The trials commenced about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and ended about seven in the evening, during the whole of which time the court was excessively crowded. The prisoner's behavior was firm; and he employed himself during the greatest part of the day in writing notes on the evidence, and in communicating with his counsel, Messrs. Topping and Holroyd. When the verdicts of the jury were given, the court adjourned, and the prisoner was ordered to be brought up the following day to receive sentence. The crowd was immense, and he was allowed a post-chaise from the town-hall to the gaol. At eight o'clock the next morning, the court met again. The judge addressed the prisoner in the following impressive terms:

"John Hatfield, after the long and serious investigation of the charges which have been preferred against you, you have been found guilty by a jury of your country.

"You have been distinguished for misdeeds of such extent as have seldom, if ever, received any mitigation of capital punishment, and in your case it is impossible it can be limited. Assuming the person, name and character of a worthy and respectable officer, of a noble family in this country, you have perpetrated and committed the most enormous crimes. The long imprisonment you have undergone has afforded time for your serious reflection, and an opportunity of your being deeply impressed with a sense of the magnitude of your offences, and the justness of that sentence which must be inflicted upon you; and I wish you to be solemnly imbued with the awfulness of your situation. I conjure you to reflect with anxious care and deep concern on your approaching end, concerning which much remains to be done. Lay aside now your delusions and your impositions, and employ properly the short

space you have to live. I beseech you to devote the remaining part of your time in preparing for eternity, so that you may find mercy in the day of judgment." His lordship then passed sentence of death.

A notion prevailed that Hatfield would not be brought to the scaffold, and the arrivel of the mail was daily expected with the greatest impatience. No pardon coming, Saturday, September 3, 1803, was at last fixed upon for the execution.

Accordingly, he was then hanged on a gallows erected upon an island formed by the river Eden, on the north side of the city of Carlisle, between the two bridges. A few days previously, he had had his coffin made, and expressed a strong wish that his remains should be interred in the sequestered churchyard of Burgh on Sands. The good parishioners, however, of Burgh stoutly objected to the intended honor, and so the culprit was buried in St. Mary's Churchyard, Carlisle, in the place usually allotted for those who came to untimely or unhallowed deaths.

The chief victim of this villain's life of deception, Mary of Buttermere, left her home and went into most secret retirement during the proceedings against her betrayer. She did this to avoid the numerous and rather unfeeling visits that were made to the inn at the time. So strong, it is said, was her love for Hatfield, that she grieved more at his fate than at her own undoing. When the news came to Mary's father and mother that Hatfield had certainly been hanged, they both exclaimed with one accord, "God be thanked!" Soon after, Mary returned to her parents, and resumed her former life as the attendant at their inn; but "her peace was stown;" a fixed and continual melancholy oppressed her; her personal loveliness gradually declined; and, in after years, few would

have recognised, in the very ordinary person waiting upon them, the once famed beauty of Buttermere-the theme of poets, the talk of fashion, and the subject of general and much magnifying admiration. How Mary's attractions departedslowly but certainly fading away-is shown by the writer of a "Tour to the Lakes in 1806," who saw her some three years after the calamity of her false marriage. He writes about her thus: "Mary, the victim of the sham but fascinating Colonel Hope, is of a dark complexion and good figure; she wears an attire of deep mourning, and bears an aspect of settled pensiveness. She has been celebrated as a beauty, but though it was her lot from an early age to draw the doubtful homage of admiration, her countenance, which is irregular and strongly marked in profile, is remarkable for little more than an interesting expression. Some visitants, of more curiosity than discernment, affect to turn from a set of features which report had falsely represented, adeo venusta, ut nihil supra.' But though she is not beautiful, it is easy to discern a silent sweetness in her deportment, sympathising with the destruction of her heart, while she submits with dignified calmness to be the subject of that publicity to which her misfortunes, not her birth, have exposed her."

A MURDER IN NUREMBERG, AND THE MODE ADOPTED THERE FOR ITS DISCOVERY.

THE following investigation affords a striking instance of the curious sagacity and unwearied patience of German magistrates and judicial functionaries in tracing out undivulged crime, each successive step being to them a means of ascending to the next in the scale of evidence. In the present case, as in many others recorded, the course seems this. The inquiry is pursued through the probable and improbable, until a faint gleam of light appears-a circumstance so trivial that it would appear to lead to nothing. Then it is that the German magistrate rushes on the scent, and evinces his consummate skill and pertinacity in arriving at the truth. The knowledge to the public of how he practices this art must have a considerable effect in repressing crime, since it gives an ample warning to all likely to profit by it, that the chance of guilt escaping undiscovered is small indeed. The logical precision used in weaving the chain of evidence, the acuteness with which one fact is inferred from another, the clear-sighted judgment with which inference is reasoned upon till it is clenched into certainty, amount indeed to a wonderful process. The following singular case is a remarkable instance of this system, as practised by the Germans, or more particularly the Bavarians, within whose confines the matter happened. The case was this:

Christopher Baumler inhabited his own house in the great

thoroughfare called King Street, in the well-known city of Nuremberg, in Bavaria. The house joined other buildings on either side, but the only thing connected with it that needs particular notice, as bearing upon what follows, is the street door. Like those in all other victualing houses of Nuremberg, this door consisted of two halves or flaps, one of which during the day-time, and indeed until the closing of the shop, was folded back upon the other, and a glass door was hung up to supply its place. By this simple arrangement light was admitted into the shop, for better showing the presses arranged around the walls. This door was an entry to the house, in the absence of any passage. At night the lamps within, being visible through the glass, served to attract the passers-by and assist the general custom of the house.

The trade of Baumler was of a complex kind, and will perhaps be interpreted according to English notions, if we describe him as a huckster, chandler and victualler, dealing also in brandy. He had only one servant, by name Anne Catherine Schutz, yet he had the reputation of being a man of substance.

It was the invariable custom of Baumler to open his shop at an early hour. His neighbors, therefore, were greatly surprised on the morning of the 22nd September, 1820, to find the shutters unclosed long after the usual time, and some, more curious than the rest, began to listen at the door and window in hopes of learning what was the matter. After a time, finding that nothing seemed to stir within, a general idea began to prevail that all was not right, and application in consequence was made at the police-office for permission to break into the house, and see if anything had happened. This being granted, the parties forced their way through the window of the first