guilty parties from being examined and detected. His assertion, also, that the printed genealogy belonged to him, had materially influenced the case, and was utterly devoid of foundation. Upon these and other grounds, the court decided that the count should restore all the property of the D'Anglades, and should pay all the expenses, from first to last, which this case had occasioned; which last heavy imposition was regarded by the court as a sufficient assignment of damages against the count.

Thus ended this case, in which an unfortunate man lost his life almost on mere suspicion. We may congratulate ourselves, that such things could not occur in our day, where the accused and accuser have equal facilities. Though the loss of a husband and a father was too severe a one to be ever forgot, Madame d'Anglade and her daughter had the satisfaction, at least, of reentering society with honour and an unblemished name. The sympathy of the world was so much excited in their favour, that a portion of 100,000 livres was collected, and presented to the daughter of the ill-fated D'Anglade. She afterwards married M. des Essarts, counsellor-at-law.

THE SAILOR AND THE BEAR.

A HULL whaler was moored to a field of ice, on which, at a considerable distance, a large bear was observed prowling about for prey. One of the ship's company, emboldened by an artificial courage, derived from the free use of his rum, which in his economy he had stored for special occasions, undertook to pursue and attack the bear that was within view. Armed only with a whale-lance, he resolutely, and against all persuasion, set out on his adventurous exploit. A fatiguing journey of about half a league, over a surface of yielding snow and rugged hummocks, brought him within a few yards of the enemy,

which, to his surprise, undauntedly faced him, and seemed to invite him to the combat. His courage being, by this time, greatly subdued, partly by the evaporation of the stimulus he had employed, and partly by the undismayed and even threatening aspect of the bear, he levelled his lance in an attitude suited either for offensive or defensive action, and stopped. The bear also stood still. In vain the adventurer tried to rally courage to make the attack: his enemy was too formidable, and his appearance too imposing. In vain also he shouted, advanced his lance, and made feints of attack; the enemy, either not understanding them, or despising such unmanliness, obstinately stood his ground. Already the limbs of the sailor began to shake, the lance trembled in the rest, and his gaze, which had hitherto been steadfast, began to quiver; but the fear of ridicule from his messmates still had its influence, and he yet scarcely dared to retreat. Bruin, however, possessing less reflection, or being more regardless of consequences, began, with the most audacious boldness, to advance. His nigh approach and unshaken step subdued the spark of bravery and that dread of ridicule that had hitherto upheld our adventurer; he turned and fled. But now was the time of danger. The sailor's flight encouraged the bear in his turn to pursue; and being better practised in snow-travelling, and better provided for it, he rapidly gained upon the fugitive. The whale-lance, his only defence, encumbering him in his retreat, he threw it down, and kept on. This fortunately excited the bear's attention; he stopped, pawed it, bit it, and then resumed the chase. Again he was at the heels of the panting seaman, who, conscious of the favourable effect of the lance, dropped a mitten; the stratagem succeeded, and while bruin again stopped to examine it, the fugitive, improving the interval, made considerable progress ahead. Still the bear resumed the pursuit with the most provoking perseverance, excepting when arrested by another mitten, and finally by a hat, which he tore to shreds between his teeth and his paws, and would no doubt have soon made the incautious adventurer his

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 conduct, 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