intimates that the meeting is respectable.
Mr. Erskine is rather glum; and when his
health is drunk, coupled with " Trial by
Jury," he contents himself with merely
thanking the company, telling them that they
know the reason why he is silent. Whereupon
Mr. Sheridan (indefatigable in the
pursuit of a joke under difficulties) gets up and
proposes, "Our absent friend, the Habeas
Corpus;" at which it needs no very retrospective
effort of second sight to see the bumpers
tossed off, and hear them jingled lustily by
the Whig Club.

The suspension of "our absent friend"
authorises, on the first of June, the arrest by
Townsend, the Bow-street officer, of Mr. Agar,
a barrister, Mr. Curran (the son of the
Curran), Mr. Stewart, and the Hon. V. B.
Lawless (now Lord Cloncurry, and still alive
I think), all under the authority of the Duke
of Portland's warrant on a charge of treasonable
practices. Failing our " absent friend,"
justice, in the shape of Mr. Townsend, lays
hold of Mr. Lawless's French valet and of
his papers. Mr. Lawless was taken in St.
Alban's Place, Pall Mall, — that peaceful,
shady, tranquil little thoroughfare, hard
by the Opera Arcade, the Patmos of half-pay
officers. 'Tis as difficult for me to fancy an
arrest for high treason in St. Alban's Place,
as to picture the rotting skulls of Jacobites
over Temple Bar; yet both have been almost
within the memory of man.

On the seventh of June three persons
named Reeves, Wilkinson, and Adams, are
hanged in front of Newgate. All for forgery.
My Mag, says that this was " the most awful
example of justice ever witnessed." Doubtless;
but the example, however awful, was
not efficacious enough to prevent its repetition
many many more times in 'Ninety-eight. On
the eighth of June there is another awful
example (though my Mag. does not say
so) on Pennenden Heath, one O'Coigley
being hanged for high treason, in carrying
on an improper correspondence with the
French.

The next day dies, in Newgate, Dublin, of his
wounds, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, son of the
Duke of Leinster. On the twenty-first of May
a proclamation offering a thousand pounds
reward for his capture had been issued.
Through the treachery of a servant-girl the
place of his retreat was made known. A
Captain Ryan, Mr. Swan, a magistrate, and the
well-known Major Sirr, went with three
coaches and some soldiers, as privately as
possible to the house of one Murphy, a
feather-dresser, in Thomas-street. There
they found Lord Edward lying on a bed,
without his coat and shoes. He feigned,
at first, to surrender; but a desperate
struggle ensued, he being provided with a
cut-and-thrust dagger. With this he gave
Captain Ryan seven wounds between the
collar and the waistband, and Swan the justice
too. He was at last disabled by a pistol-shot

from Major Sirr; overpowered, conducted to
the castle, and thence to Newgate, where, as
I have said, he died on the ninth of June.
Captain Ryan died of his wounds two days
before his prisoner. Major Sirr lived till
within a short period of the present day. He
was for many years one of the Dublin city
magistrates, and sat in the Carriage Court to
determine disputes and hear complaints
against that eccentric race of beings, the
Dublin car-drivers. He was of course
cordially hated by all the cabbies. One Jehu, a
most inveterate declarer of the thing which
was not, on being remonstrated with by the
usher of the Court for tergiversation (to use
a mild word) retorted " Musha then! Cock
him up with the truth! It's more than I
ever told the likes of him!" Singularly
enough Major Sirrs last moments were spent
among his enemies. He was taken mortally
ill while riding in an inside car, and was
scarcely carried from it before he died: it
was even currently reported that he did
actually die in the vehicle. A short time after
his death a car-driver was summonsed (or, as
the carman calls it, " wrote by the polls") for
stumping a brother whip, i. e. inveigling a
fare away from him. " I wouldn't a minded
his stumping me," said the complainant; " but
didn't he call out, when the lady was getting
into the kyar, that it was mine was the kyar
that the black ould major died in? And one
couldn't stand that yer honour!"

In the month of July my Mag. has great
news from the Convict Settlement at Botany
Bay. Not the least curious among these is the
notification of the appointment of the noto
rious George Barrington the pickpocket to be
a peace-officer or superintendent of convicts —
with a grant of thirty acres of land, and a
warrant of emancipation. Barrington had ren
dered considerable services to the executive
during a mutiny on the passage out, and since
his arrival in the colony had behaved himself
to the entire satisfaction of the authorities. I
believe he died a magistrate, in easy circumstances,
and universally respected.

But the most noteworthy item in this
Antipodean budget, is the account of the
opening of a theatre at Sydney; the manager
(Mr. John Sparrow), the actors and actresses
and the majority of the audience being
convicts. Of the men Green, and of the women
Miss Davis, best deserved to be called actors.
The first performance appropriately
commenced with the " Fair Penitent," and on
another occasion the " Revenge," and the "Hotel,"
were presented. The dresses were chiefly
made by the company themselves; but some
veteran costumes and properties from the
York Theatre were among the best that
made their appearance. The motto of these
histrionic exiles was modest and well chosen,
being " We cannot command, but will
endeavour to deserve success." I suppose
that it was on this occasion that the
celebrated prologue, the production of Mr