The Workman's Advocate. — 1866-01-06 (London, England)

THE VURDE.R.ER SOUTHEY.  The following is a copy of the letter which Southey, alias Forward, wrote to Mrs. White, the mother of the children murdered in London, immediately after he had committed the crime:—  "Hurriedly written. "Annie, Annie, my poor, dear Annie! My beloved wife, I could bear up no longer. Do not shrink from me. It was an act of tree, kind mercy. If there is one act in the past which you have not already ceased to remember, as tender companion, true kindness, and love—if there is one act of my life towards you which you with like feeling still remember, put it side by side with what has now happened. Could you have seen as I saw, and fozesaw, yea would once more bless me for having done what I have—for having saved you the terrible pain of doing yourself what you have before thought ef doing and wished, and would have done to-day without the power to eavey it oet. Thank God, there is no evident suffering. I was spared that in my awful anguish. Annie, I could bear up no longer. I had not one hope, not one joy left me. Ido not wish to reproach you, my poor dear wife, for this you are and =et be. When I first got them (meaning palsession :of the children from Mr. White), I felt my heart so moved towards them that I thought I would send word for you to come to me, and we would toil on for them; but there were many reasons which made it impossible. Among the rest I could not cernmimieate with you even. The poor dear little things seemed as if, even on their parts, they thought of our union and were united with me, and felt that love which links us for ever—yes, for ever. If anything eould kill affection, what I have passed through in the last month would do it. You,Areneewhaterver may come, cannot cease to love me. Annie (here the words are ills. gible)—by one belief and by one understanding. But the large, dark, soft eyes seemed as if they conveyed as a medicine to me—that inexpressible, loving gaze— the deepest, liveliest memory of my life which belongs to me. Even at the last he turned them upon me, and seemed to bless me as he smiled, and affectionately fell upon me, as if by some magic charm of sympathy. This came from you. Poor miserable man! After all, what do we know of spirituel affinities? One went  to rest like a poor, tire olaman. Ay,,evezaas I shall. He seemed ill, wearied, and sad, and_wilag to goto rest. Nature, seemed herself to acquiesce. The middle one (thine) ,secrßed to be even then as always nonchalant, gentle, impassive. And so my risen soul has passed throug,lx" this ether fierce and dreadful trial. It almo.3t seems as if my very capacity to bear suffering causes it to come to me. They did not suffer. You can tell somewhat what I must havii:' endured. But, Annie, have pity for me. What have I got before me? Do not leave me to bear it all alone. Help me to finish. Do not desert me in my awful need. win you not come to me? Come with me! Help me to achieve my pm-pose. You know it is high, noble, and honourable. To share and complete my triumph will save you saffering unenviable, and far, far greater than you will Icaow at present. Will you not trust him who has never deceived you? who has been a true husband, who will be to the latest moment of his life? A parcel lies for you addressed Mrs. S—, care of where I went to play the evening you were at H—. It 'contains what I used, and is a painless 'gent. And now, once more, my wife—my poor Annie, clinging to you like an infant, unable to cease thinking of you, ever constantly calling on your loved memory and name, endeared once more. Annie I, yes I, poor God-forgotten, man-despised, and woman-hated wretch, turn, and in my sours deepest feelings I breathe an ardent and holy blessing upon you. Look back until you know what I am. Do not wrong me, nor let others do so. Let judgment, not feeling, measure "inyE." (Ernest, doin is Christian .G God bless syou as name.) Ibleas