ng very
interesting intelligence respecting the assassination of Major Laing, and
the existence of his Journal;--"In giving this tragical and disgraceful
story to the British public, (says the Editor), we may notice that the
individual who figures so suspiciously in it, viz. Hassouna d'Ghies, must
be well remembered a few years ago in London society. We were acquainted
with him during his residence here, and often met him, both at public
entertainments and at private parties, where his Turkish dress made him
conspicuous. He was an intelligent man, and addicted to literary pursuits;
in manners more polished than almost any of his countrymen whom we ever
knew, and apparently of a gentler disposition than the accusation of
having instigated this infamous murder would fix upon him."

The account then proceeds with the following translation from a
_Marseilles Journal_:--

It was about three years ago, that Major Laing, son-in-law of Colonel
Hammer Warrington, consul-general of England in Tripoli, quitted that
city, where he left his young wife, and penetrated into the mysterious
continent of Africa, the grave of so many illustrious travellers. After
having crossed the chain of Mount Atlas, the country of Fezzan, the
desert of Lempta, the Sahara, and the kingdom of Ahades, he arrived at
the city of Timbuctoo, the discovery of which has been so long desired
by the learned world. Major Laing, by entering Timbuctoo, had gained the
reward of 3,000_l_. sterling, which a learned and generous society in
London had promised to the intrepid adventurer who should first visit
the great African city, situated between the Nile of the Negroes and the
river Gambaron. But Major Laing attached much less value to the gaining
of the reward than to the fame acquired after so many fatigues and
dangers. He had collected on his journey valuable information in all
branches of science: having fixed his abode at Timbuctoo, he had
composed the journal of his travels, and was preparing to return to
Tripoli, when he was attacked by Africans, who undoubtedly were watching
for him in the desert. Laing, who had but a weak escort, defended
himself with heroic courage: he had at heart the preservation of his
labours and his glory. But in this engagement he lost his right hand,
which was struck off by the blow of a yatagan. It is impossible to
help being moved with pity at the idea of the unfortunate traveller,
stretched upon the sand, writing painfully with