=Source.=--_The Times_, July 31.
James Carey has not long escaped those who, it was well known,
had resolved to slay him at the first opportunity. According to
telegrams received from Durban and Cape Town he was shot dead
on Sunday, on board the liner _Melrose_, by an Irishman named
O'Donnell. The vessel had got into harbour at Port Elizabeth, and
was discharging her passengers and cargo, when Carey was shot.
Fully warned of the intention to murder him, the authorities at
Dublin had taken pains to conceal his movements. When he quitted
Kilmainham, it was stated that he had resolved to brave the worst,
and settle down in Dublin to his old occupations. Then it was said
that he had been seen in London. According to another account he
had sailed for Canada, and had actually landed at Montreal under
the escort of two detectives. If these tales were circulated with
the hope of putting the Invincibles on a false scent, they signally
failed. His enemies were too astute to be deceived by pious
frauds. Carey's death is a public misfortune. He had indeed been a
principal in a cruel and barbarous murder. He behaved with supreme
callousness and repulsive levity throughout the trials; and he was
in every way one of the worst specimens of a bad type. But he was
the instrument by which the Phœnix Park murderers were brought
to justice, and it would have been well had he lived to defy the
machinations of the Invincibles. But this misfortune is only a
consequence of facts which, as a rule, serve as a safeguard and
protection to society. Gibbon has forcibly described the unhappy
condition of the wretch who tried to flee from the power of a Roman
Emperor. There was no escape from it: he confronted it wherever he
fled. No better are the chances of flight of one who, in these days
of publicity, of photographs and illustrated newspapers, tries to
hide himself from the gaze of those who know him. All this told
against Carey's chances of escape. He had made himself the object
of bitter hatred of secret societies, which have ramifications
through many parts of the world. During the long trials at Dublin,
portraits of him in all attitudes were published. His very marked
features became familiar to everyone. Disguise himself as he
might--and it is stated that when he was shot he was disguised--he
could not help being recognized wherever he went.