hands, saying something kind and consoling, while their gifts were munificent.

The princesses shed tears over the sufferings they beheld, and enclosed their delicate hands in the iron grasp of Jack, as he lay restless on his couch of pain; but still he was an object of envy to me, as the beauteous Marie Antoinette bent over him with looks of pity, that an angel might have envied, while her coral lips gave utterance to the most melodious sounds that ever extracted the sting from the anguish of the suffering, either in mind or body.

The last object of attention to the royal party, was my excellent friend and brother signal-midshipman, Mr. West; the chaplain making way for us. Here was a change shocking to behold: the fine apple-cheeked, bold boy, had shrunk into a withered, and apparently old man, by his sufferings; fevered, emaciated, and wan, he lay a ghastly spectacle. Lord Nelson, with great feeling, took him by the hand, praised his courage, told him he was promoted by him, and hailed him as Lieutenant West. No emotion was shown by the heroic boy, no other word uttered by him than " drink : the young princess, with great promptitude, divided orange, and squeezed the juice on his parched lips.

an

Lord Nelson introduced the Queen of Naples and her fair daughters as mourning his misfortunes, in which, in truth, they took a deep interest, as they stood by his cot in tears: he exhorted him to look forward to long life, and high rank in his profession: the surgeon shook his head, and whispered, an hour was the utmost tenure he held of this world, as the wound had gangrened. The good-natured hero seemed much shocked, and showed great emotion. The boy, finding relief and gratification from the kind exertions of the princess, opened his eyes with a death-like stare, as she bent over him at once he seemed to comprehend his situation; the blood again rallied to the heart; the pulse that had nearly ceased, again resumed its beat; animation lighted up his eyes as he surveyed the beautiful vision, he, no doubt, thought of his far-distant home, and its affectionate inmates. I heard him audibly sigh, and saw him make a feeble attempt to kiss the fair hand that had so kindly administered to his wants. It was the last effort of expiring nature: the gallant boy dropped on his pillow, his fine eyes assumed the glazed hue of death, the rattles in the throat gave notice of the difficulty of respiration; and the surgeon announced him to be in his last agonies.

--

Here was a lesson of mortality to a frivolous and dissolute court. The maids of honour and the officers of the household, walked off without waiting for orders; first attempting, in vain, to move the queen and princesses, who evinced deep feeling; and the sobs of the lovely young princess were quite hysterical.

Lord Nelson, in silent grief, motioned Lady Hamilton to remove the queen, and — the princess royal on his only arm, - led the way on deck. Our gallant captain gave an arm to each of the younger princesses; and the royal procession embarked in his barge in solemn silence, so different from the animation and pleasure that had lighted up their expressive features, on their arrival. The guard had been dismissed; the band ceased to play; and silence was ordered fore and aft, on the knowledge of my friend's fate. The gallant boy was interred with military honours, in the ground of the Protestant chapel of the ambassador.

THEY are not there! where once their feet
Light answer to sweet music beat,
Where their young voices sweetly breathed,
And fragrant flowers they lightly wreathed.
Still flows the nightingale's sweet song,
Still trail the vine's green shoots along,
Still are the sunny blossoms fair;
But they who loved them are not there!

They are not there! by the lone fount
That once they loved at eve to haunt;
Where, when the day-star brightly set,
Beside the silver wave they met :

Still lightly glides the quiet stream,-
Still o'er it falls the soft moonbeam;
But they who used its beams to share
With fond hearts by it, are not there!

They are not there! by the dear hearth
That once beheld their harmless mirth;
When through their joy came no vain fear,
And o'er their smiles no darkening tear :
It burns not now a beacon-star;

"Tis cold and fireless as they are:
Where is the glow it used to wear? —
"Tis felt no more, they are not there!

EXERCISE CXLIX.

"I SEE THEe still."

Charles Sprague.

"I rocked her in the cradle,

And laid her in the tomb. She was the youngest.
What fireside circle hath not felt the charm
Of that sweet tie? The youngest ne'er grow old.
The fond endearments of our earlier days
We keep alive in them; and when they die,
Our youthful joys we bury with them."

I SEE thee still;

Remembrance, faithful to her trust,
Calls thee in beauty from the dust:
Thou comest in the morning light,
Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night,-
In dreams I meet thee as of old;
Then thy soft arms my neck enfold,
And thy sweet voice is in my ear;
In every scene to memory dear,
I see thee still.

I see thee still

In every hallowed token round;
This little ring thy finger bound,

This lock of hair thy forehead shaded,
This silken chain by thee was braided,
These flowers, - all withered now, like thee,-

Sweet Sister! thou didst cull for me:

This book was thine; here didst thou read ·
This picture, ah! yes, here, indeed
I see thee still.

which continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its individual aim, and flew, by scores together, against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where a defender either occasionally had post, or might be suspected to be stationed,

by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Bœuf and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence, proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with the discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, did considerably more damage than they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some notable loss.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe," while the game that gives me freedom or death, is played out by the hand of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden; but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath, - look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath.

"What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows, flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." "That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the knight of the fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?" "He blenches not! he blenches not!' " said Rebecca; see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer

"I

Weep not for her! She died in early youth,

Ere hope had lost its rich, romantic hues; When human bosoms seemed the homes of truth,

And earth still gleamed with beauty's radiant dews. Her summer-prime waned not to days that freeze; Her wine of life was run not to the lees: :

Weep not for her!

Weep not for her!- By fleet or slow decay,
It never grieved her bosom's core to mark
The playmates of her childhood wane away;

Her prospects wither; or her hopes grow dark;
Translated by her God, with spirit shriven,

She passed as 'twere in smiles from earth to heaven. Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel
The miseries that corrode amassing years,
'Gainst dreams of baffled bliss the heart to steel,
To wander sad down Age's vale of tears,
As whirl the withered leaves from Friendship's tree,
And on earth's wintry world alone to be:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! - She is an angel now,
And treads the sapphire floor of Paradise;
All darkness wiped from her refulgent brow,-
Sin, sorrow, suffering, banished from her eyes;
Victorious over death; to her appear
The vista'd joys of Heaven's eternal year:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her!

- her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline,

Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers,

Rich as a rainbow with its hues of light,
Pure as the moonshine of an autumn night:
Weep not for her!

Weep not for her! - there is no cause for woe;
But rather nerve the spirit, that it walk
Unshrinking o'er the thorny paths below,

And from earth's low defilements keep thee back ·