came, and was also disregarded. The third
seemed to shake the chandelier, and was
accompanied by a discordant rumbling noise that
lasted several seconds. The next moment Mr.
Farren, looking up to see where the noise came
from, saw the chandelier in the act of falling.
Obeying the momentary instinct, he threw
himself under shelter, and clung to a pillar of the
proscenium. Mr. Maurice rushed to the centre
of the stage. The roof came down; an avalanche
of iron instantly tore walls and gallery down with
it, and swept before it scenes, stage, orchestra,
boxes, and actors. It was a tornado of girders,
bricks, and timbers. A cloud of dust hid the scene
of death for a moment. When perception
returned, Mr. Farren found that the pillar opposite
to that part of the box to which he clung alone
remained: the rest was a mountain of confused
ruin. On a sudden he saw something move in
the rubbish near him, and Miss Yates, a girl of
about twelve years of age, daughter of Mrs.
Vaughan, the leader of " the tragic business,"
made her way towards him, her head streaming
with blood. She cried: " Oh, Mr. Farren, save
me!" Farren dragged the poor girl over the box,
though by no means certain of his own safety,
and urged her to thank the Almighty for their
preservation. They remained in that place
blocked up for nearly half an hour. After this
awful interval of continued fear, he saw three or
four of the carpenters, their faces bloody, wading
and clambering among the ruins to gain the
street; for the front wall had fallen, and there
was a passage left, though a dangerous one.
Farren called to them, rejoicing that others also
had escaped, congratulated them, and inquired
if the danger had quite passed, and if his
present retreat was safe. They answered, he
was tolerably safe; but another wall might soon
fall, and if the beam which had defended him
then gave way, he must be instantly killed.
He then felt he had no time to lose. He broke
quickly out of his extraordinary prison, struggled
with difficulty through the ruins with the little
girl (whom, we believe, he eventually married),
and escaped without injury. Once, to his horror,
on looking down, he found he had set his
foot on the face of a dead man, a Mr. Gilbert, a
fellow-actor, whom he recognised.

Mr. Maurice. had almost escaped, when he
was killed in the street, close to his own house.
He had darted to the extreme line of the falling
fragments, when a torrent of bricks struck him
obliquely on the head, beat him to the pavement
and buried him, all but one foot, which Mr.
Campbell, one of the performers, recognised.
His body was instantly dug out. It was lying
with the head towards the theatre, and was on its
stomach. The watch in the pocket was still
going. The corpse was first identified by the
handkerchief in the coat. While the crowd
was gathering, Mr. Maurice's wife came crying,
"Where is he? Take me to him. Let me see
his dead body!" But some friends, passing by
in a coach, prevailed upon her to leave the spot.
The escapes were all remarkable, and varied
in their character. Mr. Goldsmith, one of the
company, was speaking to Mr. Wyman, another
actor, at the time, when by an indescribable
presentiment he removed to the right-hand stage-box, exactly opposite where Mr. Farren was
sitting. At that instant the lustre trembled, and
the crash followed. His first feeling was to rush
into the street, but nevertheless he stood
paralysed till the ruins fell. He then leaped into the
stage-box, where a large beam, forced down by
the weight of the galleries, formed a defence
against death. He saw the roof sink, with dreadful
noise and confusion, and bury his friends.
While struggling through the ruins, he shouted
for help, and two sailors rushed in and assisted
him to escape. Outside the ruin he met Mr. P.
Farren, Miss Yates, and Mr. Wyman.
Mr. Farren cried out to him:

"Good God, Goldsmith! have you escaped?
We are the only persons who are left to tell the
story. Let us fall on our knees and thank God
for his protection."

Another escape was scarcely less miraculous.
Shaw and his wife were employed in the
counting-house, forty feet above the stage, and
in an instant found themselves below the stage,
with a large plank lying across their bodies.
Releasing himself and wife from this plank, the
man carried his wife up a staircase still standing,
and having gained a window, lowered her
into the street by means of a rope, and then
followed. They were both much bruised, and
were at once carried to the London Hospital.

Mr. Carruthers at the time of the accident was
sitting on a chair on the 0. P. side of the stage.
His legs were crushed by the ruins, but he was
extracted in about an hour and a half, with the
loss of his shoes, stockings, and small-clothes.
One of the actors, hearing the walls crack, and
seeing the chandelier loosen and drop, by an
instinctive effort reached the door, and rushed into
the street about a second before the roof fell in.
A moment afterwards he heard the shrieks and
groans of the wounded and dying. He was
too terrified to give the alarm when he fled, and
was so panic stricken that he ran onward without
thinking of what he was about, till he reached
Covent Garden Theatre, where he had a relative
performing. He remained there for a short time
in a state of great agitation, then returned to
the dismal scene.

Mr. Dillon, an actor, threw himself out of a
window at the first alarm, and as he alighted
was all but overwhelmed by the falling rubbish.
He called loudly for assistance, but the persons
near were afraid to venture, till one or two of
the more daring ran in and rescued him.
Lynch, the pantaloon, seeing the wall crumbling
under the roof, and the latter sinking fast;
took a flying leap through a window into an
adjoining yard; and fell upon his legs and
escaped. Joseph Roberts, a smith, was at the
time, with a man named Purdy, fixing a
hand-rail to a geometric staircase leading to
the dress boxes. They heard a noise, when
Mr. Purdy caught him by the hand, and said,
"Come, Joe, it's all over." They ran to the door,
but could not open it: but Roberts forced it with