men, he at length bethought himself of writing with a piece of charcoal on a biscuit, which was allowed him for his subsistence, to a captain of an English man of war then lying in the harbour; who, though with much difficulty, and after being sent to prison himself, at length effected the captain's release. Here he continued for some time, till his wife and daughter, a beautiful girl about eleven years old, came to him from home; and from the Canaries they all joyfully embarked for England on board the Sandwich, Captain Cockeran, commander. Glas now supposed that all his dangers were over; for the ship had come within sight of his native country, when a part of the crew mutinied, and secretly resolved to murder all the rest. The names of the conspirators were George Gidley, cook, a native of the west of England, Peter Mackinley, the boatswain, a native of Ireland, Andrew Zekerman, a Dutchman, and Richard St. Quintin, an Englishman. These villains entered into a conspiracy to murder the captain and all the other persons, and to possess themselves of the treasure on board the ship, which amounted to above a hundred thousand pounds. This design on their passage they attempted three different nights to accomplish; but were prevented more by Captain Glas, than Captain Cockeran's vigilance. At length, on Saturday, November 30, 1765, at eleven o'clock at night, the four assassins being stationed on the night watch, and Captain Cockeran being come on the quarter-deck to see every thing properly settled, upon returning to his cabin, Peter Mackinley the boatswain seized him and held him fast till Gidley knocked him down with an iron bar; and repeating the blows till he was dead, they then threw him overboard. The captain's groans having alarmed two other seamen who were not in the conspiracy, they coming upon deck were despatched in the same manner. As this horrid scene was not performed without noise, it awakened Captain Glas, who was at that time in bed upon his coming upon deck, he there perceived what they were about, and flying back with the utmost precipitation to get his sword, as he was unarmed, Mackinley imagining the cause of his going back, went down to the steps leading to the cabin, and there stood in the dark at the foot of them, expecting Glas's return. He succeeded but too well in his design; for the Captain going up, Mackinley behind his back seized him in his arms, and strove to hold him fast. Glas, who had great strength, had in some measure disengaged one of his hands, when the other three ruffians came up to attack him. Mackinley still kept calling out to his associates; but Zekerman rushing on before the rest, received the captain's sword in his arm, where the weapon was entangled, and at length wrested it out of the captain's gripe. When they got the sword, they gave him several stabs, while his groans and resistance were all this time distinctly heard by his unfortunate wife and daughter. It is a circumstance that renders this relation still more pathetic, that the poor child had but that very day finished a sampler which she was working, in which she records her name and her age The two poor trembling creatures had by this time come upon deck, wading through the blood of the husband and the father. Upon coming in sight of the murderers, they threw themselves down, and implored for mercy; but this they were not disposed to grant, and Zekerman bid them prepare for death. The ladies now seeing that no entreaties could avail, clasped each other with a last embrace, resolving to die in each other's arms, while Mackinley and Zekerman taking them both together, flung them into the sea, where they soon sunk together to the bottom.

AWFUL JUDGMENT.

The following circumstantial and authentic account of the memorable case of Richard Parsons was transmitted in a letter from William Dallaway, Esq. High Sheriff of Gloucestershire, to his friend in London.

On the 20th of February, 1766, Richard Parsons and three more met at a private house in Chalford, in order to play at cards, about six o'clock in the evening. They played at loo till about eleven or twelve that night, when they changed their game for whist: after a few deals, a dispute arose about the state of the game. Parsons asserted with oaths, that they were six, which the others denied: upon which he wished, that he might never enter into the kingdom of heaven, and that his flesh might rot upon his bones, if they were not six in the game.' These wishes were several times repeated, both then and afterwards. Upon this the candle was put out by one James Young, a stander by, who says, he was shocked with the oaths and expressions he heard, and that he put out the candle with a design to end the game.

Presently, upon this, they adjourned to another house, and there began a fresh game, when Parsons and his partner had great success. Then they played at loo again till four in the morning. During this second playing, Parsons complained to his partner, one Rolles, of a bad pain in his leg, which from that time increased. There was an appearance of a swelling, and afterwards the colour changing to that of a mortified state. On the following Sunday he rode to Minchin-Hampton, to get the advice of Mr. Pegler, the surgeon in that town, who attended him from the Thursday after February 27. Notwithstanding all the applications that were made, the mortification increased, and shewed itself in different parts of his body. On Monday, March 3. at the request of some of his female relations, the clergyman of Bisley attended him, and administered the sacrament, without any knowledge of what had happened before, and which he continued a stranger to till he saw the account in the Gloucester Journal. Parsons appeared to be extremely ignorant of religion, having been accustomed to swear, to drink, (though he was not in liquor when he uttered the above execrable wish) to game, and to profane the Sabbath, though he was only in his 19th year. After he had received the sacrament, he appeared to have some sense of the ordinance; for he said, Now I must never sin again; he hoped that God would forgive him, having been wicked not above six years, and that whatever should happen, he would not play at cards again.'

After this he was in great agony, chiefly delirious, spoke of his companions by name, and seemed as if his imagination was engaged at cards. He started, had distracted looks and gestures, and, in a dreadful fit of trembling and shaking, died on Tuesday morning, the 4th of March; and was buried the next day at the parish church of Bisley. His eyes were open when he died, and could not be closed by the common methods; so that they remained open when he was put into the coffin: from this circumstance arose a report, that he wished his eyes might never close; but this was a mistake; for, from the most creditable witnesses, I am fully convinced no such wish was uttered; and the fact is, that he did close his eyes after he was taken with the mortification, and either dosed or slept several times.

When the body came to be laid out, it appeared all over discoloured or spotted; and it might, in the most literal sense, be said, that his flesh rotted on his bones before he died.

Mr. Dallaway, having desired Mr. Pegler, the surgeon, to send his thoughts of Parsons' case, received from him the following account.

"Sir-You desire me to acquaint you, in writing, with what I know relating to the melancholy case of the late Richard Parsons; a request I readily complied with, hoping that this sad catastrophe will serve to admonish all those who profane the sacred name of God.

"February 27th last, I visited Richard Parsons, whom I found had an inflamed leg, stretching from the foot almost to the knee, tending to a gangrene. The tenseness and redness of the skin was almost gone off, and become of a duskish and livid colour, and felt very lax and flabby. Symptoms being so dangerous, some incisions were made down to the quick, some spirituous fomentations made use of and the whole limb dressed up with such applications as are most approved in such desperate circumstances, joined with proper internal medicines. The next day he seemed much the same; but on March 1, he was worse, the incisions discharging a sharp fœtid ichor (which is generally of the worst consequence.) On the next day, which was Sunday, the symptoms seemed to be a little more favourable; but to my great surprise, the very next day, I found his leg not only mortified up to the knee, but the same began anew in four different parts, viz. under each eye, on the top of his shoulder, and on one hand; and in about twelve hours after he died. I shall not presume to say there was any thing supernatural in the case; but, however, it must be confessed, that such cases are rather uncommon in subjects so young, and of so good a habit as he had always been, previous to this illness."

TRAGICAL DEATHS OF LUDOVISIO CARANTANI AND HIS
TWO DAUGHTERS.

In the year 1573, there lived at Milan one Ludovisio Carantani, a native of Varesa, a city of the Milanese. He had two daughters by a wife who had brought him a considerable fortune; but that parental affection which ought to have been divided between them, was confined to the eldest, whose name was Victoria, though she was not near so amiable as Olympia, her younger sister. This capricious preference was evident even in their infancy. Victoria enjoyed all the caresses of her father, nor could her sister obtain the smallest token of his tenderness nor affection. Her mother's love, indeed, made her some amends for this indifference; but death having deprived her of this consolation, she was exposed to numberless contradictions, and suffered continual ill-treatment. Victoria's beauty, and the fortune which she might expect from the wealth and partiality of her father, soon drew about her a great number of suitors; and Carantani, that he might marry his favourite with the greater advantages, was determined to sacrifice to her interest the happiness of Olympia, whom he, accordingly, put into a convent, and caused a report to be spread that she had resolved upon a religious life. This report gaining credit, increased the number of Victoria's lovers, among whom were gentlemen of the best families in the country.

The father already congratulated himself upon the success of his scheme. As he had always treated the amiable Olympia with severity, he was persuaded that she would be soothed by the tranquillity of a convent, and think herself happy to have escaped the rudeness and neglect which she suffered at home. Nor was he altogether mistaken for at the solicitation of several of her friends, who were devotees, and had been gained over by her father, she consented to take the habit of a novice, or probationer, in the monastery of San Martino. But there is a time when nature speaks a language very different from that of

monastic decision. Olympia, though young, lively, and of a complexion naturally amorous, was on the point of becoming a victim to her father's ambition, and her own inexperience; on the very day, however, of the ceremony, she saw amongst the company assembled, as usual on those occasions, an amiable cavalier, who had made a deep impression on her heart. Immediately the thoughts of a convent became intolerable; and she reflected with horror upon the sacrifice which she was just about to make, of all those advantages which the world gave a promise of affording her.

The nuns, and her devout relations, who soon perceived the change, endeavoured, in vain, to bring her back to her first resolution. All the answer they received from her was, that her circumstances being equal to those of her sister, she did not feel inclined to sacrifice herself to her ambition, or to the partiality of her father; that her design was to marry, and that she entreated them to promote her union with a young cavalier of very good family, by whom she knew she was beloved.

It is easy to imagine the astonishment of Carantani, when he became acquainted with a resolution which quite frustrated the scheme he had formed for raising the fortune of his dear Victoria. He earnestly entreated the nuns and his kinswomen to redouble their endeavours to make Olympia alter her determination. But those endeavours only inflamed her passion, and increased her disgust for a monastic life; nor did she conceal her sentiments even from her father, who came frequently to see her, in order to discover the effect of the remonstrances of his friends; to these he added his own; but perceiving that this expedient did not succeed, he had recourse to menaces, and assured her that if she did not resolve upon a religious life, he would take her home again, where she might expect to be made the most wretched of women.

Olympia, who knew her father's unkindness by a long and cruel experience, did not doubt but he would keep his word. Yet she endeavoured to mollify him by the most tender and pathetic expostulations; but neither arguments, entreaties, nor tears, made the least impression on his heart.

As Victoria's match was, by this change in Olympia's resolution, in danger of being broken off, her lover growing cold and indifferent, in proportion as her fortune became precarious, Čarantani was so much enraged, that the next time he visited Olympia, he told her, in a transport of fury, that if she did not take the veil as soon as her noviciate expired, he would put her to death with his own hand.—" If I die," said his amiable daughter, calmly," it shall not be by your hand. I have often represented to you my aversion to a monastic life, yet you command me to sacrifice myself to the fortune of my sister, and to that excessive fondness which you have always shewn for her; and if it be impossible for me to prevail on you to retract this command, you shall be obeyed, since my obedience will spare you the crime which you threaten to commit against me; but you and my sister will have perpetual cause to regret the cruel sacrifice which you oblige me to make." Then adding, that he might, whenever he thought proper, order the necessary preparations for theceremony, she curtseyed and withdrew.

Carantani, who, probably, did not know to what lengths despair might carry a young maid, when love has once seized on her heart, pleased himself with the thoughts of having worked a change in her resolution. He went, therefore, with an air of triumph, to carry the news to Victoria and her lover, who exulted exceedingly at it, and deemed themselves arrived at the summit of felicity.

As the time appointed for Olympia to take the veil was now near, Signor

Carantani made all the usual preparations, and, as if the unhappy victim knew not to whom she was to be sacrificed, he took measures for solemnizing the marriage of his eldest daughter at the same time.

On the day preceding that which was fixed for this double ceremony, Olympia thought it her duty to make a last effort to soften her father, and, if possible, divert him from so barbarous a sacrifice. For this purpose she again reasoned, expostulated, and entreated; but Carantani, equally deaf to the voice of reason, nature, and religion, adhered inflexibly to his purpose, and confirmed his threatenings by the most horrible oaths. “Ah! my dear father," said the amiable Olympia, with a look of unutterable tenderness and grief, "consider well what you are about; consider that to me your answer is either life or death; and be assured, that if you sacrifice me to my sister's fortune, you will repent when it is too late: the phantoms that now mislead you will vanish at once; you will perceive, with horror, the effects of your delusion, and feel the pangs of remorse when they are aggravated by despair; but farther conversation will only ratify my fate, by increasing your resentment; permit me, therefore, to withdraw, and do not give your final answer till toBut remember, that if I perish, you will be wretched; and that in refusing mercy to your daughter, you give sentence against yourself." With these words she quitted the parlour.

Carantani, whose eyes the last sentence might have opened, disregarded it as one of those wild menaces which are usually the last resource of a passion increased by restraint, and exasperated by despair. The preparations for Victoria's marriage engrossed his attention, and he thought of nothing but how to render it splendid and magnificent. The relations who were invited to this double ceremony were already assembled in the church of the convent, and Olympia was dressed in her richest apparel, and most splendid ornaments, which at these times are put on only to be renounced for ever with the greater solemnity. The dreadful moment arrived in which this blooming victim was to be conducted to the altar; then, knowing that she had nothing farther to hope, yet concealing her despair, she asked leave of the nuns who were about her, to go up into her cell, under pretence of recollecting herself for a few minutes, and meditating in private upon the important affair which she was about to transact. This was readily granted, and Olympia went up, not into her cell, but into a room which was over it, and after having deplored her misfortunes, and prayed to God for pardon, she fastened to one of the beams a cord which she had taken from one of the nuns, who used it as a girdle, put it about her neck, threw herself from a little bench on which she stood, and in a few minutes expired.

In the mean time the company, who had been almost an hour assembled in the church, waited with impatience for the beginning of the ceremony. The abbess was acquainted with it, who was equally surprised at the delay, and asking the nuns the reason of it, was informed of Olympia's request: they waited almost an hour longer, but still Olympia did not appear. They then went to seek her in her cell; but there she was not to be found: other parts of the convent were searched, but without success. At length, after much time spent in fruitless inquiry, the unfortunate Olympia was found hanging by the fatal cord with which she had put an end to her life.

Seized with horror at the ghastly sight, the nun who discovered her ran precipitately down stairs, and rushing into the choir where the sisterhood was assembled, filled them with terror and astonishment by her outcries and lamentations. The alarm soon spread itself from the choir to the church, where