On the afternoon of the day on which this narration bears date, Nelson, the Clown at Mr. Cooke’s Circus, had undertaken to swim in a tub, drawn by four geese, from the drawbridge on the Quay to the Suspension Bridge across the North river—a foolish exhibition—but it was one which, from its novelty in Yarmouth, was calculated to attract the multitude. As early as five o’clock, when the train arrived from Norwich, although raining smartly, thousands of spectators had already assembled to witness the feat on both sides of the river. The Bridge was then comparatively clear. The Clown commenced his feat with the flood tide at the drawbridge, and had entered the North river. There were many persons on the Bridge, and as he drew near, the multitude upon it endeavoured to obtain a full view as he should pass underneath. Already had he reached Bessey’s Wharf, not far from the Bridge, when one or two of the rods were observed to give way; an instant alarm was given to quit the bridge. Alas! the caution came too late. The chains broke, and quick as the passing thought, one entire side fell, and the whole mass of the human beings, whose numbers were estimated from three to four hundred, were swept into the river below. The traffic road of the Bridge, which but an instant before was horizontal, had become nearly perpendicular. The children, poor little things, of whom there were very many, and had naturally gathered to the balustrade, were of course the first to sink, while the force with which the whole fell, caused those who were in the background to be hurled with terrific force into the water beneath, crushing and annihilating those under them. Oh! who shall paint the one mighty simultaneous agonizing death-scream which burst upon the affrighted multitude around—re-echoing from earth to heaven—may the appeal not be made in vain. One instant and all was hushed, save the struggling of a few whose lives it pleased their Maker in his mercy to spare. The waters, we are told, as if gifted with a sudden impulse of horror, at this fell swoop of death, recoiled in the impetus of the fall and “boiled up” at the back of the Bridge, which hung perpendicularly below the surface of the river. As suddenly the struggle for life was past to all but a few.