A terrible catastrophe occurred on Saturday at Sunder- land. A
conjuror named Fay, who had taken the Victoria
Hall, offered to admit school-children to his afternoon enter- tainment for a penny. An enormous number, probably 3,000, of all ages from four to twelve, therefore attended, and were distributed between the floor of the hall and the gallery, the dress-circle being left empty, because the custodians of the building thought the prices too low. Fifteen hundred children, therefore, stood in the gallery, which is reached by a staircase seven feet wide, with many landings to break the descent. At the conclusion of the performance, Mr. Fay, who had promised to distribute toys as prizes, sent a caretaker to the gallery with a basket full, but the man finding the rush of children oppressive, descended, and stood by the door into the body of the hall. The children pursued him, and a few, taking their toys, entered the hall, when a valve of the swing-door was suddenly bolted. The caretaker says the children swung it and it bolted itself, while the children say he bolted it. At all events, the entrance became too small, many children fell, and the weight of the descending stream of babies drove the foremost files on to one another, till a heap had been formed eight feet high, seven feet broad, and, as we calculate, about seven feet thick from the door. All in that heap died, many instantaneously from asphyxia, the bodies being, so to speak, welded together by the weight, till strong men could scarcely disentangle them. One hundred and eighty- two children perished in six minutes, and double that number would have died, but that a door above, opening into the dress- circle, was at last unlocked.
