them chartered with the foundation of the city; the royal chapel not the least splendid? Shall I overpass the tesselated marble floors, over which we were courteously led by the most attentive of religious people, and where angels with profusion of golden wings, and holy mothers and children, all very costly images, impressed us with the wealth of the land, but not with the taste of the people? Yes, these I can only just glance at, and at the Palace, immense, but uninteresting.—Adieu, yours, &c., R. H. The heavy squall off the River Plate, which broke at one fell swoop the pinions of our fore and main wings, leaving us to drift at the mercy of wind and wave day after day, like a wounded bird, towards the South American coast, lengthened our voyage at least a month. Soon after that calamitous circumstance, there occurred on board, A FUNERAL AT SEA. One of our passengers, a Colonel W-, had served his country in various climes for thirty-nine years; nine of them in India. His eldest son, following in his steps, had embraced that profession also, and was in the service of the East India Company. His other and younger son, whom he had been out to Australia to settle there, was located on a creek, a tributary of the Goulburn. Then it was, after two years' residence, that he perceived his constitution beginning to give way, and his thoughts turned anxiously to the home of his youth, when being encouraged by his physicians, who assured him it was possible he might endure the voyage, he determined to re-visit Ireland, set his affairs in order, and expire in the arms of his only daughter, left solitary in the paternal mansion. When on board, during a few brilliant days that we were becalmed to the south-west of New Zealand, supported by his faithful servant Mickey, he left his cabin, and sat in the cheery sunshine on the quarter-deck. Thence we sped along, driven on, day after day, and week after week, towards the South-pole-and in the rough weather the veteran was no more seen. On we went through the Southern Pacific-sometimes surrounded by numerous and immense icebergs-driving amidst them through storm and darkness-a sublime, yet dangerous situation. We were plenteously visited by rain, hail, sleet, and snow-in that winterly region. Again, after rounding Cape Horn, after passing the Falkland Isles, we were approaching the more genial atmosphere of tropical latitudes; and once more the grey-headed warrior, resting his hand on Mickey's shoulder, came forth, and basked in the sunshine of the quarter-deck. In that weary, chilly, and anxious time, how much he was changed for the worse! Pale, thin, and haggardlooking, you felt he could not survive long. Again he was confined to his cabin, grew gradually worse, and expired in the night of the 6th of June. Intelligence of his death spread swiftly and sadly through the vessel. Early orders were given by the captain that the whole crew should be neatly dressed, and orderly attend at noon the funeral on the quarter-deck. At twelve the ship's bell was leisurely and solemnly tolled, and four seamen carried the corpse from the cuddy, on a portion of the hatchwaytop, sewn up in canvas, and covered with the ship's colours for a pall. On the gangway of the lee-side of the ship the body was placed; a numerous, reverent, and respectable assemblage surrounding it; whilst the beautiful and impressive burial service was most appropriately read by a venerable Scottish gentleman, Mr. Erskine, of Alva. The morning had been bright, the wind gentle, the sea softly glittering in the sun. Now, in the deep silence, and the sound of that one only voice, the sun as if purposely retired behind a cloud; the wind sighed amongst the cordage; the very sea-birds, petrels, and albatrosses, seemed to move about the ship on noiseless pinions, in that profound hush of the intensely solitary ocean. How powerfully were impressed upon you during this scene the mysteries of life and death! Always seemed to me most sublime and touching the church burial-service, even where the stir of life is densest in thronged towns; solemnly beautiful in the homely rural quiet of country churchyards; but at sea, when human life seems a thing of accident-the plaything of wind and wave-how infinitely more impressive. At the words, "we therefore commit his body to the deep," there was a sudden motion of the hatchway-top; a chilling sensation was felt by all present; and the body was launched into the ocean. A lady on the poop saw the body float on the water for a moment, then disappear for ever. Powerfully impressed by the circumstances of this funeral, I composed almost immediately the following poem : THE SOLDIER FINDS A SEAMAN'S GRAVE. Athirst for fame, his native coast He left for India's burning strand, To combat with the alien host, With dauntless heart and desperate hand. Often he fought, as often he Returned with joy that victory gave, Who here this day, on the lone sea, Has sunk into a seaman's grave. Where thick the bolts of death were sped; The honours paid to young and old, Round which war's trappings sadly wave; How different from the seaman's grave! Beloved was she who hailed him lord, And bless'd were those who called him sire, The brighteners of his evening fire; But years glide on, and fast will flee The things we most would bless and save, As well he knew who on the sea This day has found a seaman's grave. And what are love or fame to him Divorced from love by wind and wave; A DIGRESSION. Many poets have sung about the joy of grief, as though really there were some pleasure in it; others declare that " our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest thought," and it may be so. No wonder, then, that murders can be extremely interesting in the relation, and that shipwrecks have great contentment in them for the world generally: sailors have a different idea of them. Still after any danger, or during a gale, the working of the sea seemed to shake loose all their stormy recollections. One had been on board a whaler for years, and had grown familiar with other dangers besides shipwreck; another had his story of pirates, and after robbery of wreck; and of being taken insensible from a floating fragment of a mast, after three days' contention with wind and wave. Even the ship-boys had known great sea hardships, and had survived (one could scarcely believe it) many youthful comrades, swallowed by the remorseless deep. I fancied myself, when surrounded by these narrators—this remnant spared by the great battle of the sea-to have seen, and known, and endured nothing. I had found the ocean quite another element, and had, indeed, circled it for little. The poem of "The Shipwreck" would seem dull to us were it not enlivened by the fact that the author of it was afterwards lost at sea. Half of the charm lingering about the "Faery Queen" is the great satisfaction you feel that the other half of the poem was lost in the Irish Channel. Camoens, too, imparted a great interest to "The Lusiad" by swimming with it to the land; saving it at once from the ocean and Lethe. I felt, on considering these things, that I was rather unfortunate in not being shipwrecked, as it would have added considerably to the charm of this narrative, and to the reader's satisfaction. We will have our shipwreck, nevertheless: for when so many of our seamen keep interesting journals, it would be a shame to go without That of Harry Thomson must serve our turn; given as nearly as possible verbatim from his "Voyages to Various Parts of the World," in MS. When wrecked, he was the ship's apprentice, and sixteen years of age. one. "LOSS, BY SHIPWRECK, OF THE 'VISCOUNT MELBOURNE.' "The ship Viscount Melbourne (800 tons register) left London, bound for Calcutta, Oct. 26th, 1840, and arrived safely in the March of the year 1841. Thence she sailed in April for the Mauritius, with a cargo of rice, arriving in June at Port Louis. Then she returned in ballast to Calcutta; and after lying there three months, finally started for China, laden with cotton, rice, and saltpetre. "We had light variable winds for the most part, down the Bay of Bengal and through the Straits of Malacca, and reached Pulo Penang, or Prince of Wales's Island, in fourteen days. "We lay here three or four days, taking in water, rattans, and fire-wood. The next place we touched at was Singapore, about a week's sail from Penang. During the run, one of the Lascars, quite a boy, deliberately jumped overboard, because he had been kicked by a proud, upstart youth-our fourth mate, and sunk before a boat could reach him. "At Singapore, Mrs. Dare, passenger, and two children, came on board; one child scarcely two years old and the other at the breast. Also Lieut.-Col. Campbell, going to command the 30th Regiment, stationed at Macao. "We left Singapore on Christmas night, at 12, with light, changeable winds and squally weather. On New Year's Day commenced a heavy gale, which lasted three days. This was supposed to be the primary cause of the loss of our good ship; for the strength of the gale, in the first place, carried us out of our course; when it falling calm, with light airs at times, the strength of the current drifted us into the dangerous reef of coral, known by the name of the Luconia Shoal, about seventytwo miles from the Island of Borneo. "It was on Wednesday, January 5, 1842, at 4, A.M., that I was called to keep my watch. I had hardly got on deck before I heard Mr. Small, the chief mate, sing out, 'Stand by your top-gallant and top-sail halyards,' and at the same time there was a rushing sound as of approaching wind. I said to the youngest apprentice, Hughes, whom I had just relieved, 'Is that a squall coming on?I think so,' he replied, for I have heard it these ten minutes;' yet at the time there was hardly wind enough to fill the sails. "The chief mate had just relieved Mr. Penfold, the second officer, when the man at the wheel said he heard breakers to leeward. The mate ran to the lee side, and immediately exclaimed, Good God! the breakers !' The captain was called instantly; the ship the while fast drifting on the reef. We tried to tack, but vainly. 'Clear away the larboard anchor and let go!' but it would not hold, the whole of the chain being paid down in the locker. 'Let go the starboard anchor!' but that was worse; for the small-stream chain, which we used in working through the Straits, was paid down on the top of all in the locker also. Whilst we were clearing it, she struck; and continued bumping and tearing on the coral, unable to get free. The second stroke unshipped the rudder; sending the wheel and the man holding it headlong to the lee side of the ship. away the mizen-mast,' was the next command (in order to lighten the ship aft); and the noble mast fell over the side, carrying along with it yards, sails, and gear, smashing in the 'Cut |