoughts
Rise from the heart, pathetic, soft, profound,
Like tears of pity in .a good man's eye.
Then all we have been, are, or hope to be,
Blends in strange climax, and the soul's o'ersway'd
With big emotion, or with breathless prayer.
All that we have been—yes the night restores.
Form after form we loved, or knew, or fear'd,
Moves o'er the platform of the summon'd past,
While dead eyes open, and familiar smiles
Fall on our hearts; or household voices ring.

NEWSTOKE PRIORS. 3 Vols,
Bentlej, London, 1842.
The object of this. tale is to show the folly—
not to say the misery—of a life devoted to ava-
rice, and bent solely, no matter by what means,
on the inordinate acquisition of gain. This useful
moral is illustrated by the career of Frederick
Vavasour, a young man of good family con-
nexions, but as poor as a church mouse, who
early in life marriosa beautiful orphan, girl as
poor as himself. Shortly after their union she
dies, leaving two children, one of whom is taken
to reside with a maiden aunt, while the other,
Blanche the heroine of the story—remains
under her father's roof, As Mr. Vavasour,
though related to a rich old. gentleman of the
same name, who owns the fine estate of New-
stoke Priors, is merely a curate, with the slen-
derest possible income, he is compelled to prac-
tice the, most rigid
.economy; and this habit,
pursued from necessity for years, eventually de-
generates into confirmed avarice. Gold, in fact,
is the only idol that Mr. Vavasour worships, and
so earnest becomes his desire fin• its acquisition,
that on the death of his relation, the wealthy
proprietor of Newstoke Priors, he is induced to
burn his will, by which he bad left the estate to
another relation, Edward Vavasour; and in
consequence of the deceased thus appearing to
die intestate, the whole of his landed property
devolves on the guilty miser. But increase of
wealth brings no increase of happiness; on the
contrary, fear, distrust, and remorse, are engen-
dered in Frederick *Vavasour's mind, and he
gradually sinks beneath an accumulated load of
suffering. After his death, Newstoke Priors

is restored to the rightful owner, Edward Vava-
sour, who marries Blanche, after the usual
mistakes, mistrusts, and apprehensions, on both
sides. The principal petsonages in this story are
sketched with a firm, bold, steady hand. Frede-
rick. the miser, in particular, is drawn with ex-
ceediv skill, and the gradual progress of his
debasing, soul-blighting- infirmity, exhibited
with an ability that proves the author to be well
read in the human kart. An old maid, Miss
Letitia Bransby, is also a spirited, though some-
what coarse, sketch. There is nothing hysterical
nor exciting in the narrative ; indeed, in one
portion of it—that, we Mean, where Frederick
Vavasour is represented as destroying the will,
and thinks himself unobserved—Miss Wadding-
ton is, we think, too cold and tame ; the scene
is one that would have warranted far more im-
passioned treatment. Calm, uniform good sense,
however, is the author's forte, and not strong
sensibility, for the delineation of which she
appears to have no relish. Her novel is of a
quiet, domestic character, true to life in the
main, and therefore very likely to find numerous
admirers. For our own part, we infinitely prefer
it to the tales of the convulsive and spasmodic
school.

LORD CAMPBELL'S SPEECHES.
Black, Edinburgh, 1842.
The speeches contained in this volume were deli-
vered between the years 1830 and 1841, either at the
Bar or in Parliament, and are characterised, if not by
brilliant, impassioned elopence, or caustic wit and
humour, at least by strong good sense and. force and
ingenuity of argument, set off by the graces of a
simple, colloquial, but uniformly graceful style. Lord
Campbell is anything but an ambitious or flowery
orator ; he essays no lofty flights of declamation,
makes no incursions into the airy regions of fancy ;
but maintains an even, _sober tone throughout his
speeches. Occasionally,. but not often, we detect in
him something of the sly, shrewd humour of the
Scotchman ; and he is essentially national in his self-
possession, and readiness and dexterity in argument.
His speech on Parliamentary Reform—cold as it may
be deemed by some—is well worth a re-perusal, if
only for its abundant display of adroit reasoning,
and the quiet, but triumphant manner in which it
disposes of the favourite common-places of the Anti-
Reformers. Many more flashy and animated speeches
were delivered during that stormy period; but we are
acquainted with few that will better bear the test of
a rigid examination. By a note attached to this able
oration, we are informed that Mr. Croker has " re-
gistered a vow in Hea,en" never to " sit in a Re- '
formed Parliament." Really this is afflicting intelli-
gence to the three kingdoms which constitute Great
Britain! Think of the author of " Talavera '—a
poem whose lot it was to break its publisher's
heart, and mesmerize every reader who had the hardi-
hood to read a page of it ;—think, we say, of a
statesman and poet like this, solemnly recording his
determination never again to enliven a British Senate
by his fancy, or enlighten it by his Burke-like pre-
science and sagacity ! The Right Honourable Gen-
tleman has much to answer for in registering so un-
patriotic a vow, for he cannot but be aware that be-
reaved Albion daily bewails his retirement in sack-
cloth and ashes, and, like Rachel mourning for her
children, " refuseth to be comforted." But there is
balm in Gilead ; and though a Croker be lost to us, it
is soothing to reflect that We still possess a D'lsraeli,
for which last inestimable blessing we feel that we
can never be sufficiently grateful to Divine Provi-
dence. But to return from a digression into which
the pardonable sensibilities of patriotism have be-
trayed us. Those who desire to get a taste of Lord
Campbell's best and most characteristic manner should
read his famous speech on the trial of Norton v.
Melbourne, which exhibits all the best qualities of an
advocate—shrewdness, quick insight into character,
unerring appreciation of motives, harmonious and
methodical disposition of argument, racy touches of
sarcasm, and, not unfrequently, a strain of feeling that
makes a direct and forcible appeal to the heart. His
Lordship has dedicated his volume to his brother, Sir
John Campbell, of Edenwood ; and the language of
the Dedication deserves praise for its modest and un-
affected simplicity.

FINE ARTS.

BENEVOLENCE.

As this plate professes to be merely a preparatory
etching for a highly-finis' edmezzotinto engraving, it
would not by quite fair to subject it to a minute and
rigid criticism we shall content ourselves, therefore,
with the remark, that what the artist proposed to ac-
complish he has accomplished, and most successfully.
His outlines are all distinctly and naturally defined,
and when his pleasing group of the widow and her
young family comes to be filled up, and have some
deeper shadows thrown into it, the added force and
variety of expression thereby imparted to it, will pro-
duce all the effect that the engraver could possibly de-
sire. The subject of the sketch is one of simple,
but deep and obvious interest. Two young
ladies are represented as having just entered the
cottage of a poor widow, who is surrounded by her
children, one of whom rests her head on the mother's
shoulder, while a second is playing with a coral
in her lap, and a third nestles close by her side,
as if half-scared by the entrance of the stran-
gers. A prettier and more interesting family group
it would be difficult to Ind. The widow moves
evidently in the humblest walks of rustic, life,
but all that is coarse and squalid in such life, is
studiously kept out of sight ; and we see nothing but
what it is delighful to contemplate—the peace, the
simplicity, the neatness, and„ good order of a homely,
but carefully tended household. The refined taste
of the artist has elevated his subject, without lifting
it up into the ideal, or violating probability. Rus-
tic life has its poetic as well as its prose side,
and the glimpse we here catch of it, is the one that
is most attractive to the fancy just such a sketch,
indeed, as Burns has presented to us in his " Cotter's
Saturday Night." The countenances of the fair
visitors, who are gazing with benevolent interest at
the mother and her young children, are full of cha-
racteristic expression. The plate is engraved by
Egleton, from an original painting by Drummond.

--HER
.MAJESTY'S.. THEATRE.
Her Majesty's Theatre opened on Saturday evening ft r
the season with a new opera, a new company, and a new
manager. Mr. Lumley, who has undertaken the arduous
task of the management, is not, however, altogether un-
used to, or unacquainted with, the manner in which the
affairs of this theatre have hitherto been conducted,
having been for some years the legal adviser and per-
sonal friend of poor Laporte. Ho could not have
studied in a better school, for it should never be
( forgotten that it is to Laporte that we are in-
debted or our acquaintance with Grisi and Persiani
with Tamburini, Rubini, and Lablache; with Mimi()
and Coletti ; and in short, with all those who have, dur-
ing the last ten years, made ours the first Italian Opera
in Europe. Mr. Lumley's programme-promises well.'
Grisi, Persian', Lablache, and Murio are engaged. Tam-
burini's Italian engagements will prevent his appearing
in London this season ; but in the list of new aspirants
for public favour, we find the names of Ranoini, of Ma-
dame Frezzolini (the prima donna, par excellence, of Italy),
and Signor Poggi, in addition to those of Mademoiselle
Adelaide Moltini, Guasco, and Santi, who made 'their
appearance on Saturday evening: The opera chosen for
the opening. was Donizetti's Gemina Di Vergy. The Scene
is laid at the castle of the Count De Vergy, near Arles,
and the action is supposed to take place about the year
1428. The Count De Vergy (Santi), one of the nobles
of Charles VII. of France, has been long married to
Gemma (Mademoiselle Moltini), but their union is child-
less. At a tournament at Arles, he sees and loves Ida ra
Greville (M. Bellini). He dispatches Rolando (Galii) to his
faithful steward Guido (Panzini) at the castle, with
orders to break to Gemma the tidings that she is no
longer the Countess de Vergy, as" he (the Count) has
divorced her, and intends marrying Ida. Trunas
(Guasco), an Arab, who had been taken prisoner by
Rolando in Palestine, and who is passionately, though
secretly in love with Gemma, on hearing Rolando de-
' liver his message to Guido, bursts out into passionate
imprecations against the Count. : Rolando rushes at him
with his dagger, when Gemma' makes her appearance,
and calms the tumult. She is left alone with Guido,
who breaks to her the heart-rending intelligence of her
husband's intentions. In the next scene we find Tamas
with a bloody dagger, with whiCh he has just stabbed
Rolando. The sound of trumpets announcing the arrival
of the Count, Tames leaves 'the dagger on a table
and rushes out. The Count enters, finds the bloody
dagger, and imagines that Gemma has stabbed herself.
Guido, however, enters, and informs him of what has
taken place. Tamas is arrested, and condemned to die.
Gemma enters, and, with her ladies, begs his life may
be spared, and the Count grants the request. She then
implores the Count not to divorce her, recals to his' me-
mory his former vows to her : he is on the point ofl
yielding, when the music announcing the approach of
Ida is heard. The Count casts off Gemma, who impre-
cates vengeance on his head, and Tamas secretly vosrs
to revenge Gemma's wrongs upon the Count. A trio
in this scene, "Un suo sguardo," exquisitely sung
by Guasco, Santi, and Mademoiselle Moltini,
was loudly applauded, and, in obedience to
the unanimous call of the house, repeated. In the
second act we find Ida preparing for her nuptials. She
is sitting alone in herchamber, and Gemma enters dressed
in deep mourning. Ida, surprised, asks who she is, and
Gemma replies that she was Gemma's attendant. Ida
observes that her mournful garb little suits with the
splendour of the approaching nuptials, and commands her
to leave the room. Gemma replies that it is hot yet time,
What prevents you ? asks Ida. The wife of De Vergy—
(DiVergy la moglie) is the reply; uttering which,
Gemma seizes her rival, and dragging her for-
ward, reproaches her with having seduced the
affections of De Vergy ; Ida calls for assistance, -and
Gemma, drawing a dagger, holds it to Ida's breast, -and
commands her to be silent. The:Count rushes in with
his sword drawn, but Gemma, threatening to stab Ida
if he advances a step, commands him to throw his sword
on the ground; he obeys. She is about to stab Ida, when
Tames rushes in and disarms her. In this scene
Mademoiselle Moltini exhibited histrionic powers of the
highest order. She seemed Co revel in all the luxury
of revenge, and her reproaches to her faithless husband -
were given with terrific energy and truthfulness. The
next scene takes place in the antichamberot the chapel in
which are being celebrated the nuptials of DeVergy and Ida.
Gemma enters, and is speedily followed by Tamas,
who has watched all her proceedings. He urges
her to fly—she rejects him with scorn ; she sees the-
nuptial ceremony proceeding in the chapel, and, stung
to madness, consents to fly even with Tamas rather than
remain, and bear the cruel insults of her rival. The
duet with which this scene closes, " Taci parto, lo
schiavo fedcle," is the gem of the opera, and was exqui-
sitely given by Guasco and Mlle. Moltini. Gemma, left
to herself, becomes calmer; aspirations for revenge give
place to holier thoughts, and she determines to enter a
cloister. The attendants on the nuptials rush from the chapel
in confusion. De Vergy has been stabbed at the altar by
Tamas, who proclaims that love for Gemma induced
him to do the deed. She turns from him with horror,
and he exclaiming—" I have avenged thee: I die"—(Ti
vcndicai morro")—stabs himself, and the curtain falls.
Such is the plot of this opera—a plot, to the capabilities
of which, we regret to say, Donizetti has done anything
but justice. Common-place as Donizetti's music gene-
rally is, the music of this opera is• more than usually so,
there is not a single original idea from the beginning
to .the end, and with the exception of the duet and
trio to which we have alluded, there is nothing
noticeable in it. It was successful—very successful—but
its success was owing partlyiii-^the .knterest of the iub-
ject, but more to the exertions a Midemoiselle Moltini
and Guasco, who possess powers of a very high order,.
and who exerted themselves to the utmost. Mademoi-
selle Moltini is young and very pretty, with a most ex-
quisitely formed hand and arm; in person she reminds us
very much of la diva Sontag. Mar voice, which is a pure
soprano of great power, is exquisitely sweet and highly
cultivated. Guasco is in person tall, his countenance is very
expressive, and his voice, which is highly cultivated, is
a full and rich tenor. As an actor, also, he is entitled to
high rank. Mademoiselle Moltini and Guasco were both
called for at the fall of the curtain, and received those
plaudits which they had so richly merited by their ex •
ertions. The new Ballet of Giselle au Les 14'ilis fol-
lowed, with Carlotta Grisi and Perrot as the hero and
heroine.
The following placard was handed round the house:—
" HER MAJESTY'S .THEATRE.
" Saturday, March 12, 1842.
" The indulgence of the Nobility, subscribers to . the
opera, and the public, are respectfully requested in behalf
of M. Perrot, who is suffering from a severe pain in • the
leg, but to prevent a total disappointment, has most
kindly consented to appear."
His apology, however, was unnecessary, for Peirot
went through his part with his usual grace and agility,
while Carlotta Grisi seemed the very " Muse of the
many twinkling feet." The scenery was beautiful and
the ballet was completely successful. The National An-
them was sung between the opera 'and the ballet. The'
house was very well filled, the audience being more nu-
merous than is generally the case on the opening night.

CAPTAIN GRAY'S NARRATIVE
OF AN ESCAPE FROM THE GHILZIES.
(From the Bengal Harkaru of Jan. 3.)
We have the pleasure to-day to lay before our
readers a most interesting narrative of the escape of
CaptaiisGray, of her Majesty's 44th Foot, from the
design of the Ghilzies • and it' will be seen from it
that the quern Deus volt perdire principle was in full
operation on the fate of poor Burnes, who entirely
disregarded the correct information sent to him by
Captain Gray, himself an excellen linguist, and there
fore well capable of comprehending what the friendly
chiof related :
" I commenced my march from Cabul at daylight
on the morning of the 2d of. October, with an escort
of twenty Hazir Bash horsemen, furnished me by
Sir A. Burnes, and proceeded as far as a village
called Boodkhah, about six milT from Cabul, when
one of the dak runners came up to me, stating
that a Kafilla had been plundered by the Ghil-
zies the previous night, at a, place called Te-
zeen, and advised me not to proce6d till I had heard
from Sir A. Burnes, to whom they had reported
the circumstance. I, in consequence, went off the
road, and remained there till I could hoar something.
further, but was not kept long, in suspense, when I
perceived a horseman galloping ikp in my direction.
It was one from Sir A. Burnes, With a note for me,
wishing me not to proceed any further, as the pass
was not safe, but to go into the village f Boodkhah,
and there remain till I should dear from him again.
I therefore took his advice, and n the evening of the
3d got another note from him, `‘aying there was a
party of 400 horsemen going in tay direction, and
that I might embrace the opportunity of accompany-
ing them as far as Gundamuk ; that the chief was a
very respectable and trustworthy man, requesting me
at the same time to be altogether guided by his
advice. I accordingly left the village and joined his
camp on the evening of the 3d; and at daylight on the
morning of the 4th, we commenced our march
towards the Khoord Cabul Pass, and on 'gaining the
mouth of it, found it in possession, of the Ghilzies, who
were so strongly posted on the heights, that the chief
thought it advisable not to attempt a passage, but en-
deavour to get through another pass called the Chi-
naree. 'We then shaped our . course for it, and on
reaching it, found it also in *Session of the enemy ;
finding this to be the case, the chief held a consulta-
tion with his sirdars, when they Unanimously agreed to
try another pass, stating at the same time that the na-
tural difficulties of it were so great that he was afraid
we should not be able to surimnint them ; however, it
was decided that the attempt shcruld bP -made, and I
am happy to say we surmounted every difficulty, and
having got safe through by four r.m., took up our
camp in the dry bed of a river between Sa Baba and
Tezeen. Everything appeared to be quiet until be-
tween eight and nine o'clock, when some people ap-
peared on the hills that surrounded us, and challenged
some of our escort, saying that if they would give up
the two officers, K— and himself, they should re-
ceive 3,000 rupees for each of us, and that the es-
cort would be permitted to proceed without moles-
tation. The answer they received from our party
was, "That the officers were under their protection,
and protect them they would to
,the very last.' The
sentence was scarcely finished, when a shrill whistle
was heard in the hills, followed by a, tremendous volley
from the sides, and directed on my tent, which was
the only one in our camp. I immediately jumped out
of bed, put on my clothes as quickly as possible, and
had the tent struck. I then got our escort to saddle
their horses, and be prepared in case the enemy might
descend ; but, findin4 they had no intention of doing
so, but were determined to pick us off without ex-
posing themselves, our party thought it necessary

r that they should be dislodged, and commenced f
ascending the hills on each side, the enemy all the
time pouring on us a most destructive fire ; and, after
a contest of several hours, they succeeded in driving
them from the heights. We were engaged from k
between 8 and 9 o'clock, at which time the moon had
just got above the hills that surronnded us, and threw
her light on our party below till four o'clock
the following morning, the sth. On the re-
turn of our party a council of war was held, to which
we were invited ; the chief said, he had sent for us to
know what our wishes were, whether we wished to
proceed or return, that the whole of the passes of
Gundamuck were in possession of the Ghilzies, that
one of them had 5,000 men in it, and that none of
his escort had a single ball left. I replied, `lf such
is the case, I would certainly advise our returning to
. Cabul,' when a very young man, a sirdar, son of the
Naib Shurreef, at Cabul, started up and said, lam
directed to escort these officers as far as Gundamuck ;
we have sustained the attack of last night, and why
should we fly ? No; `forward' is the word with
me,' and, stroking his beard at the same time, which
is considered in the light of an oath with them, they
all followed his example, saying, Pesh,' which is
Forward.' The chief then directed me to have
my cattle loaded, and to disguise ourselves
which I accordingly did, borrowing from amongst
them one thing or another, and by day-
light on the .sth we were on the move towards
Gundamuck, and on reaching the Parree Durra or
Fairy Pots, we found it literally alive with Ghil-
zies. We in consequence halted for a few seconds to
consult ; however, it was thought advisable not to
attempt it, but to take another direction across the
Doblee and Udruk Budruk Mountains into the Leigh-
non Valley, which we did, and it is only wonderful
how we ever effected it ; the ascent was dreadful—
only one at a time could ascend; however, we got
over the difficulties, keeping on at a pretty good pace
for fear of the enemy overtaking us, which they did not
do till about the close of the evening, when they came
up with our straggling rear, cutting up every one
they could lay hands on ; we had a great many camp
followers, who were returning to the provinces, and
mostly all on foot ; they were all cut up, poor fel-
lows ; and several servants of K— (six of them),
his tent, bed-clothes, and two tattoos ; and it was not
till about four o'clock on the morning of the
6th we halted at a village called Mumrour, our
party coming in by twos and threes, having been
on the move for 23 hours without even a halt.
You niay guess the state we were in when I tell you
that the moment we got into the village; K— and
I just tied our horses to a tree, and fell down fast
asleep in one of the public roads of it, and had scarcely
lain an hour, when the chief sent for me, and informed
me that we were not safe in the village, and that he
advised our proceeding on to one that we would be
safe in. Away we started, and between seven and
eight o'clock that evening, reached the fort of Teer
Ghurree, or Tigree, as it is called ; we were then put
into a hut, which was surrounded by a high wall, and
there remained for seventeen days, expecting every
moment to have our throats cut. On the morning of
the 7th, the chief of our party, Mahomed Uzzeen
Khan, came to me and said he had something to
communicate. I consequently took him aside, when
he told me that he was very much alarmed for our
safety ; in fact, that the whole of Affghanistan were
determined to make one cause of it, and to drive
out and murder every Beringhee in the country,
that there was not the least reliance to be placed on
our escort, and that the country round about, and
Cabul itself, were ready to break out. On hearing
this from so respectable a chief and several other
people, I thought it my duty to apprise Sir A.
Burnes of it. I immediately sat down and wrote him
an official letter, acquainting him with what was
going on, and that treachery was at the very
threshhold of their doors, and also informing him of
the attack upon us near Tezeen. A new difficulty
now presented itself—how the letter was to be con-
veyed to him ; however this was very soon settled by
the chief, who said that he would give the man who
took it and brought back an answer twenty rupees
and a khelat. It was taken and delivered to Sir
Alexander Burnes, and the bearer of it brought
a letter to the chief, acknowledging its receipt,
but I never heard a line from Sir A. Burnes.
This can easily be accounted for—the idea of my
writing and telling such bigwigs that treachery was
on foot ! Had I been a little political' they might
have given ear to it. What has been the consequence
of his credulity ? Why lie, his brother, Swayne,
Robinson, and Raban, of ours, and several others,
were murdered in his house ! I only regret I did
not keep a copy of the official letter I wrote, for I
certainly would publish the whole transaction. As
it was official, Burnes ought to have laid it before
Sir William M`Naghten and the General. lam
not aware he did not, but strongly suspect so, other-
wise he would not have suffered as he did. Whilst
we were, I may say, prisoners, several old Mollahs
used to come in and see us, and I very soon found
out the drift of one man's visits, and therefore begged
•of K— to let me conduct the whole of our plans
for leaving the place we were in. During our con-
finement I had received several letters.' from a Captain
P. Burn, at Gundamuck, requesting me to proceed
with the escort with me to support. On
the receipt of his letter I sent over to the
chief of our party, and requested him to allow me
to take the party to his assistance ; he said he could
not, that he was sent for the sole protection of
the property on the Leghnon Valley, and that on his
leaving it the Ghilzies would immediately attack
the places and destroy the whole valley. I wrote to
Burn to this effect, acquainting him, at the same time,
that the party was not under my command, but, on
the contrary, that my hands had been completely
tied by Sir A. Burnes previous to my leaving Cabul.
However, several notes passed between Captain Burn
and myself, and his chief object appeared to me to be
to gat us out of the delemma, we were in, and he
wrote rather a severe letter to the chief, who appeared
to be much annoyed, and came over to us, and asked
me if we were anxious to go. I replied, 'We are, and
that if he wofild give me 20 horsemen, I would make
the attempt to Gundamuck.' He said, ` Very well; the
day 'after to-morrow be ready to start; in the mean-
time I will send out people and find out the state of
the pass to Jellalabad. I said, I wished to go to
Gundamuck to Captain Burn.' However, before the
day arrived for our departure, he came and said it
was impossible to go, as we were literally surrounded
by the Ghilzies, and put us off for a couple of days
more. We were obliged to submit, but at the same
time determined not to be put off another day,
and made every preparation for starting. Two days
previous to our leaving, the old Mollah came and
asked me if we had made up our minds as to when
we would leave, and in what direction. I told
him that we had, that we should leave on such a day,
and go to Gundamuck ; but at the same time
must tell you I had a most faithful and intelligent spy
in my service—my muleteer. Through him I heard
of all that was going on ; consequently, on the morn-
ing we started he took me on one side, and told me
that the Mollah had been very busy in planning our
destruction ; that he had taken the Ghilzies off the
pass leading to Jellalabad, and had placed them on
the road to Gundamuck. Shortly after this the
chief sent word that he was ready to start. We did
, so at daylight on the morning of the 23d of Oc-
I tober, all the party fully expecting that Gunda-
muck was to be our destination, and on our reaching
the junction of the two roads I asked the chief
to let me have 50 men, and that I would make the
best of my way to Jellalabad, and not to Guncln,-
muck ; I was determined on doing so, and by five
o'clock that evening reached it, a distance of forty
miles. I went and called on the Governor of the
place, and requested him to give me protection, which
he did ; halted the 24th, and by the 28th reached
Peshawur, where I considered myself safe ; halted a
day there, and in 15 days reached Ferozepore ; halted
there four days, and at Loodiana two, and arrived at
Kurnaul on the morning of the 3d of December, a
complete Affghan, with a beard, &c., as long as my
arm. My disguise saved me many a shot, and, tharl
God, I have got through all my difficulties without
even a scratch."

The Marquis de N. resides in a small mansion in
the Rue Ville I'Evoque, having a garden, thewall of which runs
back to the Rue de Surenne. Two evenings ago the Mar-
quis remained at home alone, the Marquise having gone to
a party, taking two of the servants to attend her, and given
the rest leave to absent themselves, so that the only person
left in the house besides the Marquis was a couturiere, who
came to work by the day. The Marquis was busily engaged
in his Cabinet, but about nine o'clock had occasion for some
papers which were in another room, and went to get them.
On passing the private apartments of the. Marquise he ob-
served a light, which in her absence he knew ought not to
be there, and on entering found three men engaged in open-
ing the furniture and taking possession of everything va-
luable. Preserving his presence of mind, the Marquis ac-
costed them, and told them' it was in vain for them to at-
tempt to fly, as the whole of his establishment was within
call. Two of the thieves, however, made a rush past him
and escaped. He seized the third, but this fellow, being
stronger and younger than the Marquis, broke from his grasp
and followed his fellows, passing the workwoman, who
came on hearing the cries of the Marquis. Police-officers
wereimmediately afterwards called in, and ascertained that
the fellows had made their way into the garden by an old
and badly-fastened door from the Rue de &reline, had cut
through a shutter by means of a centre-bit, and thus got by a
window on the ground-floor. Numerous skeleton keys and
other implements of housebreaking were left behind by the
robbers, of whose persons the Marquis'-was able to give a full
description. As yet none of them have been taken. They
had pocketed a valuable repeater, many rings, and other jewels
of high price, but their booty would have been much greater
had they not been interrupted.
The day before yesterday a thief wa.s arrested in
the elnirch of Notre-Dame as he was attempting to draw money
out of one of the poor-boxes with a. bit of whalebone, hav-
ing at its extremity some bird-lime. On being searched,
1')0 francs in gold were found upon him, for the possession
of which he could not account satisfactorily.—French Paper.
" The Infante Don Francisco," says a Madrid Cor-
.respondent of the Prease, " has requested of Espartero the
' admission of his second son, Don Enriquez, into the Spanish
navy as a midshipman. The Regent is said not only 'to have
granted the request, but even to have at onee made the young
Infante a Captain."

THE LATE SEVERE GAi%E.
The effect of the late hurricane has been mi. .st disas-
trous both by sea and land. In Dover and its a eigh-
bourhood much damage has been done to prop erty.
Among the many unroofing; that took place, there was
no one more singular than that of Mr. I. B. Tersvm's
Waterloo Rooms, the entire sheet-copper covering of
the building having been lifted from its moorings
eight o'clock on Thursday morning, and precipitattell
from a height of upwards of fifty feet into the street,
about eighty feet off, without doing injury to any
one, though many persons were passing near the spot at
the time.

We have not had so severe a gale during the whole of
the winter.

The encroachments of the sea, and consequent loss
of land, on which small tenements were erected to the
west of the town, continue in A. serious degree. Several
chimneys also were thrown down, and some houses un-
roofed, in the course of Thursday morning. A very
large quantity of beach has been driven by the st.►rm
into the entrance channel, which, however, it is hoped,
may be removed at low water, before the next spring
tides.

Yesterday, about noon. a collier standing to the west-
ward was seen to have in tow a boat containing some
men. The boat was observed, on quitting the collier,
to make for the harbour, but the flood-tide was too
strong, in consequence of which the Blue-eyed Maid
hovelling-boat stood out to sea, and succeeded in towing
into the harbour the boat, which contained eight un-
happy men, a boy, and a dead man. It appears they
quitted- the brig Mary Coxon, of North Shields, at the
moment of her foundering at sea, and were thirty-six
hours in the boat without food, so that the cold was the
Occasion of the death of the poor fellow.
Four vessels are said to be on shore to the westward
of Boulogne ; one (a large American), with a crew of
seventeen, out of whom only five are reported to have
been saved.

The schooner Emma, of Portsmouth, from London, with
a general cargo, drove from her anchors under Dunge-
ness, and came in contact with the brig Hope, of Rye,
when she was abandoned by the crew, and is supposed to
have foundered, having received great damages.— Crew
saved except two.
_

On Thursday, during the gale, the Minerva, of Jersey,
from Sunderland, with coals, sunk off Calais. The crew
were saved from the sinking vessel by Mr. Slater, Second
Master of her Majesty's steam-packet Widgeon, who,
along with a crew of Englishmen, put off from Calais to
their rescue in a whale beat, at great personal hazard,
the sea running very high across the mouth of the har-
bour at the time.—. Doter Chi °nide.