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her to the chain being cut, we had the satisfaction of seeing our prize afloat, and shortly after under sail. While we were close to the battery every shot went over us, and we had only one man wounded from the musketry; but directly we drew off the shore, assisted by the light land-wind, hardly a shot missed us. Every man was sent down below, excepting the helmsman, who was the lieutenant who commanded the boats; and thus in comparative security we arrived, prize, boats, and men, all safe, and only four of the last wounded. There can be no doubt that the "full of hope misnamed forlorn," on shore, have to contend against fearful odds, and that the chance of surviving the enterprize is very small indeed. With the exception of this one species of service, there is none so eminently dangerous as "cutting-out:" one chance shot may cut the boat in half, and then who is to swim with pistols and swords lashed to him? The oars may be destroyed, and then you must remain to be shot at discretion and now that steam-boats are invented, woe betide the fearless captain who dares this rash experiment again. Now, alas! we have only the remembrance of what has been done: never again shall we be able to blockade a squadron with three frigates: the first calm day, and the whole three are captured. In short, whenever we have the luck to get into another war, the whole service must be very materially altered.

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As I am anxious in these papers to give some account of almost every situation into which, in the Life of a Sailor, a man may be called, I shall give here another description of a cut-out," which astonished the whole fleet, and which called into action all the energy and all the resources of our seasoned officers and crew. Although the circumstance happened about a year after the above, yet I shall place it here, in order to relieve myself from a repetition hereafter. We were cruising off the coast of Italy, and had been very unsuccessful in the way of captures: our martial ardour and empty pockets had called into existence all the desire of glory and gain-when, one day, we observed a brig and some few merchant-ships at anchor in Port Hercule: the name is enough to indicate its strength, and those who had previously attempted to trespass on that ground had dearly paid for their temerity. There was a brig resembling a manof-war, all black, with red port-holes; and eight of a side we could easily count. That was quite enough for Captain Parker: he resolved to have her, and, as the case was desperate, he determined to command in person-a very foolish thing for any man to do, after he has secured his post-rank; for no vacancy can benefit him, and it is rather unjust to the first-lieutenant, who, if he has not Parliamentary interest at home, is deprived of the chance of being either killed or promoted. On the right of the harbour there is a strong battery, which commands the anchorage, and on the left a regular citadel overlooks the roadstead and protects the town: the smaller vessels were regularly chained to the pier, and the brig lay in the centre of the harbour apparently ready for sea. We were as ignorant as unborn children of the number of men in garrison, and the number of guns mounted; our eyes were directed to the brig, and not to the battery. To make the attempt on the night of the discovery would have been rashness exemplified; and therefore, after having well reconnoitred the harbour and the forts, we stood out to

sea, as if we had seen enough to deter us from the enterprize. The next day was a busy one on board: the marines were exercised, and marched, and countermarched about the quarter-deck-formed into hollow squares, and charged about the ship, to the no small danger of the quiet twisters of rope-yarns; the small-arm men were mixed up with the marines, to learn how to stand fire in regular ranks; the boats were put in order and readiness, and, towards evening, we stood in and made the land just at dusk. About ten o'clock we were off the harbour's mouth-the boats manned and armed-Capt. Parker in his gig in command of the whole; while the marines were destined for separate service, under the orders of as brave a soldier as ever marched to victory-Mr. Banyan. I was directed this time, having volunteered the last, to land the marines on a low point on the right-hand entrance of the harbour, and to keep in readiness to re-embark them on a given signal. The enemy were fairly off their guard, never dreaming we were near the harbour: we landed unobserved, and sheltered the boats under some hanging trees, which most pleasantly offered us concealment. Our marines amounted in all to thirty they were silently formed, and marched off: and as I thought the coxswain could take care of the boat much better than I, I took the liberty of deserting my post, (for which I ought to have been well flogged,) and marched away with our land army. The plan of attack was, that we should seize the fort, and then throw up a rocket; upon which signal Captain Parker and the division of boats under his command were to rush at the brig, while the marines turned the guns of the battery against the citadel. We had not advanced two hundred paces when one of the marines declared he heard the trampling of horses: the panic ran along the line, and immediately those in the rear turned round and betook themselves to flight. The second-lieutenant of marines declared he would stick the next man who attempted to pass him; and one unfortunate fellow, who considered the chance of the lieutenant's sword preferable to the sabres of the cavalry, was run through the arm as he attempted to pass his officer. This stopped the rest, order was restored, and we again progressed with only fifteen men, one half having run away. Banyan never heeded the loss of his coward-gang the least, but whispered his confidence to his men, and marched by their side. Suddenly, the alarmed sentinel of the battery gave the well-known challenge," Qui va là?” which was answered by a marine of the name of Abraham Hooper, who called out, " Oh, d- you! show us the battery." No electric spark ever ran quicker along a conductor than these words did through our army. The sentinel fired his musket, the fort was instantly alarmed, and we found ourselves directly over it. Banyan gave the word to charge, and down the slope we ran, bundled somehow into the battery, and long before the officer could put on his coat-for he was in bed-we were in possession. One of the marines-the armourer, whose business was to spike the guns-was actually at his work before the Frenchmen had left it. The rocket was thrown up, and answered; the town and citadel were instantly in commotion, and guns and voices startled the sleeping silence of the night. The cheers from the boats were answered by us on shore, and in a few minutes the brig was ours. Our launch was placed at some distance from the brig, to draw the

attention of the citadel to her, and to leave the capturers at liberty to follow up their advantage. Captain Parker jumped along the bowsprit to loosen the jib; a shower of grape came at the moment and cut away the foot-rope-he was nearly overboard: some one called out that the captain was killed, but he soon set that to rights by answering that he was worth two dead men as yet, and was untouched. The brig was under weigh before we threw the guns of the battery, already spiked, over the parapet, made good our retreat, and assisted at towing the brig out. In the mean time, the cutter had attempted the capture of another vessel, which looked invitingly large, and was moored alongside the jetty; but a division of French troops soon wrested that prize from us, and we lost one or two brave men by the failure. The brig was now out of the harbour, when a round-shot struck the starboard oars of the pinnace, about a foot outside of the rowlock, and carried away six of them; this retarded the tow, but the launch and cutter coming up, we got our prize into security. To show how near a man is to his death, when the danger is almost over, I may instance the very last shot which was fired-a round of grape : one of the shot entered the stern-sheets of the gig, and was picked up by the captain from between his legs: we were luckily so far off that the shot was a spent one. Here was a glorious "cut-out!" and it is a well-known fact that so persuaded was Sir Edward Pellew of the strength of the place, that he regarded the dispatch as a romance; nay, we had the greatest trouble to persuade the officers of the different ships that we had not mistaken the port, as two of our frigates had been beaten off about a month before we made the capture. Those were the good days of honour and glory: a sailor was somebody then,-and the deeds of one called into action all the energy and emulation of his companions. Amongst the most professional traits that were recounted, one in which Mr. Irvine, the surgeon's assistant, was concerned, deserves to be mentioned: he had, in boarding the merchant-ship above mentioned, struck down an elderly Frenchman, and instantly placing his sword on the deck, began to administer relief, actually apologizing for having made a blow at so old a man. In the middle of his healing, the vessel was nearly retaken Irvine instantly resumed his sword, beat off the intruders, and a second time returned to his patient. The troops soon, however, forced the doctor to retire, and the generous Frenchman was heard to pray that the doctor might escape unhurt. The prayer was heard, and our Esculapius and friend returned untouched.

These two may serve to give a description of the kind of service; but of course Sir Edward Hamilton, who took a frigate out of Puerto Cabello in Columbia, with only the boats of a frigate, could give about fifty instances of valour and determination quite unknown to me in our comparative insignificant attack. Almost every ship in the navy has, more or less, been concerned in this mode of obtaining prize-money, and of annoying the enemy; and if I were to mention every instance which occurred on board the Menelaus, of "cuttingout" during my stay on board of her, I should never get to the end of these papers. F.

(To be continued.)

A VIEW OF MODERN ENGLISH LITERATURE.-PART II.

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.

It must be conceded, that there never was a time when so great a number of men of extraordinary genius flourished together in this island; as many may have existed, and perhaps there may be always an equal quantity of latent capacity ;-but since the circumstances of no previous period of human history have been altogether so calculated to awaken, inspirit, and perfect every species of intellectual energy, it is no arrogant assumption in favour of the living, no disparagement of the merits of the dead, to assert the manifest superiority of the former in developed powers-powers of the rarest and most elevated kind in poetry,-the noblest of the arts, and that which is brought earliest to the consummation of excellence, as it depends not upon the progress of science, but on sensibility to that which is at all times in itself equally striking in the grandeur, beauty, and splendour of external nature, with corresponding intensity of feeling towards whatsoever things are pure, lovely, and of good report in the mind of man, or in the scenes and circumstances of domestic life. In poetry, late as it is in the age of the world, and after all the anticipations in every field that could furnish subjects for verse, within the last three thousand years,-the present generation can boast of at least six names that may be ranked with any other six (averaging the measure of genius on both sides) not only of our own country, but of any other that were cotemporaries, independent of a far greater number of highly accomplished writers, such as in every refined and lettered period must abound-men who are rather poets by choice than by destiny, and who, if they had been either kings or beggars, would not have been poets at all, because in the one case they would have been above, and in the other below, the temptation and pleasure of courting the Muses. Scott, Southey, Wordsworth, Moore, Campbell, and Byron,-these, under any circumstances, from the original bias of their minds, must have been poets: had they been born to thrones, they would have woven for themselves chaplets of bays more glorious than the crowns which they inherited; had they been cast in the meanest stations of civilized society, they would have been distinguished among their peers, and above them, by some emanation of that "light from Heaven" which no darkness of ignorance in untutored minds could utterly extinguish or always hide. It must be further acknowledged by all who have justly appreciated the works of these authors, (which are exceedingly dissimilar in those respects wherein each is most excellent,) that the great national events of their day have had no small influence in training their genius, leading them to the choice of subjects, and modifying their style. So far then these circumstances have been sources of inspiration; but there is a drawback with regard to each, that, yielding to the impatient temper of the times in their eager pursuit of Fame, they have occasionally aimed at the temple on the mountain-top, not by the slow, painful, and laborious paths which their immortal predecessors trod, and which all must tread who would be sure of gaining the eminence, and keeping their December, 1831.—VOL. II. NO. VIII,

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station when they have gained it,-bet they have rather striven to scale the heights by leaping from rock to lock up the most precipitous side, forcing their passage through the impenetrable forests that eagirdle it, or plunging across the beadlong torrents that descend in various windings from their fountains at the peak. Thus they have endeavoured to attract attention and excite astonishment, rather by prodigious acis of spontaneous eset'on, than to display gradually, and eventually to the utmost advantage, the well directed and perfectly concentrated fo.ce of their talents. la a word, it may be doubted whether one of the living five (for By:on is now beyond the reach of warning) has ever yet done bis very best in a single effort worthy of himself (I wesa in their longer worl.s), by sacrificing all his merely good, middag, and inie or thoughts, which he has in common with eve ybody else, and appearing solely in his peculiar character, that characier of excellence, whatever it may be, waerein he is distinct from all the lying and all the dead;--the pe·sonal identity of his genies shining only where he can outshine all rivals, or where he can shine alone when i'val y is excluded. Till each of the survivos has done this, it can hardly be ali med that he has secured the immortality of one of his great intellec val ofispring:there is a velperable pa t of each, which Death with his dart, or Time with his scythe, may sooner or later strike dowa to obliviou.1

The unprecedented sale of the poet cat works of Scotland Byron, with the moderate success of others, proves that a great change had taken place both in the character of authors and in the taste of readers, within forty years. About the beginning of the French Revolution scarcely any thing ia rhyme, except the ludicrous eccen tricities of Peter Piader, would take with the public: a few years afterwards booksellers ventured to specplete in quarto volames of verse, at from five shillings to a guinea a live, and in various instances were abundantly recompensed for their eality. There are fifty living poets (among whom it mest not be fo gouen, that not a few are of the better sex-I may single out four: Mis. Joanna Baillie, Mrs. Hemans, Miss Milford, and L. E. L.) whose labours have proved profitable to themselves in a pecuniary way, and fame in proportion has followed the more substantial reward. This may appear a degrading standard by which to mease e the genius of writers and the elligence of readers, but in a commercial country, at least, it is an equitable one; for no mania bis right m'od caa suppose that such a se in the market-demand could have taken place, valess the commodity itself had become more precious or more have, or the taste of the public for that kind of Feratore had been exceedingly improved. Now poetry, instead of being mose rare, was tenfold more abundant when it was most in request; it follows, therefore,

1 Tu eading the fo egoing passage at the Royal and London Institutions, the Author distinctly rema Led, that as he could not be supposed to speak invidiously of any one of the g eat poets implica ed in the qualified censure, he did not deem any other apology necessary either to themselves or their admirers there present, except that, deeming such censure applicable to cotemporaries in general, he bad named those only who could not be injured in their established reputation, or their honourable feelings, by the frankness of honest criticism; and who could therefore afford to be told of faults which they had, ia a small degree, in common with a multitude of their inferiors, who have the same in a much higher.

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