| | | | | | |

& ong, bat not loud, the drooping wheel went on,

Ky VOL. XVLI LITERATURE,

SCENE.

—

THE CLOSING

Within the sober realms of leafless trees, The ruaset year inhaled the balmy air ;

Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare

The gray bares looking from their hazy bille O'er the dan waters widening in the vulea

Sent down the air a greeting to the mills,

On the dull diander of alternate flaiis.

All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued, The hills seemed further, and the stream sang low,

As ina dream the distant woodmau hewed His wiater log with many a muffled blow

The embattled forest, erewhile armed with cold, Their banners bright with every martial hue, Now stood like some sad, beaten boast of old

Withdrawn atar in Time's remotest blue.

Ona sombre wings the vulture tried his flight The dove searce heard his sighing mate's com plaint ; And like « star slow drowning in the light,

The villege charch vane seemed to pale and faint

he seutinel cock upon the hill-side crew—

Crew thrice—and all was stiller than before; Sileut, tll some replying warder blew

His alpeu hern, and then was heurd no more

Whereat the juy within the eim’s tall crest,

Mude garrulous trouble rouud her uniedged|as if it was hushed forever.

young ; Aud where the oriole hung her swaying nest,

By every litle wind like a censor swung-- Where sang the noisy martins of the eaves, The basy swallows circling ever near—~ Forebodi:

An early barvest and a plenteous year ;

ig, as the rustic mind believes,

Where every bird that waked the vernal feast, Sheok the sweet slamber from its wings at isorn To warn the

All now was sunless, empty and forlorn.

reaper of the rosy east;

Alone. from ont the stubble, piped the quail Aud croaked the crow through all tle } xl ; Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale, Made eche iz the distant cctiave loom There was no bad, no bloom upon the flowers

The spiders moved their thin shrouds night by |

nigat, The thiatle

Suiled siowly by | assed noise

sost of flowers,

less out of +

down, the only gi ght. Anzid all this is most dreary air

And where the wood

—int . yine shed upon the P rch

Ite crimson leaves, as if the year stood there Firing the floor with its inverted torch Amid al! this, the centre of the scene, The white-haired matron, with monotonos s'read, |

Plied the ewift wheel, and with

Sat like a fate, and watched the flving tread She had known sorrow. He had walked wit!) her Oft expped, and broke with her the ashen crvet, } And in the dead leaves still she beard the stir

Ot his thick mantle trailing in the dust }

While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, Her coantry eammoned, and she gave her all; And twice War bowed to her his sable plame—

Re-gate the sword to rust upon the wall-

Re-gave the eword, but not the hand that drew And etrack for liberty the dying blow ; Nor him, wt

» to his sire and country true,

Fell ‘mid the ranks of the invading foe.

Like the low murmar of a hive at noon; Leng, tut not load, the memory of the gone

Breathed throaga ber lips a glad and tremulous luue.

At last the thread was snapped—her head was bowed ;

Life dropped the distaff throngb her hands

And leving neighbors smoothea her carefal \iroud ;

serene;

Wuile death aud winter closed the autumn sceve

THE

-+->_e--- WEST WIND.

Beneath che forest's ekirta I rest,

Whose branching pines rise dark and Ligh, And bear the breezes of the West

Among the threaded foliage sigh.

Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe ! Is not thy home among the flowers? Do not the bright Jane roses blow, To meet thy kise at moruing hours?

And lo!

Yon stretehing valleys green and gay Aud you free hill tops, o'er whose head

thy glorious realms outspread—

The loose white clouds are burne away.

And there the fall broad river ruva,

Aud many a fount wells fresh and sweet To cool thee when the mid-day suns

liave made thee faiut beneath their h eat.

Thea wind of joy, and youth, and love Spirit of the new awaken d year! The aun in his new realms above Smoothes a bright path when thou art here.

In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, The wvoing-ring dove in the shade; On thy soft breath the new fledged bird Takes wing, balf happy, balf ufraid

Ab! thon art like our wayward race; Wheu not a shade of pain or ill

Dime the bright smile of Nature's face, Thox lovest to sigh and marmur still

a a THE ARCTIC PRISON ; OR, SAILING AMONG THE ICEBERGS.

_—_—

BY LEOPARD ST. VINCENT.

The Ship awung heavily to and fro — the long yards Creaking and shivering upon the mosts.

The wind whistled with a shrill, weird sound among the shrouds; and the shrouds bent 1n- Wards as though unseen bands of heavy footed men were ascerding them. It was a dark night, yet not so dark but that we could see the lofty lecbergs by which we were surrounded looming “pward lke spectres through the gloom. We were tossing about on the waters of the Aretie Ocean, and, subjected to a heavy gale of wind, Cur position was a@ dangerous one. We bad al- ready begun te prepare raite, and to hoist our Chests on deck, expecting every moment the ship Would be etoveia by the ice. Heavy masses were continually crashing against the bows, and thun- dering under the counter, causing the vessel to thake anc quiver from stem to stern, as though every timber was about to give way.

Would be thrown off their feet, and tumble on

top of each other in a manner that wae far from

agreeable.

reary |

her jovless mien, |

: At times the concussion would be so violent that all hands

CHARLOTTETOWN.

“She is not there now; I have looked in all nothing of him.

; the rooms. Ob God! my child! my child!’ and | the mother wrung her bands in anguish, while ‘her white face grew still whiter.

}

“This is true Liberty, wi

KEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITICS,

LITERAT

URE AND

NEWS,

—————S==—

we

2en E'reeborn Men, having to advise the Public, may speak free.” --- Euripides.

PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, DECEMBER J, 1865.

(NO. 6.

By the sound of his bark we should bave judged that he stood on the summit of an iceberg we were then approaching, and which was but a few fathoms distant. Yet, not-

“Wife! wife!” exclaimed the captain, half) withstanding this, no Blusco was there visible. isternly, “ Lilian was with you when I left the} What could it mean?

Had some mermaid

An Englishman once went to Frederick the | Great, for the purpose of giving him sume Specimens of his extraordinary memory. | Frederick sent for Voltaire, who read to hie

Majesty a poem which he had just finished. |The Englishman was concealed in such a manner as to be able to hear every word that

‘cabin; surely you did not let her leave your side | charmed the dog into invisibility? Wecontinued| was said. When Voltaire had concluded, |

””

‘at such a time as this? !* eried his wife, in accents of the | most piercing grief

| lost !

“ Yes! ves “It is all my fault — she is My little Lilian is lost! and I am the | cause |”

| “For God's suke, explain yourself!" gasped | the captain.

“T left her down in the cabin,” faltered the agonized mother, “aud came on deck, as I

jto approach. The barking became still louder, |

rather large one—trembled as though under the

influence of an epileptic fit. Still there was no

Blusco in sight.

Our boat struck the iceberg. A pair of bright fing es gleamed at us through a chink in the crystal lw all—they were the eyesof Bluseo ! The mystery

was explained! The monument of ice was hol

|} wan ed to speak to you. IT thought you were in low, forming a rude little chamber, in which the | the waist, so I groped my way there, and tried | dog was snugly ensconced.

| te find you. Not seeing you, | started on my re- |

But

| when I reached the cabin again she was not there

| turn, fearing tu leave Lilian so long alone

| —xgone! gone! God ouly knows where!”

} ; > 4 , |} “Lilian! Lilian! has any one s en Lilian?”

Fore and aft, f om every lip, in startling ac-

cents, that cry went tp amid the storm.

hewl, | rusty rivets; the heavy icebergs crashed upon } the bows; and the timbers groaned and shook as | they had done before. The silvery accents of little Lilian’s voice came not to our ears, and felt But the wailing | bmes of the poor wother, and the despairing | shouts of the father — both of whom could not j bear to give up the child — continued long after our own Voices had ceased.

hearted, childish men though we were—forgetting

Then we—rough-

i

| | | jour own danger, gathered about the effected pair

and tried to console them. I don't think we sue- ceeded very well, for our voices trembled a great | deal ; and the tears would come to our eyes, | though we kept wiping them away with the cuffs | of our heavy jackets. No one of us but had loved | little Lihan almost as well as the parents them- j selves, She was but seven years of age; yet the | earnest glance of her dark biue eyes would gu | straight to our hearts, and wake us feel kind and } goed to each other. To utter an oath when she

;was near would have seemed lke sacrilege Like a lilly she had bloomed in our midst, shedd- jing a heavenly influeuce about her, which soothed | and purified our rugged natures. | Strong—oh! strong indeed is the power of in- i nocent childhood over a single heart.

lt was while we thus stood, clustering near the binnacle, offering what little conselatioa we | could to the captain and his wife, when one of the | ship's crew—an old tar by the naiwne of Bill | Butler—eame towards us holding a few little torn | shreds of cloth in his hand. | ‘I found this ere hanging ona hook on the out- | side of the bulwark,” said Bill in a low. wourufu! | vote, | “Tt is a part of Lilian’s dress!” shriecked the

| captain's voice.

a ery, and we looked at ooe another in sad silence. | There could no looger be any doubt advut the watter, Lilian bad tallen overboard.

| The few remaining boure of the night worr jaway. The gale subsided. Miraculously, as it jseems to us, the ship had escaped being stove ; jand, as the sea had gone down with the gale, |there was now no were danger, Overwhelmed

| with grief, vet feeling it his duty to try and con-

The long yards still creaked upon their

But the wind only answered with a deeper

sole his wife, the captain descended into the cabin,

| leaving the management of the ship's affairs in the hands of the mate. Presently the steward catie jou deck. nad seen Blusco that morning. This was the }name of a large Newfoundland dog which bad

He wished to know if any of the hands

| been a great favorite with Lilian, and she bad | taken especial delight in feeding him. The dog had grown extremely fond of his young mistress, }and would show his attachment in many Ways peculiar to his kind. Now that their dariing was lost, the captain bad ordered the steward to bring | Bluseu to them, thinking that the sight of bin might afford a melancholy consolation to his wife } Heving scarched the cabin throughout without | being able to Giud the aniwal, the steward came on deck, as we have said, to enquire it be had | bee noticed by any of the hands. We all an- swered in the negative. None of us had seen the dog since the previous night. | ship was ransacked fore and aft for the missing animal; and althongh we searched in every nook and corner, he was not to be found.

Thereupon the

While we were all wondering what had beeome of bum, the man at the mast head sung out that there were whales astern, The mate iustantly ordered the boats te be lowered, and before we searcely had time to divest ourselves of the idea that we were etill looking for the dog, we were paddling swiftly in the wake of a great fat bew head. The whale wade straight for a field of ice in the distance, and went down when he got in the middle of it. We followed hin almost up to the spot where be bad disappeared, and then lay motionless and silently waiting for the next rising. Large masses of ice, flashing glo- riously in the early rays of the sun, and mouided into a tnousand different shapes, surrounded our little craft on every band, floating by witb ma- jestic slowness, aud then crashing against each be rent asunder. Strange, beautiful monuments are those fashioned by the hand of nature—monu- {ments of the frezen mariners that sleep below.

* There it goes again,” said old Bill Butler in a whisper,

“ What?" asked the mate.

“ That barking noise,” replied Bill; “ I've been hearin’ it ever since we left the ship.”

The mate leaned upon his steering oar and listened.

“It is a seal,” he said.

“ Beg your pardon, sir,” replied Bill; “but J never beard a sval bark like that.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed a Portuguese eo loud that the mate was obliged to rap hi on the head with bia knuckles; “good heavens!” he added in a lower tone, “ me tink dat one deg.”

* Good heavens! Mikeel, me tink same,” re- marked another Portuguese —a little fat fellow by the name of Pat Plunker.

« Pokee (suppose ii) doge a miki, good,” said a Kanaka.

“It does sound mightily like a dog,” said the mate, as the barking became more distinet ; “ perhaps it is Blusco on the ice cake.”’.

Turning the boat around with his steering oar, gntil ber bows pointed in the direction of the e mate new ordered us to paddle ahead.

noise, {2

Suddenly a white face, with wild, glaring eyes | We obeyed, and the beat shot forward with an

2 ) of a bewspaper. (ly Conflan’s plan, Oa the whole, it was two. are su rted from a grucer’s profits, and quivering lips appeared among us. It was easy speed. The barking sowuded nearer every repeat the Theta. epoten ts. oF Z ogee: I Polock 7 oF aftetecen balice Thiele withlite olacind atesbantiie iow. which he was his vanward eight, could get clateh of Con-| country girl might bave her pretty kirtle, or fiins. And truly, be did then strike hia other picturesque article of costume ; but she_ returned, and pretending that he had lost it, claws into him im a thunderously nervous never dreamt of flaunting before ber neigh- -manner, he and all hands, in spite of the bors after such bizarre fashion as is now

i : : ti that of the captain's wife. She laid her head moment, until at last we were @ule convinced by | It is said of Mag

upon her husband's arm as he stood near the bow.

7”

“Lipian! Good beavens! wife, what do you, This was the question that now rose to our could; u lips. We could hear him plainly, but could see the wh?

Dea, I lef. ber with you in the cabin?”

other with a foree which caused sume of them to)

* Oh, Heaven be praised! just look here,” ex- claimed the mate, turning to Bill, and motioning him to look through the crevice from which he had just withdrawn his own eyea.

Bill did as requested, and beheld a sight which filled him with as much joy as it did with amaze- nent. Reclining in one corner of this iee-bound apartinent, her golden hair falling about her pale face, and the silken lashes veiling her beautiful eyes, he saw the unmistakable figure of little Lilian.

With a few blows of our hatchet we soon sue- The little girl aud Blusee were taken out and placed in the boat. We laid back upon our oars with all the strength we possessed, while the mate, draw- ing a brandy flask from his pocket, poured a few drops of the liquor down Lilian’s throat. By the faint pulsation of her heart he knew that the cur- rent of life was not yet frozen—that she had only

ceeded in effecting an opening in the ice wall

sunk into that cold stupid kind of dose from which there is vo awaketing.

The ship was reached at last. The mate as- cended to the deck apd took the inseusible burden that Bill passed up to him.

“ Captain!” he said, as he descended the com- panion way, “IT have brought you no whale, but something that [ think will be more acceptable.’

The captain and his wife bad both caught sight of their child at one and the same moment.

“My child!

ther, rushing forward te clasp her in ber arms

My Lilian!’ screamed the mo

Chen, noticing her pale face and drooping head, she sank into a seat, overcome by her feelings, and stretching forth ber arms, faintly murmured— * Dead! dead! she is dead! little dead girl!"

Give me ny poor

“No—no! she is not dead!’ replied the mate. “If proper measures are taken she can be res- tored ina few minutes.”

So saying he laid her on the bed, and assisted the anxious father in his efforts tu restore the cir- culation of her bleed.

In a few moments they had the gatisfaction of

secing Lilian open her blue eyes, and of hearing

ier speak the word “ mother.” The nextinstant

she was pressed to the latter’s bosom, and covered

The captain buried his face in his hands with | with tears and kisses. This probably helped nearly

as much as the other operations had done to res- iore the circulation of the blood, for there was a deep carnation tint upon beth cheek and lip. The excitement having in some degree subsided. explanations followed.

Lilian stated that after hermother had left ber

to go on deck, she thought she wi uldjust go up to

get a peep over the rail at the icebergs. This idea had no aooner entered her head than she earried it

intu execution. In leaning too far over the rail,

| however,—the ship happened to give a lurch at '

the same time—she lost her balance and was pre cipitated into the water. On rising to the surface she felt herself seized by the neck of her dress, and the next moment dragged on to a large cake Then she perceived that her deliverer She felt terribly frighiened and clung close tothe dog. She re.nembered that they were half shut in by the three walls of ice,

of ice.

was noble Blasco,

which partly prevented the waves from dashing in upon them. Suddeuly the cake upon which they were standing came in contact with another whieh towered up like a lofty column. When the concussion teok place this lofty mass tottered over and fell upon the three walls of ice, (by which the little girl and her dog were encompassed,) in such a curious manner as to completely close them ap, as though they were in a prison. she remained a long time, praying and hugging the dog by turns, until at last, feeling cold and

In this position

benumbed, she began to grow drowsy and fell into a dose. Had her rescue from this situation been delayed a few minutes longer we would never, in al) probability, bave succeeded in bring- ug her te life. Aa it was, along time elapsed ere the watural freedom of cireulation could be restored tu one of her arms.

Many were the praises lavished on Blusco for his noble conduct, and although he shakes his head and turns up bis broad nose when any per- son speaks to him about it, as much as to say “pshaw, it’s nothing ’—still we believe that in his own heart he is proud of bis exploit.

_ MISCELLANEOUS,

ad ~

WONDERFUL MEMORLES. (From Chambers’ Edinburg Journal ) As nature has made strange fellows in her time, we are surprised that some of her fayo- rites should have been endowed with most

extraordinary memories. Let us mention a

tew of these: —

Seneca says taat he could by the mere ef- fort of bis natural memory, repeat two thou- sand words upon hearing them. ile also mentions Cyneas, King Pyrrhus’ Ambassa-

or to Rome, who, in one day, so well learned the names of the people whom he saw, that the next day he saluted them all, the Senators and all the populace assembled, each by his propername. Cyprus, according to Play, kuew every soldier in his army by name, and L, Scipio ali the suldiets in Rome Carneadess, it is eaid could repeat any vo- lume found in the libraries as readily as if he was reading.

Mithridates, the king of twenty-two na- tions, held cours in as many languages, and conversed with each nation in its Own tongue. Cardinal Mezzvtanti knew so many languages that he might have acted as ipter- preter general at the Tower of Babel. Lip- sius remembered all the history of Tacitus ; Francie Suarez all Sc. Aagustine’s works, Avicennaall Aristotie’s metaphysics. Joseph Schaliger, when a young man, could repeat above one hundred verses, having once read them, and in the couree of a few weeks could repeat the contents of whole books mn langauges. The German poet Klopstock could repeat Homer from beginning to end. | William Lyons,

having lent him a manoscript

ita peculiarity that it emanated front trgend going to print, came to him soon after it was

ian! Lilian!” she gasped; “ where is our! throat than that of Blusco. ~*~

But where was he?

Mesired bim to repeat as much of it as he . n which Mugliabeccbi wrote dowa without missing a word.

j and was now full of frantic joy. The iceberg—a |

Frederick observed that a foreign gentleman could immediately repeat the same poem to | him, and therefore it could not be original. | Voltaire listened with astonishment to the stranger's declaration, and then fell into a great rage, and tore the manuscript int» pieces. When Frederick informed him of his mistake, the Englishman again dictated to Voltaire the whole poem with perfect cor- rectness

Morphy and other chess-players have re- cently given instances of their extraurdinary memories. Dr. Wallis tell us that he could by a mere effort of memory perform arithme- tical calculations, as multiplication, division, extraction of roots, ete, up to forty places. Rerah Colburn, George Bidder and Jedediah Baxton were also wonderful arichmeticians. Che fast named, once mentally caleutated how much a farthing, doubled 140 times, would come to, and the answer was set duwn from his lips in 39 places of pounds, and an odd 2s. 6d.; and being once asked how many barleveorns would reach eight miles, an- swered in one minute and a half, 1.520 540 Sir Walter Scott hoda maryeilously retenuve memory; so had Macaulay, who, 1 is said, eould repeat from lis memory the whole o! *» Paradise Lost.’

In the stirring days of Athenian political greatness, men could be found who could re- peat the “Ihad’? and ‘Odyssey ;’’ and we have read of a wan in Naples who could re- peat the whole of Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem De- livered,’’ and not only recite it consecutively, but repeat any stanzas in any given book, repeat thuse stanzas in utter defiance of the sense, either backwards or forwards, or from the eighth to the first line alternat ly. We have heard of several persons (notably the late Blind Jamie of Stirling) who could re- peat the whole of the Bible, or any required chapter or verse in it. There are, besides, dozens of living persons with most marvelloug memories, the chief of whom ts, perliaps, Mr. Eliha Burritt, the Mezzofanti of the present day.

Now, all these are instances of extraor- dinary memories given by nature, although they may have been improved by cultivation and practice.

That Nature's eff srts can be assisted is plain in this as in other cases; and us a good memory has at all times been considered ad- Vantageous to its possessor it is not to be wondered at that attempts at different times should have been made to cultivate and im~- prove it. Lt 1s now an art, and indeed has! been so for a couple of thousand years, The art is said to have been discovered about 600 BB, by the poet Simones, who was once, as the story tells us, employed by Scopias, a rich Thessalian nobleman, to compose a song in Commemoration of the victory gained by the Initer at the Olympian games—a banquet heing given by Scopias in honor of the ocea- sion, to whieh Simonides was invited. Due- ing the feast a message was brought to the poet that there was a young man ut the gate anxious to see bitin.

When he went out te fuued ov vue, bus while engaged ia the search, the house which he had just left fell down killing Scorpias and all that were with him. The bodies were 80 mutilated that they could not be res cognized ; but Simondes, by calling to mind the place that each had occupied at the feast, was enabled to distinguish them; bence his attention was attracted to the important aid afforded to memory by material objects. This plan was subsequently much practised among the Romans. Cicero says: ** Such are the effects of local situations in recalling asso- ciated ideas to the mind, that itis not without reason some philosophers hava founded on this principle a species of artificial memory.”’ lt would even appear, from the accounts which have been handed down to us, that the ancient orators were in the habit of con necting, in their minds, the different parts of a speech with the diff:rent parts «fthe build- ing in which they were delivered; and this association of mental with material objects is the Jeading principle upon which the art of newory is founded at the presentday. Some hundreds of works on this art have been pub- lished in this and in foreign countries, and mnemonics has, at times. been so much etud- ied as to amountalmost toamania. In 1811, temaigie, a German lecturer, gave i}lustra- tious of mnemonics at the Royal Institation, and astonished a good number of his hearers by the apparentiy extraordinary memories ot himself and pupils. Then tue art of me- mory died out of public favor, EO

A SEA FIGHT,

The fifth volumn of Carlyle‘s great histori- cal work is almost wholly taken up with bat- tle pieces—echiefly battles by land. The au- thor is an admirable describer of warlike exploits; but he has usually confined himself to the narrative of actions by land. In his volume of the life of Frederick, however, be gives us a sea piece, which, though it docs not specially concern the hero of the book, cannot but have its own interest for Kaglish readers, since it isa record of the achieve- ments of one of our sea-dogs, the once famous defeat of Conflans in Quiberon Bay.

Nov. 9th.—A wild gale of wind had blown Hawke out of sight, away hone to Lorbay for the moment. **Now is the time,” thoaght Conflans, and put to sea (Nov. 14); met by Hawke, who weighed from Torbay to his duty, and who, of course, crowded every suil when be heard that Conflans was out. At break of day, Nov. 20cm, im the very hours in which poor Finck was embattling himself round Maxen, and Daan sprawling up upon him through the passes, Wawke had had sig- nal—*‘a fleet in sight,’’ aad svon after **Con- flins in sight.’’ and the day of trial come Conflins is about the strength o! Hawke, and France expects much of him; bat he is not expecting Hawke. Conflins is busy at this moment in the mouth of Quiberon Bay open- ing the road for Vannes and the 18,000 ;—1n hot chase at the moment of a Commodore Duff and his small squadron, who are keeping watch there, and are now running ail they can. On a sudden, to the astonishment of Conflans, this little squadron whirls round, every ship of it, with a sky-rending cheer which could be heard, and commences chas- ing. Conflans, taking survey, saa that it is Hawke; he, sure enough, coming down from windward yonder, at his highest speed, and that chasing will not be now one’s business

About Ll a. m , Hawke is bere; eight of bis vanward ships are sweeping on for action. Confians, at first, had determined to fight Hawke, and drew up accordingly, and did jtry a iittle, but gradually thought better of | it, and decided to take shelter in the shoaly coast and nooks thereabout, whieh were un- known to llawke, and migtt ruin him if he

lweather extremely bad,—weather itself al- {most to be catlhed @ storm.

\roaring weather,—a man of fuloon or accipi-

'tral nature, as well as name.

prow forced in his lower tier of guns,

| Conflans himself fought well, as did certain of the others, all more or less, sv long as their plan continued steady; thunderous miscel-. lany of cannon and tempest ; — Conflans, with his plan steady, or Conflans, with bis plans wavering, versus those vanward eight, for two houre or more. But the scene was too dreadful; this sbip sinking, that obliged to strike, things all going away with Conflans. Llawke, in his owo flagship, bore down epe- cially on Conflans in his, who did wait and exchange a couple of broadsides, but then sheered off, finding it so heavy. French Vice-Admiral then gave Llawke a broadside ; ons only, and then sheered off, satisfied with the return, Some four others in succession did the ike. ‘+ One blastas we hurry by,’’ making for the shore mostly ! So that Hawke seemed swallowed in yoleanves (though in- deed their firing was very bad; such a flurry among them), and his blue flig was invisible for sume time, and various slips were hausten- ing to help bim:—till a fifte French ship coming up with her broadside, Hawke an- swered her in particular (La Superbe, « seventy-four) with all bis guns together, which sent tue poor ship to the bottom ina &@ hideously sudden manner. One other, the Thesse, had already sunk in fighting ; two (the Solel, and the Hervs.) were already ranning tor it,—the Herus in a very unheroic wanner. Bat on this terrible plunge home ot the Superbe, the rest all made for the shore ; and escaped into the rock intricacies of the darkness. Four of Conflans’ shijys were already gone; struck, sunk, or otherwise ex- net; when darkness fell, and covered Con- flans and his distresses.

Country people to the number of ten thou- sand, ** crowGed on the shore, had been watching the Dattle ; and as sad witnesses of the white Hag’s disgrace, disappeared into the interior.’’ Lt was sach a sight as men never witnesged before. Walpole says: **The ruaring of the elements was redoubled by the thunder from our ships; and both con- curred in that scene of horror to puta period to the navy and hopes ot France. Seven ships of the line got into the river Villaine, (lay there fourteen wonths under strict watching till their backs were broken, thumping against the shallow bottom every tide,’” and only three with three frigates ever got out again) ; ** eight more escaped to different ports,’? into the ceiver Charente chiefly. —Conflans’ own ship and another were run on shore and burnt. One we took. ‘Two with their crews bad gone to the bot- tour; one under Hawke's cannon ; one partly by its own mismanigement."? Two of ours were lostin the storm (‘‘chasing that Solei/ and Heros,’’) but the crews saved, Lord Howe who attacked La Formidable, bore down on her with such violence that her Cap- tain Digby in the Dunkirk received the fire of twelve of the enemy’s ships, and Jost not a man. Keppel’s was full of water and he thought it sinking ; a sudden squall emptied his ship; but he was informed that all hie powder was wet. “Then,’’ said he, “1 am sorry [am sate.’? They came and told hiw a emall quantity was undamaged. ‘Very well then,’’ said he, ‘‘attack again.’? Not above eight of our ships were engaged in ob- taining a decisive victory. The invasion was no more. * * * Hawke continued watch- ing the mouths of the Villaine and the Cha- romce Rivers, for a goud wnile alter, and without interruption henceforth — til! the storms of winter had plainly closed them for one season. Supplies of freeh provisions bad come to bim from England all summer, but were stopped by the wild weather.—Upon which, in the fleet, arose this gravely pathe-. tic stave of sea poetry, with a wrinkle ol briny homour grinning in it;

Till Hawke did bang Monsieur Qonflans (Cong ang),

You sent E beef and beer;

Now Monsieur’s beat, we’ve nowght to eat,

Since you have quught to fear.

~<a

THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF WOMEN.

There is a great outcry at present against the extravagance of women. ‘The expensive- ness of their dress, their jewellery, their adornments, their habita, the frivolity of their tastes, the vanity ot their manners, the pretentiousness of their display, are pro- nounced to be unprecedented and disgraceful. The animadversions upon the matter come with great vehemence from all parts of the civilized world — from Paria. London, and Vienna; from New York, New Orleans, and Montreal. ‘The London journals assert that it is impossible tor any but the very rich to support & fashionable woman now-a days In one of tne largest cities of France it is reported that eight thousand young bachelors have entered into an wssociation, and pledged themse!ves never to marry until the women shall sve fit to adopt less extravagant habits uf dress and living; end one of the papers of this city bas lately cortained an ace sunt of an assyciation of a similar character alleged to have been established in New York.

The outery upon this subject of female ex- travagance and vanity is not novel, bat is as old ag the annals of the race, and eon- tinugus as the successive generations. Ir occupied much attention in the literary ma- gazinesof the last century, and was a favorite point for the dramatic writers of the century before; it was satirized by the ofd Roman poets and wits, and denounced by the earliest prophets of the ancient Llebrews.

Notwithstanding all that has been said upon the subject in times past, we are con- vinced that there is more ground for the outery at this present day than ever there was belore: that ia ta say. we helieva that the vice of extravagince—for a vice it assur- edly is—has a greater scope with the present generation of women than it had with any previous generation; that it affeets a far larger number of persons in a much larger number of ways now than ever. Not merely the daughters of wealth and fortane are un- der the influence of the mania, but the wives and daughters of those who are compelled to engage in the most active pursuits of lite—in coumere'al and professional, and even in trading and mechanical vocations. Notonly giddy young girls, with empty heads, plunge into the vortex—but matronhood as well as maidenhood—tifty equally with fitteen. Not only the * children of thie world" join with each other in the race, but those wh» profess tu bave their affections above the earth and their thoughts in Heaven. The flock of belles in the chureh are as gay and gaudy as the erowd of belles in the theatre, and the extravagance of display on the morning of Sunday 18 even more wild than on the after. noon of any eecular day. Lt is not only the women in the great cities who have now got demented on thie ma ter but the little town vies with the lesser village, and the women lof the farmhouse with the females of the ‘hamlet. Extravagance covered no such sur- ‘face as thisin other times. If it was confined to ladies of tue court, the damsels of the aristocracy or fortune, and others who seem /born to be butter-flios of fashiun, it never carried its pretensions down to euch a point | in the social scale as it hag now reached. The nich merchant's wife, in other days, might perchance have a silk gown and a golden

foreign should pursue, the day being short and the | brooch; but she never conceived such prepos

‘terous displays of rainbow silks, and India

orb

Common with the sex im every village. The | Great time in the history of our count ‘wite of the well-to-do artizan or mechanic of | cap du better by going over the Boi

other times might be dressed tastefully or | nicely, but she never thoug't of making such

a show of ornaments as ars now communly [enough found upon the female dependents o/ _ those who spend their days in working at the bench.

Some may say that silks are more com- monly wern now than formerly, because they are cheaper than in other generations; that jewellery abounds more than ever because of the wider distribution of wealth in modera days; and that elaborately wrought articles of costume are really of less account now than they were in the times before machinery was applied to its manufacture. It as all true enough And it 18 well it isso. For we neither vbject to the use of rich material, bright colours, or golden orsaments, under proper circumstances, and by those who can fitly wear them after discharging properly all the other duties uf a true lite. Wiat is emphatically objectionable is the extravagant and vain and pretentious displays which are now so common among the sex, and which are certainly unbecoming and out of place, not to speak of their wickedness or their ten- dency to give rise to other and worse yices. fiis all-prevailing extravagance is baneful to both sexes. [e lowera the respect of the sterner sex for female qualities. [t bears ex- tremely hard upon the great generality of wen in active and business life, for few of them can bonestly afford to induige the ex- penses required for their fashionable wives and daughters, and many of them are con- tinually being driven to dishonesty and rain by this cause. Ie anfirs women for properly doing their part in life as belp-meets tor men; for a female got up in the modern style has time for little else beyond attending to her dress, und to the display of it. It is des- troying the profound regard which young men and all men must entertain for women ii they would retain their virtue; for a m»- ther, or a Sister, or a& sweetheart, or com- panion, who gives her whole thoughts to per- sunal ornamentation, is neither capable ol arousing noble sentiment or deep affection; therefore, as the sex values itself, let it be conjured to temper its raging extravacances, and devote itself to nobler things. —Scostish American.