victim, who was rapidly losing strength and heart, but for the prompt and well-timed assistance of his shipmates, who, observing that the affair had assumed a dangerous aspect, sallied out to his rescue. The little phalanx opened him a passage, and then closed to receive the bold assailant. Though now beyond the reach of his adversary, the dismayed fugitive continued onward, impelled by his fears, and never relaxed his exertions until he fairly reached the shelter of the ship! Bruin once more prudently came to a stand, and for a moment seemed to survey his enemies with all the consideration of an experienced general; when, finding them too numerous for a reasonable hope of success, he very wisely wheeled about, and succeeded in making a safe and honourable retreat.-Scoresby's Journal.

PERSONAL NARRATIVE RELATING TO THE FALL OF THE BRUNSWICK THEATRE.

IN August 1827, the foundation of a new theatre, to which the name of the New Brunswick Theatre was given, was laid on the site of one burned down during the previous year, and long known, from its locality, by the name of the Goodman's - Fields Theatre. The New Brunswick Theatre, though constructed on such a scale as to hold 2000 persons, was finished and thrown open to the public in the space of seven months; a rapidity of execution almost unexampled, and to which, unquestionably, much of the subsequent mischief is to be attributed. The building was extremely elegant in appearance, had a wrought-iron roof, was fire-proof in the principal parts, and, as a whole, in short, seemed to combine the qualities, at least, of beauty and convenience. The theatre cost L.25,000.

Fortunately, ere the public had been exposed to danger from attendance on the theatre above two or three days, a lamentable proof was given of the unfitness of the building for their reception. On the 28th of February 1828, the people in its vicinity were alarmed by a dreadful crash, which proved to have been occasioned by the falling in of the roof of the theatre. As it was known that many of the persons connected with the establishment were within its walls at the moment, the greatest alarm was excited for their safety. It turned out that a rehearsal was going on at the period, at which, besides the performers, a number of spectators were present. A body of the workmen were also in the house. The accident, which was owing to a greater weight being suspended from the roof than the walls could bear, was fatal to upwards of twelve of the parties, while all, except one of those saved, were more or less severely injured. Amongst the individuals taken out of the ruins in life, was a young man named John Williams, who wrote the following narrative of the disastrous event, which was published in the Weekly Review, a London newspaper :

"In the beginning of last autumn, I was sent to London on some matters of business by my father, Mr Williams, the building-surveyor of Chester, who is also known to the literary world by his "Remarks on some of the architectural antiquities of that city. I carried letters of introduction to Mr Nash, to Mr Rickman, of the House of Commons, and to another member of parliament, whose name I do not wish to mention. The last gentleman invited me to his house, overwhelmed me with professions of esteem, and quite turned my head with his offers of services. When the business which had called me to town was finished, I wrote to my father of the new prospects that had been opened to me, and, in contempt of his advice and injunctions, determined on remaining in London, to follow out a career so much better adapted to my talents than that of a provincial builder. An open quarrel with my family was the consequence; but I took no trouble to appease their anger, being convinced that a

very short time would prove the wisdom of my con duct, and enable me to demand rather than solicit forgiveness.

Two months passed away in expectation; my money was spent, and the people at my lodgings began to abate in their civility, when I thought it necessary to bring my patron to the point. I called at his house for that purpose, and found him just stepping into a post-chaise. He seemed as glad to see me as ever, but of course had little time for conversation. When he had fairly seated himself in the vehicle, and, in my despair, I had ventured to ask how long he meant to be absent from town, shaking me cordially by the hand, he informed me that if there was a call of the House, he might be obliged to return in the course of the session, but that, at all events, he would have the pleasure of seeing me this time next year! I do not remember the carriage driving off; but the passersby stopping to look at me, as I stood like a statue on the flags, recalled me to myself, and I went home to my lodgings.

'I was too timid or too obstinate to write to my father. I preferred lowering my expectations, and applying for a clerkship in a builder's office, and was promised the influence of several persons of respectability in order to obtain it. In the meantime, by the advice of an acquaintance, I was induced to apply to the pawnbroker for a temporary pecuniary relief; but this did not enable me to discharge the rent of my lodgings. The civility of my landlady was changed to coldness; and her coldness, by a natural transition, to heat. The persecution I underwent at home made me take refuge in public-houses, where I fell in with companions as desperate as myself, but apparently more happy. I at length left my lodgings secretly, with the remains of my wardrobe under my arm. I engaged a bed by the night at what is called a theatrical house, but one of the lowest of the sort, where I first acquired a taste-or rather a passion-for stage-amusements, and became acquainted, by the introduction of her brother, with a young actress, whose name, whether she

is dead or alive, will not be benefited by an association with mine. My appearance at this time, with regard to dress, was respectable, and my manners probably intimated an acquaintance with better society than that enjoyed by my companions. The reception I met with from the lady was favourable; and young, beautiful, amiable, and, I am convinced, innocent, she made an impression on my heart, which is the only part of my London history I am not ashamed of acknowledging.

'I debated with myself whether, on finding a situation, I should not remove her from a mode of life at least dangerous, if not disgraceful, by making her my wife, or, by attaching myself to her profession, serve as a protector from its danger, and derive from it the means of our mutual subsistence. My debate, however, was speedily cut short; no situation turned up; I was pursued by means of summonses for several small debts; my landlord refused me even a night's lodging without the money in advance; and I was compelled to make my retreat to another quarter of the town. It would be disgusting to pursue, step by step, the path of my decline, which was now fearfully precipitous. From the parlour, I sank to the tap-room; from the society of masters, to that of journeymen; from the shabby surtout, to the tattered jacket. My place of refuge was in Barlow Court, a narrow lane in the neighbourhood of Wells Street; and having some slight knowledge of the upholstery and cabinet-making business, I received employment accidentally in fitting up the Brunswick Theatre.

'My earnings were very small, but I contrived to cheat my hunger out of sufficient to enable me to drown, almost every night in intoxication, the sense of my degradation and my despair.

"The theatre was at length opened, although the internal work was not all finished. I was in attendance at the fatal rehearsal of the 28th of February, in the course of my duty. As I was passing across the stage, I was arrested by the voice of a new actress-a voice that had lingered in my ear in spite of everything. The earnestness of my

gaze was observed by one of my fellow-workmen, who informed me that the lady whom I seemed to admire so much was Mrs Mrs! She was married! I forgot at the moment my situation, my dress, the proprieties of time and place, and I rushed forward to demand from her own lips a confirmation or a denial of the truth of what I had heard. That motion saved my life. There was heard at the instant a sound which I cannot describe by crash, or roar, or any other imitative word in the language; it was not loud, nor shrill, nor hollow: perhaps its associations in my memory with what followed may have fixed its peculiar character in my mind-but I can only describe it to the imagination by likening it to one's conception of the harsh, grating, sullen, yet abrupt noise of the grave-stone, when it shall be suddenly raised from its sandy, clammy bed, at the sounding of the last trumpet. One of the actors rushed across the stage, and darted out by the side-door. Of the rest, those who were speaking stopped in the middle of a word; the hand raised in mimic passion was not dropped; the moving crowd of human beings stood still, as if by one impulse; there was a pause of two or three seconds. Some, whose mind was more present, raised their eyes to the roof; but the rest were motionless, even in the vagrant organs of vision, and stood mute and still like a gallery of statues. I cannot even attempt to describe the sound which awoke the scene from this appearance of death only to give it the reality. I would liken it to thunder, if you could mingle the idea of the explosion with that of its effectsor to the rush of a mighty torrent, if you could fancy amalgamated, as it were, in its roar the typical voices of pain, and horror, and confusion, and struggling, and death. I staggered back, and nearly fell into an abyss that was cloven into the floor by a fragment of the iron roof on the very spot where I had stood but a moment before. While rushing up the side of the newly-formed precipice to regain my footing, by the single terrified glance I had time and light to cast behind, I saw that the iron and wood were wet with blood and brains, and the other