brought before Sir Richard Birnie, charged with having made a violent attempt on the watch of a gentleman, named Stevens.

This Mr. Stevens was leaving the Opera-house on Saturday night, when John Sheen, backed by other professors, went bustling up in front of him, while another worthy from behind, suddenly encircled his head with both hands; and then John Sheen made such a desperate tug at his watch, that the pendant broke. John Sheen and his companion instantly made off, in different directions, with the chain and seals; and Mr. Stevens followed John Sheen, crying, "Stop thief!" but, unfortunately, in thus following, slipped down, and fractured his arm. John Sheen also cried, "Stop thief!" as he ran; but the ruse did not answer; for the watchmen caught him, as he was trying to give his pursuers the slip, by creeping, on all fours, under the hackney-coaches which were then and there assembled.

The property was not found upon him; and in his defence, he boldly denied having had any thing to do with the matter.

"What brings you at the Opera every night?" said the Magistrate. "I never was at the Opera in my life!" replied John.-"Perhaps not; but what brings you at the, Opera-house?" said the Magistrate. "To look at the folks coming out," replied John; "but I defy any body to say I am there every night, or that I ever did any thing wrong.

This was an unfortunate challenge for poor John; for it was instantly answered by the oaths of at least half a dozen witnesses, by whose

evidence it appeared, that he had been several times punished for picking pockets; and one of them added, that his own father, when told of his present capture, said, "I am glad of it! and I hope they will transport him this time, or else he will come to the gallows!"

He was fully committed to take his trial, for having taken the chain, &c. from the prosecutor, with force and violence.

Bell's Life in London.

TOUCHING THE SPANISH*.

"Gold from Law can take out the sting."
Beggar's Opera, act iii. scene 13.

"THE age of chivalry is gone,"
And Quixote, brave, heroic Don,
Disowns the wretch of Cadiz:
But he that truckles to the foe,
May well all gallantry forego,

And war with gentle ladies.

It well becomes such righteous laws,
The Spaniard's and the Frenchman's cause,
(No deeper need we probe them),
That they, whom women helpless left,
Of manly succour all bereft,

Should bully first, then rob them!

* See the late Spanish judgments on women.

Chronicle.

THE SPIRITS OF THE AGE.

No. I.-JEREMY BENTHAM.

MR. BENTHAM is one of those persons who verify the old adage, that "a prophet has no honour, except out of his own country." His reputation lies at the circumference, and the lights of his understanding are reflected, with increasing lustre, on the other side of the globe. His name is little known in England, better in Europe, best of all in the plains of Chili and the mines of Mexico. He has offered constitutions for the New World, and legislated for future times. The people of Westminster, where he lives, know little of such a person; but the Siberian savage has received cold comfort from his lunar aspect, and may say to him with Caliban, "I know thee, and thy dog, and thy bush”. the tawny Indian may hold out the hand of fellowship to him across the Great Pacific. We believe that the Empress Catherine corresponded with him; and we know that the Emperor Alexander called upon him, and presented him with his miniature in a gold snuff-box, which the philosopher, to his eternal honour, returned. Mr. Hobhouse is a greater man at the hustings, Lord Rolle at Plymouth-dock; but Mr. Bentham would carry it hollow, on the score of popularity, at Paris or Pegu. The reason is, that our author's influence is purely intellectual. He has devoted his life to the pursuit of abstract and general truths, and to those studies-" that waft a thought from Indus to the Pole," and has never mixed

himself up with personal intrigues or party politics. He once, indeed, stuck up a hand-bill to say, that he (Jeremy Bentham) being of sound mind, was of opinion, that Sir Samuel Romilly was the most proper person to represent Westminster; but this was the whim of the moment. Otherwise, his reasonings, if true at all, are true everywhere alike: his speculations concern humanity at large, and are not confined to the hundred, or bills of mortality. It is in moral as in physical magnitude: the little is seen only near; the greater appears in its proper dimensions, only from a more commanding point of view, and gains strength with time, and elevation. from distance!

Mr. Bentham is very much among philosophers what La Fontaine was among poets-in general habits, and in all, but his professional pursuits, he is a mere child. He has lived for the last forty years in a house in Westminster, overlooking the Park, like an anchoret in his cell, reducing law to a system, and the mind of man to a machine. He hardly ever goes out, and sees very little company. The favoured few, who have the privilege of the entrée, are always. admitted one by one. He does not like to have witnesses to his conversation. He talks a geat deal, and listens to nothing but facts. When any one calls upon him, he invites them to take a turn round his garden with him; (Mr. Bentham is an economist of his time, and sets apart this. portion of it to air and exercise)-and there you may see the lively old man, his mind still buoy-ant with thought, and with the prospect of futu

rity, in eager conversation with some opposition member, some expatriated patriot, or Transatlantic adventurer, urging the extinction of close boroughs, or planning a code of laws for some "lone island in the watery waste;" his walk almost amounting to a run, his tongue keeping pace with it in shrill, cluttering accents, negligent in his person, his dress, and his manner, intent only on his grand theme of utility or pausing perhaps for want of breath, and with lack-lustre eye, to point out to the stranger a stone in the wall at the end of his garden, (over-arched by two beautiful cottoǹ-trees) inscribed to the Prince of Poets, which marks the house where Milton formerly lived. To show how little the refinements of taste or fancy enter into our author's system, he proposed at one time to grub up these beautiful trees, to convert the garden where he had breathed the air of truth and heaven for near half a century, into a paltry Chreistomathic School, and to make Milton's house (the cradle of Paradise Lost) a thoroughfare, like a threestalled stable, for all the rabble of Westminster to pass backwards and forwards to it, with their cloven hoofs. Let us not, however, be getting on too fast-Milton himself taught a school! -There is something not altogether dissimilar between Mr. Bentham's appearance, and the portraits of Milton-the same silvery tone, a few dishevelled hairs, a peevish, yet puritanical expression, an irritable temperament, corrected by habit and discipline. Or, in modern times, he is something between Franklin and Charles Fox, with the comfortable double chin, and sleek

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