had then two young puppies, I thought them the fittest objects for my purpose. I accordingly procured with great difficulty, some grains of the Upas, I dissolved half a grain of that gum in a small quantity of arrack, and dipped a lancet into it. With this poisoned lancet, I made an incision in the lower muscular part of the belly in one of puppies. Three minutes after it received the wound, the animal began to cry most piteously, and ran as fast as possible from one corner of the room to the other. So it continued during six minutes, when, all its strength being exhausted, it fell on the ground, was taken with convulsions, and died in the eleventh minute. I repeated the experiment with two other puppies, with a cat and a fowl, and found the operation of the poison in all of them the same: none of these animals survived thirteen minutes."

SHIPWRECKS AND DISASTERS AT SEA:

LOSS OF THE EARL OF ABERGAVENNY, EAST-INDIAMAN.

On Thursday the seventh of February, 1805, at a quarter past six in the morning, Mr. Stewart, purser of the Earl of Abergavenny, accompanied by Mr. Taylor, a cadet, who had embarked as a passenger in that ship, arrived at the East-India House, with the melancholy intelligence of the loss of the Earl of Abergavenny, and the majority of her crew and passengers off Portland on the 5th instant. Intelligence of this event was immediately communicated to Mr. Ramsay, (the secretary, and the principal officers who resided near the India-House, and by nine o'clock, all the avenues leading to the Secretary's office were completely blocked up, by the anxious enquirers on this unfortunate circumstance.

At eleven o'clock, Cornet Burgoyne, of His Majesty's 8th regiment of Light Dragoons, who had the command of the troops on board the Earl of Abergavenny, arrived at the India-House. This gentleman, though very much fatigued in making his escape from the wreck, and immediately proceeding to town, was yet enabled, with the other officers who had arrived, to detail the following particulars.

On Friday, the 1st of February, the Earl of Abergavenny East-Indiaman, Captain Wordsworth, sailed from Portsmouth, in company with the Royal George, Henry Addington, Wexford, and Bombay Castle, under convoy of His Majesty's ship, Weymouth, Captain Draper. In going through the Needles, they unfortunately separated from the convoy. The fleet, in consequence, lay too nearly the whole of the next day; but seeing nothing of the Weymouth, proceeded under moderate sail towards the next port, in hopes of being joined by the convoy. On the 5th, the convoy not appearing, it was deemed expedient to wait her arrival in Portland Roads, particularly as the wind had became rather unfavourable, having shifted several points from the N. E.-Captain Clark of the Wexford, being the senior commander, and consequently Commodore, made the signal for those ships who had taken pilots on board to run into the Roads.

At about half past three p. m. the Earl of Abergavenny, having got a pilot on board, bore up for Portland Roads with a steady wind, when on a sudden the wind slackened, and the tide setting in fast, drove her rapidly towards the Shambles. The nearer she approached, the less she was under management; and being at last totally unmanageable, was driven furiously on

the rocks off the Bill of Portland, about two miles from the shore. She remained on the rocks nearly an hour, beating incessantly with great violence, the shocks being so great, that the officers and men could scarcely keep their footing on the deck. At four p. m. the shocks became less violent, and in about a quarter of an hour she cleared the rocks. The sails immediately set, with an intention to run for the first port, as the ship made much water; but the leak increased so fast, that the ship would not obey the helm. In this situation, it was considered necessary to fire the signal guns of distress. Twenty were fired; the danger did not, however, appear to those on board sufficient to render it necessary for the ship's boats to be hoisted out at this moment, as the weather was moderate, and the ship in sight of the fleet and shore.

All endeavours to

At 5 p. m. the leaks increased fast upon the pumps. keep the water under were found in vain, and night setting in rendered the situation of all on board melancholy in the extreme: the more so, as it was then ascertained that the ship had received considerable damage in her bottom, immediately under the pumps. All hands took their turn at the pumps, alternately baling at the fore hatchway. At eight o'clock their situation became still more dreadful, when it was found impossible to save the ship, which was eventually sinking fast and settling in the water. Signal guns were again incessantly discharged. The purser with the third officer, Mr. Wordsworth, and six seamen, were sent on shore, in one of the ship's boats, to give notice to the inhabitants of the distressed state of the ship and crew. At this time a pilot boat came off, and Mr. Evans, with his daughter, Miss Evans, Mr. Routledge, Mr. Taylor, a cadet, and Miss Jackson, passengers, embarked for the shore, notwithstanding a dreadful sea, which threatened them almost instant loss.

The general attention was diverted for a few moments in observing the boats leave the ship; but the unfortunate crew were soon reminded of their fate, by a heavy swell, which baffled almost every attempt to keep the ship above water. Every one seemed assured of his fate, and notwithstanding the unremitting attention of the officers, confusion commenced on board, as soon as it was given out that the ship was sinking. At 10 p. m. several sailors entreated to be allowed more liquor, which being refused, they attacked the spirit-room, but were repulsed by the officers, who never once lost sight of their character, or that dignity so necessary to be preserved on such an occasion, but continued to conduct themselves with the utmost fortitude to the last. of the officers, who was stationed at the door of the spirit-room, with a brace of pistols, to guard against surprise in so critical a moment, at which post he remained even while the ship was sinking, was much importuned by a sailor, while the water poured in on all sides. The man said he was convinced that "it would be all one with them an hour hence." The officer, however, true to his trust at this perilous moment, had courage enough to repulse the man, and bid him go do his duty with his fellow comrades, observing, that if it was God's will they should perish, "they should die like men."

One

At half past ten the water had got above the orlop deck, in spite of the endeavours of the officers and crew, who behaved in the most cool and exemplary manner. All on board were now anxiously looking out for boats from the shore, many wishing they had taken refuge in those that had already left the ship, as their destruction on board seemed inevitable. The utmost exertions became necessary to keep the ship above water till the boats come off from the shore. Unfortunately, in the general distress and agony of the

moment, the ship's boats were not hoisted out, when every soul on board might possibly have been saved. At eleven o'clock, a fatal swell gave the ship a sudden shock: she gave a surge, and sunk almost instantaneously, in twelve fathom water, two miles from Weymouth Beach. Many clung to loose spars, and floated about the wreck, but the majority took refuge in the shrouds. The severe shock of the ship going down, made several let go their hold, whilst others, by the velocity of the ship's descent, had not the power to climb sufficiently fast to keep above water. The Hallswell East-Indiaman was wrecked within a few miles from the spot, in the year 1786.

When the hull of the ship touched the ground, about one hundred and eighty persons were supposed to be in the tops and rigging: their situation was beyond all description wretched; the yards only were above water, and the sea was breaking over them, in the dead of a cold and frosty night. In about half an hour their spirits revived, by the sound of several boats beating against the waves at a short distance; but, alas! how vain their hopes, when on hailing the boats, not one of them came to their assistance. The sound of the boats died away, and they were again left to the mercy of the rude waves," where fate on every billow seemed to ride." By twelve o'clock their numbers had much decreased: the swell had swept some off, whilst others were, from the piercing cold, unable longer to retain their hold. Every moment they perceived some friend floating around them, for a while, then sinking into the abyss to rise no more.

About this time a sloop was discovered; she had heard the signal guns, and came to an anchor close to the ship. The weather was moderate, and those who had survived were now promised a speedy delivery. The sloop's boat was immediately manned, and proceeded to the rigging that was above water, when every person was taken off. The boat returned three times, taking twenty each turn. Nothing could be more correct than the conduct of the crew on this occasion: they coolly got into the boat, one by one, and those only as they were named by the officers.

When it was supposed that every one was brought off, and the boat was about to depart for the last time, a person was observed on one of the tops; he was hailed, but did not answer. Mr. Gilpin, the fourth officer, whose extraordinary exertions on this occasion, as well as throughout the whole of this unfortunate affair, entitled him to the highest commendation, returned to the wreck, and there found a man in an inanimate state, exhausted from the severe cold. Mr. Gilpin brought him down on his back, and took him to the boat-the man proved to be Serjeant Heart of the 22nd regiment. Every possible care was taken of him, but to no effect: he died about twelve hours after he was landed. The sloop having now, as was supposed, taken on board all the survivors, returned to Weymouth. She had not, however, proceeded far, before it was perceived that Mr. Baggot, the chief officer, was close astern. The sloop immediately lay too for him; but this noble-spirited young man, although certain of securing his life, disregarded his safety, on perceiving Mrs. Blair, an unfortunate fellow-passenger, floating at some distance from him. He succeeded in coming up with her, and sustained her above water, while he swam towards the sloop; but just as he was on the point of reaching it, a swell came on, and his strength being totally exhausted, he sunk and never rose again. The unfortunate Mrs. Blair sunk after him, and this generous youth thus perished in vain. It was nearly two o'clock, before she weighed anchor from the wreck, but the wind being favourable she soon

reached the port. On mustering those who had landed, it appeared that only 139 persons had reached the shore out of 402 who had embarked.

At day-light, the 6th instant, topmasts of the ship were seen from Weymouth. During the time the passengers and crew remained on the tops she appeared to have sunk eight feet; and was considerably lower in the morning; it was therefore conjectured, that she had sunk on a mud-bank. The Greyhound Cutter was immediately stationed to guard the wreck, and the boats from the Rover succeeded in stripping the masts of the rigging. On the 7th instant, her decks had not been blown up, and she appeared to remain in the same state in which she had sunk. Her sinking so steadily is attributed to the great weight of her cargo, her floorings consisting chiefly of earthen-ware. The cargo of the ship was estimated at £200,000, besides which she had on board dollars to the amount of 275,000 ounces, and was supposed to be one of the richest ships that ever sailed for India. She was one of the largest tonnage, and inferior only to the Ganges in the service, being at least 1500 tons burthen, and built for the China trade.

Captain Wordsworth, who was nephew to the Captain Wordsworth who formerly commanded the Earl of Abergavenny, was considered one of the first navigators in the service. He was on his third voyage as captain, and painful to relate, perished with his ship, disdaining to survive the loss of so valuable a charge. His conduct throughout the distressing scene was spoken of by the survivors in terms of the highest praise.

Captain Wordsworth was a man of remarkably mild manners: his conduct was, in every instance, so well tempered, that he was known among his shipmates by the title of " the Philosopher." As soon as the ship was going down, Mr. Baggot, the chief officer, went on the quarter-deck, and told the Captain," that all exertions were now in vain; the ship was rapidly sinking." Captain Wordsworth, who no doubt expected it, stedfastly looked him in the face, and, at last, with every appearance of a heart-broken man, faintly answered, "Let her go! God's will be done."-These were the last words he uttered-from that instant he was motionless.-In a few moments the ship sunk, and many who were climbing the shrouds endeavoured to save him, but without success. In this endeavour Mr. Gilpin was foremost, at the evident risk of his own life.-Captain Wordsworth sunk with his ship, and

was seen no more!

WONDERFUL ESCAPE.

The mine called Godbeheres Founder has been rendered memorable from an occurrence that took place there about five and twenty years ago.-Two men, named Boden and Pearson, were working in the mine at different depths, when the earth and water rushed in upon them, and in one moment buried them alive in the deep recess below. The third day after the accident had happened, Pearson was found dead among the rubbish, and the men employed in clearing away the earth that had choaked up the entrance into the mine, had so little hopes of finding Boden alive, that they were scarcely disposed to persevere in their exertions. They were, however, prevailed upon to proceed, until on the eighth day of their labours they distinctly heard Boden's signal, and ascertained he was living. They now worked with greater energy, but more care, for a few hours longer, when they found the object of their search, weak and almost exhausted, but still in existence,

and fully sensible of the miraculous effects of his premature entombment. The recovery of his health was slow but effectual, and he returned to his usual employment in about fourteen_weeks, and lived many years afterwards. When this accident took place, Boden was in the lower part of the mine; Pearson was at a windlass in the drift above when the earth rushed suddenly upon him, and he was found dead amongst the mass. Boden's situation was equally perilous, but the earth was stopped in its fall by a projection which considerably narrowed the shaft where he was. Thus circumstanced, with no prospect before him but death, this poor man passed eight days in this narrow cell, without light or food, or wherewithal to quench his thirst, which he felt more severely than any other deprivation. Hunger he bore with fortitude; thirst was intolerable, and during the whole of his confinement he was sufficiently sensible to feel all the horrors of his situation. He likewise suffered greatly from cold, but having a few yards to move in he found a windlass, and exercised himself in turning it, but by some mishap the handle fell into the deep vacuity beneath, and he could not recover it again. Deprived of this means of employment he still found something to do. In the shaft where he was imprisoned, a rope was suspended over his head; he clambered up it and working at the earth above him, he loosened a portion of it from its lodgements, which fell in the chasm at its feet. While thus engaged he imagined he heard the noise of men labouring for his release; he listened, and was almost breathless with anxiety. The sound, for a time, instead of invigorating, only paralyzed his exertions, but while in this situation he yet contrived to make the signal that he was alive, distinctly heard and understood. Shortly afterwards, he once more saw the light of heaven, and human faces gazing upon him, as if they had actually beheld a dead man rising from the grave, and not a living body. He was, indeed, little better than the apparition of a man; eight days of mental and bodily suffering had reduced him to a зkeleton, and the pallid hue and altered expression of his countenance, had nearly obliterated his personal indentity. In this state he was restored to his family, who felt as if a being from the grave had burst" its cearments, and the dead had returned to life."

THE FALSE ALARM.

During the late siege of Gibraltar, in the absence of the fleet, and when an attack was daily expected, one dark night, a sentry, whose post was near the Devil's Tower, and facing the Spanish lines, was standing at the end of the walk, whistling, looking towards them, his head filled with nothing but fire and sword, miners, breaches, storming, and bloodshed! By the side of his box stood a deep narrow-necked earthen jug, in which were the remains of his supper, consisting of boiled peas: a large monkey, (of which there are plenty at the top of the rock) encouraged by the man's silence, and allured by the smell of the peas, ventured to the jug, and in endeavouring to get at its contents, thrust his head so far into the neck as to be unable to withdraw it: at this instant the soldier turned round, and came whistling towards his box, the monkey, unable to get clear of it, started up to run off with the jug sticking on his head; this terrible apparition no sooner saluted the eyes of the sentry, than his frantic imagination converted poor pug into a fine, bloodthirsty, Spanish grenadier with a most tremendous high cap on his head; full of this dreadful idea, he instantly fired his piece, roaring out that the enemy had scaled the walls. The guard took the alarm, the drums were beat,