It was pleasing to see so many people withdrawing from the society of vice and wretchedness, and forming such a character for themselves as to be thought deserving of emancipation.

On the 29th, the Fancy snow left this port.  Mr. Dell, the commander, purposed running to Norfolk Island, but affected a secrecy with respect to his subsequent destination.  It was generally surmised, however, that he was bound to some island whereat timber fit for naval purposes was to be procured; and at which whatever ship Mr. Bampton should bring with him might touch and load with a cargo for India.  The snow was armed, was about one hundred and seventy tons burden, had a large and expensive complement of officers and men, a guard of sepoys, and a commission from the Bombay marine*.  New Zealand was by us supposed to be the place; as force, or at least the appearance of it, was there absolutely requisite.

[* Mr. Dell had likewise on board a much greater number of cross-cut saws than were necessary to procure wood for the mere use of the vessel.]

The wife of Griffin the drummer, whose hoarded guineas were supposed to have been stolen by Charles, or (as he was more commonly named) Pat Gray, killed herself with drinking, expiring in a fit of intoxication while the husband was employed in the lower part of the harbour in fishing for his family.  She left him four children to provide for.

October.] This month opened with an indispensable act of justice:  John Bevan, a wretched convict, whose name has been frequently mentioned in this narrative, broke into the house of William Fielder at Sydney, and being caught in the fact, it was substantiated against him beyond the chance of escape; he was of course fully convicted, and received sentence of death.  The trial was on the 1st, and at nine in the morning of the 6th he was executed.  At the tree he confessed nothing, but seemed terrified when he found himself so near the ignominious death that he had so long merited.  On being taken to hear divine service the Sunday preceding his execution, he seemed not to be in the smallest degree affected by the clergyman’s discourse, which was composed for the occasion; but was visibly touched at the singing of the psalm intitled the ’Lamentation of a Sinner.’

On the evening preceding the day of his execution, information was received from Parramatta, that Simon Burn, a settler, had been stabbed to the heart about eight o’clock in the evening before, of which wound he died in an hour.  The man who perpetrated this atrocious act was a convict named Hill, a butcher by trade.  It appeared on the trial, which lasted five hours, that Hill had borne the deceased much animosity for some time, and, having been all the day (which, to aggravate the offence, happened to be Sunday) in company drinking with him, took occasion to quarrel with a woman with whom he cohabited, and following her into an empty house, whither she had run to avoid