clerk, but with a similar result: another prisoner, by the same ship, and a second transported conrict, was appointed to perform the duties, which, compared with the loathsome drudgery allotted to me, was an agreeable pastime. For sixteen months I was kept to this disgusting labour, interrupted only by the frequent and severe illnesses which it produced. I was then sent to the fields, placed in one of the heaviest gangs (with a second transported felon for my overseer, notorious for his severity), and compelled to perform a quantum of work equal to men having three times my physical strength, and who had been accustomed to manual labour all their lives. And how (I think I hear you ask) has JOSHUA FLETCHER been dealt with? You shall hear. It has been the pleasure of "the powers that be" to treat him with the utmost indulgence. With the exception of a few days when he was placed in a light gang, for some insolence to his superintendent, he has neither performed, nor been required to perform, any manual labour whatever, although for the last twelve months at least he has been in robast health. He, the proved and confessed author of the whole plot in which I was so unwittingly involved, has been "Medical Dispensor-with an Fletcher was a retired surgeon, a man of property and fair repute, and had been a client of Barber's nearly five years, when the celebrated Slack forgery was perpetrated. Barber naturally enough took the word of such a man for granted, believed in his honesty, and acted in accordance with his instructions. Fletcher produced a will purporting to have been made by a Miss Anne Slack, a bona fide copy of the registration of the lady's death at Pimlico, and a Mrs. Sanders, whom he represented to be Miss Emma Slack, the testatrix entitled to the money bequeathed. Barber took the forged will to his proctor, and obtained probate; for this offence, which he so guilelessly pe petrated, he was tried and convicted. The great injustice to which Mr. Barber was subjected was the denial of a separate trial; had this right been granted to him he would have beer. able to prove his innocence beyond dispute, by calling as witnesses those who were accused as his accomplices; but the discovery of truth and the dispensing of justice were beneath the views of his prosecutors: animated apparently by personal spite and revenge, they included him in the same indict-apartment appropriated to his private use, superior ment with those who were really guilty. He rations, superior bedding, and enjoying the privi was thus cruelly refused the only means of esta-heavy work, or no work at all, at his discretion or lege of sending his fellow-prisoners to light work, blishing satisfactorily a decisive proof of the bona fide character of his conduct, and doomed to the certainty of conviction and to the still greater agony of having at hand the means of his exculpation, the use of which the spite, tyranny, and Mephistophilean subtlety of his enemies so successfully deprived him. This man, so unjustly tried and so unjustly sentenced, was dragged away to a convict-ship, his memorials unread, his expostulations slighted, and even the confessions of his fellow-convicts dis-victed of murder, and nearly all of crimes of the two hundred convicts, many of whom had been conregarded. He was transported to that most dreadful of penal settlements, Norfolk Island, where he was treated with the utmost severity; the most hardened and depraved of criminals were allowed indulgences which were denied to him. The following particulars will be read with melancholy interest : caprice! Contrast this with my situation: herded with hundreds of my fellow-prisoners-sleeping in a kind of barn, crowded with two hundred inmates, with a single blanket to cover me, sometimes fairly washed out of my hammock by a torrent of rain through the sieve-like roof-pacing the floor in the dark at the peril of life and limb, my duty being to watch and preserve order in the ward by night, and to clean it by day. The perilous character of the watching and peace-preserving department amont deepest dye, you may in some measure conceive. The cleansing of a dozen stables would have been a wholesome and agreeable recreation compared with the daily purification of this huge dormitory. In vain will your imagination try to realize my wretched plight. To render my misery complete, a special order was issued to confine me to the "camp"-a small area in which the barracks are situated; whilst other prisoners were permitted to go from station to station, interchanging visits with relatives or shipmates who might happen to be on the island. Norfolk Island, 26th May, 1846. From the first moment of my landing here, everything that was calculated to destroy my mind and body, to drive me to some desperate act, or to break my heart, has been inflicted upon me. The most In my letter from the Cape, you may remember insulting and exasperating language was addressed my naming one high-minded and excellent fellowto me. I was put to the most laborious, degrading, prisoner, with whom I had formed some intimacy. and unwholesome employment that could be found It was no sooner discovered that he occasionally on the island; nor could the most obedient sub-communicated with me in the camp, than he was mission to every order, the most exact observance of every regulation, the most constant endeavours to render myself useful, nor repeated sickness, obtain for me the least consideration from those in whose power my extraordinary fate has placed me. strictly forbidden to hold any intercourse whatever with me. Thus, without even a shadow of imputation against either of us, I was denied the one drop of sweetness which I had enjoyed from the conversation of a well-educated, enlightened, and sympathizing friend-a privilege not withheld from the worst-conducted villains on the island. In September last (1845), one of the chaplains (the Rev. T. Rogers), struck with my emaciated appearance, conceived the idea of engaging me as his domestic servant. This humane application was refused, on the pretext that I was ineligible, not having served "two-thirds of my detention on the island," A few days after, this gentleman applied for a prisoner by the same ship as myself, named Ball (a second convicted man). This application was at once complied with! About a month after the application of the Rev. Mr. Rogers for me, I was taken to the hospital with a dangerous attack of dysentery, mainly superinduced, as Dr. Graham considered, by the nature of my employment. Upon my being discharged, the doctor recommended my removal to Cascade, the opposite extremity of the island, as a locality better suited to my constitution, and that I should be employed in some lighter and healthier occupation. This recommendatiom was doggedly resisted, although another prisoner, named Clarke, had been removed to the same station, with the like object, shortly before, without the slightest objection being raised. I was ordered back to Longridge; and when Dr. Graham next visited the station, and found that I was returned to my old duties, and was in consequence suffering a relapse, he entered in the visiting book a most indignant protest, and ordered me back to hospital. nothing to ground any complaint of misconduct against me, and when I supplicated for their restoration, a deaf ear was turned to my entreaty, and I was told to be "quiet," and "hold my tongue." Everything was done to prevent the possibility of my writing. For some months I was in the habit of acting as teacher of a class in the convict night-school (after the performance of a day's manual labour in the field), and while here a rigid surveillance was established to prevent my using pen or paper in any shape whatever; although every other prisoner on the island might write, whenever he had leisure, without the slightest restraint. have been able to endure these sufferings we How long this ruined and outraged man would know not. A hospital was sheltering his wretched and emaciated form, when that enlightened and philanthropic minister, the Rev. T. B. Naylor, Chaplain of Norfolk Island, made minute inquiries into the particulars of Mr. Barber's case, and satisfied himself that the obStill my oppressors were obdurate. It was not until ject of his solicitude was entirely innocent of the the chaplain, Mr. Rogers (Mr. R. succeeded Mr. Nay-crime for which he had been convicted. He took lor), visited my bedside, and was constrained to wait upon the commandant, and express his opinion that if something were not speedily done to promote my recovery the grave would soon close over my sorrows, that he yielded to the recommendation and the re monstrances of the medical officer. How I have borne all this, and how little I have deserved it, you will see by the accompanying certificates of the Rev. Mr. Naylor, the chaplain of the island, and other gentlemen (all government officers), who have been eye-witnesses of my conduct and sufferings. Well may Mr. Naylor-who, as a clergyman and a magistrate, has had ten years' experience of convicts in these colonies, and four on this island-say, he "had never known a prisoner of the Crown exposed to greater wretchedness." For nineteen months my occupation continued of the noisome, laborious, and unhealthy character I have described, my daily food being salt meat and Indian-corn bread; the former so execrable that the dogs would not eat it, and, compared with the latter, the coarsest wheaten bread I ever saw were a choice delicacy. Vegetables for months I had none; and the water (for there was nothing else to drink) drawn from a muddy well, and afterwards permitted to become tepid by exposure to the sun, was very bad. up his cause with the zeal and earnestness which are always the product of a noble character and a worthy aim. Finding that no attention was paid to written communications, Mr. Naylor sent his devoted and heroic wife to England, to lay the necessary documents before our present Government, who, after taking all the circumstances into consideration, cancelled a sentence which was undeserved, and granted Mr. Barber a free pardon. In reviewing the career and sufferings of a man in every respect so worthy of our esteem and sympathy, we cannot but lament that his prosecutors, apparently with the purpose of proving themselves consistent in their proceedings, and incapable of displaying that greatness of soul which rejoices in confessing and making atonement for an error, are still pursuing their victim with their opposition and suspicions, and trying to exclude him from the position and advantages of which his conviction deprived him, and to which his pardon and his innocence ought to restore him, His certificate is withheld, and the Law Institution have appointed a committee to make a further investigation into the whole of his professional In September last, 1845, Mr. Naylor wrote a very important letter to Sir Robert Peel, urging the right honourable baronet's attention to my case, and com-life. Many of his books and papers having municating the result of his own personal inquiries. Being desirous of proceeding in strict conformity with the regulations (notwithstanding the treatment of my former letters in the previous March), I transmitted this valuable letter through the official channel; but it got no further than Hobart Town, where it has been detained by the authorities to this hour.* been lost or destroyed, some circumstances may probably be brought forward, which in the absence of the requisite documents, may deprive his explanations of a conclusive demonstration of their truth. The tribunal before which he is now pleading his cause-however honourable its members may be individually-will, we fear, in their corporate capacity be too ready to lend Upon its becoming known that I was occupying an attentive ear to every accusation against him, my very brief intervals of leisure in preparing a further statement of the facts of my case, the few re- and to treat with sardonic suspicion every exmaining papers I had were suddenly seized, in-planation which he may offer. The Law Insticluding various original statements and certificates, of vital importance to my vindication. After sufficient time had been given for a searching examination of them, and when it was admitted there was I found it there after the receipt of my conditional pardon in April, 1847, nineteen months after it was sent.-See Copy of it, APPENDIX, p. 71. tution have already requested further time to consider his case, although the whole of it has been some time before them, thus depriving him of his certificate and the means of support until next Michaelmas term. Our pages cannot be supposed to reach those who have been more or less instrumental in denying to Mr. Barber the rights and justice to which he was entitled; Thus in his cheerful and his contemplative moments reasoned JOHN MILTON, the bard of Hell and Paradise, who in early youth dedicated his first sonnet to the memory of Shakspere; whose masque of "Comus" stands unrivalled in our literature for airy grace, melodious numbers, and chaste and hallowed beauty; whose matured intellect approved on principle, a well-regulated theatre; whose "Sampson" emulated the noblest dramas of antiquity, and whose gallant spirit in the decline of life, when "fallen on evil days and evil tongues; in darkness, and with dangers compassed round," unquenched by blindness, poverty, and slander, recalled and revelled in its glowing recollections"Of what the ancient grave tragedians taught, In chorus or iambic, teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight received In brief, sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate, and chance, and change in human life, High actions and high passions best describing." Supported by such authority, none need surely be too fastidious to examine carefully before they judge, to behold and listen ere they cynically condemn. The friends of social and intellectual advancement should remember that the question is not, shall we or shall we not have playhouses? but simply whether pure morality and poetic excellence shall be encouraged, or managers and authors forced by the desertion of their proper patrons to pander to the ignorance and degraded passions of the vulgar "The drama's laws the drama's patrons give." As all are interested in the maintenance of a high tone of public feeling, all should, we think, be ready to support, and that even at some slight expense or inconvenience, an orderly and wellconducted playhouse. It is to the good sense "Sometime let gorgeous tragedy and candour of an enlightened public that we would appeal. With those individuals “who entertain a holy horror of the very name of a theatre, and who imagine that impiety and blasphemy are inseparable from the drama," we have no common ground of argument; we tolerate, nay, we strive hard even to respect their scruples; but with them, while we would sedulously abstain from all unkind or irritating language, we cannot condescend to reason; yet would these well-meaning enthusiasts for one little moment deign to listen, we might address them in the gentle and conciliatory language of the great author we have already cited: "The Supreme Being, who claimed the seventh day as his own, allotted the other six days of the week for purposes merely human. When the necessity of daily labour is removed, and the call of social duty fulfilled, that of moderate and timely amusement claims its place, as a want inhereat in our nature. To relieve this want, and fill up the mental vacancy, games are devised, books are written, music is composed, spectacles and plays are invented and exhibited. And if these last have a moral and virtuous tendency, if the sentiments expressed are calculated to rouse our love of what is noble, our contempt of what is base or mean; if they unite hundreds in a sympathetic admiration of virtue, abhorrence of vice or derision of folly, it will remain to be shown how far the spectator is more criminally engaged, than if he had passed the evening in the idle gossip of society, in the feverish pursuits of ambition, or in the unsated and insatiable struggle after gain-the graver employments of the present life, but equally unconnected with our existence hereafter."* Influenced by these considerations, we a short time since attended the representation of "Romeo * Sir Walter Scott. eye which beamed with gentle fondness flashed the next instant with a brave defiance-fate may cross her true love, but her faith is firm, and we feel assured that in her last worst exigence the heroine bears about with her "the sharp bright antidote against dishonour." "Twixt her extremes and her the bloody knife To play the umpire," and Juliet, from the text of Shakspere," at the Mary-le-bone. Hackneyed play-goers as we are, we never recollect to have passed an evening more agreeably, or to have seen the gentle heroine, the enamoured stripling, and the highbred witty and accomplished cavalier, more ably personated than by Mrs. Mowatt, Miss To Mrs. Mowatt, mistress of every passion Fanny Vining, and Mr. Davenport. The mise of the human heart, "Juliet" affords full scope en scène was perfect, the piece judiciously for versatility-in the ball-room, sparkling as divested of whatever female lips might shrink the envied heiress of the Capulets, "midst all from uttering, or the most sensitively modest the admired beauties of Verona;"-from her auditress need blush to hear; the wit, the balcony, and in the garden, the gentle lady gaiety, the sparkle of the dialogue retained, smiles upon her lover;-anon, the eager girl disencumbered of all "single-soled jests, solely checks her impatience, to caress her garrusingular for their singleness," and the silly lous and over-wearied messenger;-with bitter puns which in all probability Shakspere never lamentations wails over the slaughtered Tybalt perpetrated, or with reference to which he bade-blasts with her lightning glances the slanderer his clowns and fools take heed "to speak no who cried "Shame on Romeo"-subdued with more than was set down for them." hopeless misery, sinks beneath her father's curse Juliet, like her fair sister Portia, is an "un--in desperation bids the startled confessor lessoned girl;" both heroines are wealthy, lovely," Give her some present counsel, or behold and high born; but the Lady of Belmont was protected by a magic talisman; and, better still, had from her infancy been trained in all good graces by an ever virtuous and holy father; while the youthful heiress of the Capulets, left to the promptings of a pure but inexperienced heart, could have received no admonitions of grave maidenly discretion, from her weak ladymother or her prattling nurse. As Mrs. Mowatt represents her, and as we are convinced Shakspere meant her to be represented, she is "of In Miss Fanny Vining the youthful Montague imagination all compact,' an artless, loveable, has found an admirable representative; love at confiding girl; bursting on us at the masquerade first sight may be forgiven to the gentle Juliet in the exhilaration of her fresh and gladsome when we behold the object of her passion; we spirit. Susceptible of sudden and intense attach-readily believe "Verona bragged of him." Miss ment, though unskilled to hide her passionate Vining well becomes her cavalier's costume, devotion, she is as free from forward and unbe- and from plumed bonnet to slashed boot is coming levity, as, when her true love is acknow- "point de vice the very man." Her voice is ledged and reciprocated, she is devoid of coquetry.melody; and for her wooing, had we ourselves a Where all is excellent, it is difficult to assign the palm of praise; yet it was, to our thinking, in the scene with Romeo beneath her balcony, where the exclamations of the enraptured lover warn Juliet her cherished secret is discovered, that Mrs. Mowatt's powers were most happily displayed. "Thou knowest, the mask of night is on my face; These rich outpourings of a tender heart were all exquisitely delivered by this accomplished actress; but when the passionate expostulation closes, and with voice half firm, half faltering, Juliet plights her faith, her, "Trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange." was a perfect triumph of histrionic art; the timid girl became at once the high-souled woman; the or in her agony of desolation describes, horrorstricken, but with unflinching resolution, the loathsome charnel-house- "Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth, Lay festering in his shroud;"foresees all, dares all, and-alone-encounters all, for Romeo. lady-love we would not readily expose her faith to such an ordeal. We are not apt to quarrel, can "keep time, distance, and proportion" with our rapier; and yet-nor care we who knows so much of our valour-we should think twice ere we encountered in the duello, "The light but terrible motion of her blade." Right well she represents the restless anxiety of the enamoured boy-his swift transitions from the raptured bridegroom, to the fierce avenger; from the frantic agony of wild distraction, to the stern and gloomy resolution of despair. : For Mr. Davenport's Mercutio, it might be perhaps enough to say, that he irresistibly reminded us of Charles Kemble in his happiest days to him belongs, as to the Prince of Denmark, "the courtier's, scholar's, soldier's eye, tongue, sword;" but with Mercutio, gay wit and sportive raillery are graceful substitutes for the sharp satire and deep melancholy of Hamlet. "Queen Mab," her fairy equipage and nightly journeys among slumbering mortals, received full justice from Mr. Davenport's delivery; yet we still more admired his comic adjuration"Hist, Romeo! humours! madman! passion! lover!" A saucy climax. Who can wonder Mistress Nurse was out of patience with him? His deathscene was perfect; the flashes of his merriment struggling with his dying agonies, as humorous to the last he falters forth his half affectionate, half resentful "Plague o' both your houses!" then, with a touch of high-bred gentleness we have remarked in no other actor, musters his failing energies to smile adieu, and press once more the hand of Romeo. The less important characters are very creditably supported, more particularly the Nurse, Benvolio, and Friar Lawrence. It is indeed no slight addition to the attractions of the "Maryle-bone," that its performers not only play admirably as individuals, but support each other, act in unison-work well together;-they have within the last few weeks drawn full houses to the new play of "Virginia," a notice of which we will introduce next month; but we rejoice to see Romeo and Juliet announced for repetition, concurring, as we do, entirely with our contemporary, The Examiner; "it is presented on this stage in a way that would do credit to any theatre in the world." B. this season, is absolute. The daily journalist can scarcely keep up his chronicle of doings musical, and how can we with our monthly report attempt anything of the sort? We do not. Only, according to our wont, we intimate broad facts, give the freshest news the interval between our numbers permits, and borrow an opinion worth borrowing when we have a doubt of our own. peared six times in her old favourite characters, At Her Majesty's Theatre Jenny Lind has ap and has taken, it is said, her final leave of the stage, on the same boards and in the same character (Alice) where and in which her triumphant debut was made two years ago. She has withdrawn in the hey-day of her years, and in the finished perfection of her powersmay all happiness attend her in the domestic life she is so well calculated to adorn. The place of the "Swedish Nightingale" is supplied by Madile. Alboni, who has returned from Paris She has for the remainder of the season. already appeared in the Cenerentola, the Barbière, and Arsace, in "Semiramide." They who have voice is the richest in the world; and they who heard her-and who has not?-know that her can track effect back to its cause are aware that the apparent ease with which she executes the most difficult passages, is the result of the perfect mastery of her art. Industry the most indefatigable must have borne the crown to the brow of genius. Alboni's soul imbues everything she does with its own fire, all the details and difficulties of musicianly skill being so far conquered as to be imperceptible. Mademoiselle Parodi continues to win laurels; she was the Semiramide to Alboni's Arsace. Lablache, and Gardoni swell the corps at this house, and, despite the withdrawal of Carlotta Grisi, the ballet department is full of attractions. ROYAL ITALIAN OPERA. The great Our readers, who are doubtless well acquainted with the didactic tone and gentle humane wisdom of the writings of Mrs. Valentine Bartholomew, will be surprised to hear that she has written a most capital free, entitled, "It is only my Aunt," which was produced in the most effective manner, and with the most decided success, about a fortnight ago. We do not recollect having seen a more amusing affair for many years past. It teems with laughable incidents, and gives ample room for the display of the most comical peculiarities of one of the most comical corps of actors in London. We shall not soon forget " my Aunt" herself, so funnily attired in the lanky, short-waisted fashion which prevailed forty years since; nor the ser- At this house Grisi continues to impersonate vant who is so horribly frightened of ghosts; the great characters in which she is unrivallednor the tall captain who is obliged to disguise Norma, Lucrezia Borgia, Semiramide, Donna himself in female garb, and who is too unac- Anna, and those belonging to the first ranks of customed to his unusual garments to conduct the lyric drama. Angri, the new contralto, himself in them with feminine propriety; nor grows fast in the public favour, gaining conthe humour of his servant, who makes love to fidence, and consequently power, as she feels the aunt, and mimics so admirably the dress, herself established. Madame Persiani has apgait, and manners of a geat; nor the very gen-peared as Amina and Zerlina, preparatory to teel young lady, who models her sentiments and actions in accordance with the tone of fashionable novels; nor the little, dashing, sprightly waiting-maid, who makes so much mischief and so much fun; nor the querulous, gouty, old uncle, who renders every one miserable, and at last is glad to see every one happy! All these characters call up very whimsical and pleasant associations; and we beseech you, Mrs. Bartholomew, to write another farce as soon as possible. N. C. HER MAJESTY'S THEATRE. Two Italian operas, German opera, French opera and concerts, from morning till nightand one may almost say from night till morning -proclaim that the reign of music in London, taking leave of the stage; and the grand opera of "Robert le Diable" has been produced, with Dorus Gras as Alice, Salvi as Robert, and Marini as Bertram. It was in every respect a triumph, in which the band and chorus must take their full share. While we write, the "Huguenots" is in preparation, in which Sims Reeves will appear, and Grisi assume, for the first time, the part of Valentine. We make a short extract from the Musical World's criticism on Robert : "How well Madame Dorus acted the part of Alice, and how admirably she sang the music, it would be and shewed herself for the hundredth time well worthy superfluous to record. She was the original in Paris, the distinction. "Of Salvi's Robert we can speak very highly. |