for vindicating my character for a competent knowledge of my profession, I cannot endure the imputation of having been careless of the public safety. I pledge myself, therefore, to the fullest proof of the following facts, on the earliest opportunity afforded me.

1. That the walls of the building were of proper strength and thickness, and in every respect fitted for their legitimate purposes.

2. That the roof, which was of wrought iron, was lighter than one of wood, and in every respect sufficient for all purposes for which it was constructed.

3. That a large floor, extending over a great part of the theatre, together with the floors over the stage, and all the machinery of the theatre, weighing many tons, were supported chiefly by being suspended from the roof, contrary to the object of the roof, and without any reference to the plans upon which the theatre was erected.

4. That over these erections I had no control whatever, they being expressly excepted in my written agreement.

5. That, nevertheless, I frequently and urgently remonstrated against this improper use of the roof.

7. That, from the nature of the construction and material of the roof, I knew that no accident could take place, without a notice from its appearances, which would afford am

ple time to prevent all personal

danger.

8. That such notice of the failure of the roof under its load was, in fact, given and observed by the responsible persons more than 24

hours before the catastrophe; but I was kept in utter ignorance of this most important circumstance.

9. That the difficulty with which some of the box-doors are said to have shut on Monday evening, (supposing the fact to have been as described) and also of one of the flies sinking, had no connexion with the accident, and were not at all calculated to awaken suspicion.

10. That, although I never, directly or indirectly, sanctioned the suspension which caused the accident, but, on the contrary repeated my warnings from time to time, yet I examined the roof on Monday evening, the last occasion of my being at the Theatre (my occupation there having been quite finished,) and could perceive no symptoms of failure.

I have only to add to these facts, that I yesterday made a formal application to the Right Hon. Robert Peel, praying him to direct, as Secretary of State for the Home Department, a rigid enquiry into the causes of the accident. I remain, Sir, your obedient and faithful ser

IN

Thy song is varied with the varying clime, Unceasing fall! when autumn rains have fill'd

Thy parent lake, thou pipest clear and strong,

Yet with no harsh voice; but when winter itraves

Thou hast a shout of power, while thy loud swell

Sings through the stripp'd trees with the eddying wind:

In summer, thou art still as the south gale,

And thy low murmur creeps upon the

ears

With a monotonous hum, most like the buz

Of honey-sucking bees. Yet never mute Is thy subduing voice; and never leafless Are the thick firs that tower above thy height

In manifold hues. Thou art the abode of life

Through changeful seasons; fragrance and sweet sound

with thee ever. May'st thou endure as long

As the green woods and the transparent lake :

Heaps upon heaps the frosted clouds are sailing

On the stiff breeze; here high up-pil'd they stand

A clotted mass, blackening against the

In solemn fullness: here, in all-varying forms,

They course each other down with playful speed;

Here, in soft bars they stretch across the sky.

Drinking in light; and here the stedfast blue

In delicate patches asks the pensive eye To pierce the glimmerings of its shadowless depth.

A golden ray skims o'er that heathery slip, And the thick purple flowers show like a garden,

Midst the uncultur'd hills.

Rich as thou art, Soul of these sylvan haunts, delicious Lake,

E'en when the flickering clouds obscure

On thy untroubled banks, when the warm air

Lies like an infant on thy cradling breast. Then the gull screams not, but the trilling thrush

Makes glorious music in thy skirting woods,

And midst her gusts of song there is a stillness

Which not a ripple stirs, while the hush'd soul

me,

Or dost thou, from yon prison's grate, Send forth the fitful yell? Condemned a few short hours to wait Alive in that sad cell,

Then, with convulsive heave, to rend
This mortal curtain, and descend!

Poor child of woe! there was a day,
(O would it yet might be!)
When life unstained before thee lay,
All promise, e'en to thee!
On its fair pages there was not
One line of sin, one error's blot.

A babe! to some fond mother's side
With sweet affection prest;
Thy little crimson lips applied

For nurture to her breast;
Thy hands, then innocent as weak,
Spread on her bosom or her cheek.

Yes, and I know that many a day
She bathed thee with her tears,
Delighted with the fond essay

To plan thy future years;
Or bleeding fast at sorrow's vein,
At thought of life's sure coming pain.

Early bereaved, perchance, on thee,
Sole relic, she relied,

To heal a widowed heart, and be
Instead of one who died;
And many a lonely night she spent,
By turns on him and thee intent.

And didst thou, in that opening prime,
Her dream of hope prolong?
E'en then she saw thy germ of crime,
But would not see thee wrong;
Fearing, she hoped, from day to day,

hopes;

But thou art destined to become the home
Of thrilling recollections, that will live
In after times-A Patriot King hath loved
thee.

Friendship's Offering.

THE FELON,

Child of dishonour, guilt, and shame,
Lorn outcast from thy kind,
Whose passion's rage no voice could tame,
Whose arm no law could bind,-
That human breast, all fiend within,
And scorched and blackening still with
sin,

Where art then? Does some shattered shed
Thy guilty haunt, conceal?

There dost thou shake at human tread,
And dread the rattling wheel?
By night a wanderer pale and drear
By day a fearworn tenant here?

Then darkly onward sped the years
That chilled thy heart to stone;
And now no early friend appears,

To soothe thy mortal groan;
And she, of all thy friends the chief,
Why comes she not?-She died of grief!

Mother-if e'er a mother's eye
This tale of truth beguile-
O, turn thy watchful scrutiny,

E'en on thine infant's smile,
And heed the prophecy of ill,
Dark scroll, in childhood's rebel will."

While bright the fateful pages wand
Of life's unwritten book,
Direct to one Almighty hand,

Faith's oft-imploring look:
And as the fair inscription shines,
O strenghten thou the holy lines.

Amulet.