he was afraid that his strange pet would die of liarity of the duke, and many stories are current kunger. "Never mind, never mind," said the of the vain endeavors of the greatest gourmets and duke;" you go to school, and I'll take care of the first chefs of Europe to please him by the most the toad." And so-according to the story-he recherché combinations of scientific and artistic did, visiting from time to time the hole, and de-cookery. In fact, the duke was as much satisfied positing therein a handful of crumbs. The duke, with the exertions of a good or bad plain cook as it is added, was fond of exhibiting his strange with those of a cordon-blue; and his “artistes" charge to visitors at Strathfieldsaye, and after left him unappreciated, and in despair. Upon one some time wrote one of his characteristic notes to occasion, in the course of his French diplomatic the boy, assuring him of his favorite's continued career, he was entertained at a tête-à-tête dinner health and vigor. The kindliness and humanity by one of the most profound connoisseurs in France, of the duke were shown in a thousand unboasted who laid his own and his chef's heads together to charities. People used to think his nature, in this produce a perfect combination of savors, in the respect, hard and cold; but he was a liberal sub-confident hope of at last exciting the great conscriber to many charitable institutions, and per- queror's dormant taste, and carrying the day by sonally he seldom failed to dispense secret relief one coup. But all in vain. After seeing, with to any particular case of distress which came before consternation, dish after dish consumed without the him. slightest symptom of satisfaction or dissatisfaction, the host at length exclaimed, as the chef-d'œuvre was being tranquilly discussed-"There, then, what does your grace say to that?" Well, Í don't know," was the reply. "I suppose it's very good, but I really don't care what I eat."

In his latter days, in London, the duke went freely into society; and society in return invented scores of nonsensical but good-humored fables in relation to matrimonial projects. Of course, such things were only spoken of as jokes-the drollery usually consisting in the disparity of the matches proposed. But the good old duke, if he did not marry, was an assistant at many marriages, and gave away so many blushing brides at St. George's, and stood godfather to so many chubby boys and girls, that he acquired a sort of proverbial fame in both capacities. In the festivities of Buckingham Palace he always played a conspicuous part, and there was something almost parental and filial in the relations between him and her majesty. His sponsorship to Prince Arthur Patrick, born on the 1st of May, 1850, will not soon be forgotten. He was the first of the queen's subjects, and his sage and weighty counsels were often put in requisition. Her majesty visited him in 1844, at Strathfieldsaye, and has also partaken of the hospitalities of Walmer. Prince Albert, on his recent voyage with the Queen to Belgium, landed at the Castle, and had a long conversation with the duke; and that was the last interview between the hero and a member of that royal family whom he loved so devotedly, and served so well.

Among other well-known peculiarities in his routine of life, were his habitual early rising-which was continued to the day before his death-and the contempt which he expressed, and indeed practised, for all kinds of what he considered effeminate case-taking. Half-past six was the customary hour at which the man of eighty-three rose each morning excepting only that sometimes, in winter, he indulged himself with half an hour's longer rest. Certainly there was nothing in the nature of the duke akin to that of the comfortable retired major who caused himself to be called every morning at daybreak for parade, in order to have the satisfaction of uttering certain expletives, condemnatory of the whole affair, and then going to sleep again. The duke always slept on a small iron bedstead. Napoleon, by the by, frequently did the same; and in his will," my two iron bedsteads, my mattresses, and my coverlets," are regularly bequeathed to his son. But the emperor's chamber was furnished very differently from Wellington's. Such articles as my three silver decanters which hold my cau de vie," and "my silver-gilt perfuming pan," could have no place in the severe personal economy of his conqueror. The duke loved to lie hard and live simply; and he laid his head down every night on a pillow covered with tightly stretched leather. His bed was so narrow that an old military friend, to whom he showed it, exclaimed, "Why, a man has no room to turn here!" "When a man begins to turn in bed," replied the duke," it 's time for him to turn out of it. The Walmer bedroom was described Such was the even and peaceful tenor of this at the time of the death of its great occupant. veteran hero's life, when, on the evening of TuesThe iron bedstead-two desks, one for writing in day, the 14th September, 1852, rumors, brought bed-a few volumes of history, biography, military by the electric telegraph, began to circulate in the works of reference, French memoirs, and blue-west end of London, and to be hurriedly passed books-a couple of tables, and twice as many from mouth to mouth, that the duke was dead. chairs that was all. The bed was curtainless. Considering his age, and his life of toil and hardMany a comfortable gentleman, drawing near a ship, such an event might always have been more winter morning's fire with his journal in his hand, or less expected; yet its effect was electrical. The has wondered what could have induced so old, and public had just been reading of the duke's move necessarily so frail a man, to attend early chapel ments from Walmer to Deal and Dover-how he at Whitehall-perhaps in the gray of a enowy had driven the Duchess of Mecklenburg Strelitz to morning. But the duke did this, when in town, the latter port, on her way to the continent-and winter and summer, and it is said that he some- how he had proceeded to Folkstone to pay a visit times formed the whole congregation. These to Mr. Wilson Croker-when all at once theso early chapels would alone have necessitated an fragments of gossip were crushed by the intelligence extreme degree of early rising; for the duke's of sudden death." On the morning of that day, toilet, every part of which he managed himself, the duke's valet, upon knocking at his master's was an affair of time, occasionally occupying him bedroom door, did not receive the customary reply, two hours and a half; but then it was always com- and after a short pause he entered without it. pleted for the day. As Scott said of himself, "no | The duke at first made no complaint, but he was dressing gown or slipper tricks here." Simplicity restless, and evidently ill at ease. At length he of taste in matters of the table was another pecu-said, "Send for Mr. Hulke." This gentleman

was a surgeon at Deal, and had been in the habit duke had left any instructions, or expressed any wish of attending the family. He was speedily at the for the disposal of his body. The reply was," None bedside of his illustrious patient, and found the whatever; and that the family were entirely duke suffering under certain symptoms of oppres-in the hands of her majesty." Upon this appeared sion and nausea, which he had once seen him ex- Lord Derby's official communication to Mr. Walhibit before. Still Mr. Hulke entertained no serious pole, announcing the intention of the crown to apprehensions. He told Lord and Lady Charles honor the remains of its most illustrious servant Wellesley, who were at Walmer, that the duke with a public funeral, but postponing all arrangewas certainly ill, but that he trusted to his grace's ments until the meeting of Parliament-to whom strength of constitution to rally from the attack. it would appear that the premier had at first deAfter prescribing some simple remedies, the sur-termined to leave the whole ordering of the cere goon withdrew, but was recalled within an hour by monial. The body meanwhile remained at Walmer, the intelligence that the duke had been attacked under a military guard of honor. by fits-an old malady, which had nearly prostrated From the day of the duke's death, masses of inhim thirteen years before-and on his return found formation and discussion as to his life and charhim in a state of perfect unconsciousness. Tele-acter occupied whole pages of the newspapers. graphic messages were at once despatched to London for Dr. Hume, Dr. Ferguson, and Dr. Williams; but the first two were absent from town, and the last was not at home. Another local practitioner, Dr. Macarthur, was, however, summoned, and the duke was raised from his bed and placed in an easy chair propped by pillows. This posture seemed to lighten his breathing, but all the stimulating remedies applied to recall the active functions of the system proved utterly fruitless. The forenoon wore on, and the great man—with his hands crossed on a pillow placed upon his knees, and his head thrown listlessly back-breathed hard and with difficulty for a couple of hours. The group around him consisted of the two surgeons, Lord Charles Wellesley, the duke's confidential valet Mr. Kendal, and we believe, towards the close of the scene, Lady Charles Wellesley. Gradually the breathing grew fuinter and calmer, and the pulse sank. The duke was then placed in a posture slightly more horizontal, but the breath continued to obb, and at length its sound ceased, the chest vibrated no longer, and there was no pulse. A mirror was brought, and held before the pale lips-it remained undimmed. The duke was dead. The fact was ascertained at about twenty minutes after three, but the exact moment of dissolution was not perceptible. Never was there a more tranquil, nor, apparently, a more painless ending.

By Tuesday night the intelligence was known in every town and district in England to which the electric telegraph extends, and a few hours more sufficed to throw almost the entire nation into mourning. Everywhere the usual symbols of sorrow were manifested-the partial closing of shops, the tolling of minute bells, and the half-mast hoisting of flags, afloat and ashore. Every subject of general conversation or of ordinary interest was at once set aside by the all-absorbing intelligence, and for perhaps a fortnight hardly a casual meeting could take place between friends without the name of the duke being uttered with reverence and sorPublic bodies, corporations, and institutions instantly met to take preliminary steps for future honors to the illustrious dead; and more than one public man-Lord John Russell and Sir James Graham among others took the opportunity of local assemblages to express without delay their deep sense of the national loss.

row.

Immediately after the duke's death information of the event was telegraphed to her majesty, at Balmoral, and to the present duke, late the Marquis of Douro, who, with the Marchioness, was then at Frankfort. The Earl of Derby was with the queen when the intelligence arrived in the Highlands, and he instantly communicated with Lord Charles Wellesley, inquiring whether the late

Indeed, the amount of journalistic, military, political, biographical, and anecdotical matter, which was in various forms offered to the public, was without measure or example. Stories of the duke, of his wars, and of his politics-of his boyhood, his old age, and of all his life between-of his private habits and eccentricities-collections of his pithy apothegms and opinions-whole hosts of the pithy letters beginning "F. M. the duke"-this mass of "Wellingtonian Literature," much of it good, thoughtful, and true, but much of it feeble, and hurriedly cooked up for the demand of the moment-perfectly stopped the progress of the ordinary publishing trade. With scarcely an exception, the journals of the entire empire echoed the eloquent and sorrowing tributes to the memory of the departed which appeared in all the London daily papers on the morning, after his decease. Many of these attracted great and deserved attention, being written with a large, strong, deep, and true appreciation of the duke's character and career, and giving graceful and earnest expression to the national sense of bereavement. Almost tho only exceptions to the universal voice of the United Kingdom were certain rabid attacks which the organs of the Ultramontane faction in Ireland directed against the memory of the most illustrious of Irishmen; but the tone of those effusions was so utterly overstrained and morbid that their virulence defeated itself, and aroused at least as much contempt as indignation. The American and Continental journals, speaking generally, did justice to the duke. There were excellent articles in the periodicals of Berlin, Vienna, and Madrid, turning mainly upon the military career of Wellington; and it was reserved for the servile press of the Elysée to form a miserable exception to the honorable justice and fairness of European journalism. But the remnants of the independent press of Paris made noble, ample, and generous atonement for the spiteful and vindictive littleness of the usurper's tools. The Journal des Débats, in particular, published an elaborate essay upon the duke, his character as a warrior and a statesman, by one of its regular writers, M. John Lemoine, which has been rivalled but by a very few of our best and most thoughtful estimates. M. Lemoine understands the English people better, perhaps, than any Frenchman who ever wrote on us before; and he speaks of us impartially, and in the most genial and cosmopolitan spirit. His estimate of Wellington, and his parallel between Wellington and Peel, are calm, comprehensive, full of a certain placid and lucid thoughtfulness, and in their main features unquestionably true. There are, however, certain opinions-particularly those having reference to some points in the character

Will miss his punctual presence at their stateThe shade of such eclipse even lowly hearths will

cross.

But I, a jester, what have I to do

With greatness or the grave? The man and theme
The comment of my page may ill beseem:
So be it—yet not less do I pay tribute true.
For that in him to which I would bow down
Comes not of honors heaped upon his head,
Comes not of orders on his breast outspread-
Nor yet of captain's nor of councillor's renown.
It is that all his life example shows

Of reverence for duty; where he saw
Duty commanding word or act, her law
With him was absolute, and brooked no quibbling
glose.

He followed where she pointed; right ahead

Unheeding what might sweep across his path,
The cannon's volley, or the people's wrath;
No hope, howe'er forlorn, but at her call he led.
Hard as a blade so tempered needs must be,
And, sometimes, scant of courtesy, as one
Whose life has dealt with stern things to be done,

and career of Sir Robert Peel-which, if reconsidered by the writer, would probably be amended. The Roman Catholic Emancipation Bill was carried by the Duke of Wellington against his own opinion of its moral and abstract propriety; but the repeal of the corn-laws was carried by Sir Robert Peel in deference to his own strong and earnest convictions of the wisdom and necessity of the measure -convictions gradually formed by profound study of the subject, and, when formed, carried out at a sacrifice of party ties and ancient friendships, and in the face of a howl of execration from men of his own caste and social position which would have utterly daunted any statesman not endowed with the purest, the noblest, and the most heroic moral resolution. M. Lemoine has yet to learn the martyrdom which Sir Robert Peel endured for his opinions. In all other respects, however, the article is of very high merit-acute and candid, with quaint and pungent points very neatly put, and altogether with a pleasant spirit and savor which are most characteristic of the accomplished writer. At the entreaty of many British residents in Paris, M. Lemoine has rewritten his essay in English-Not wide in range of thought, nor deep of subtlety; and, with the exception of here and there a slightly unidiomatic phrase, very excellent English it is. As the flood of literary and political discussion about the career and character of the duke began to subside, the question of his funeral presented itself to the public mind, and numberless were the proposals and suggestions which overflowed the columns of the press. The lying-instate was the first matter discussed, and Westminster-hall was the favorite spot indicated. A procession, upon a scale including all the members of both Houses of Parliament, was also strongly recommended. Indeed, there were no bounds to the extent to which some letter and pamphlet writers seemed disposed to go. At length, after nearly six weeks of irregular discussion, the cabinet appeared to have suddenly changed its mind as to consulting the Legislature on the arrangements of the funeral; and official announcements were made, settling the main points, and were shortly followed by others fixing the date and propounding the details of the ceremonial to be observed. There is doubtless room for difference of opinion on various features of the plan which has been adopted; but it is generally acknowledged that the government have, to the best of their ability, organized the most elaborate and splendid public interment which a nation ever bestowed upon its most illustrious servants or its truest sons.

Here we draw our biography to a close. What follows is the contemporary description and record of the closing scene of all; and to that deeply interesting narrative we now commend the reader. [See Living Age, No. 451.]

WELLINGTON.

From Punch.

ALL bring their tribute to his name-from her
Who wears the crown, to him who plies the spade
Under those windows where his corpse is laid,
Taking its rest at last from all those years of stir;
Years that remoulded an old world in roar

And furnace-fires of strife—with hideous clang
Of battle-hammers; where they loudest rang,
His clear, sharp voice was heard that ne'er will be
heard more.

Courts have a seemly sorrow for such loss;
Cabinets politic regret; the great

Of most distrustful; sparing in discourse;
Himself untiring, and from all around
Claiming that force which in himself he found-
He lived and asked no love, but won respect perforce.
And of respect, at last, came love unsought,

But not repelled when offered; and we knew
That this rare sternness had its softness too,
That woman's charm and grace upon his being
wrought;

That underneath the armor of his breast

Were springs of tenderness-all quick to flow
In sympathy with childhood's joy or woe;
That children climbed his knees, and made his arms

their nest.

For fifty of its eighty years and four

His life has been before us; who but knew
The short, spare frame, the eye of piercing blue,
The eagle beak, the finger reared before
In greeting? Well he bore his load of years, 6 att de
As in his daily walk he paced along

To early prayer, or, 'mid the admiring throng,
Passed through Whitehall to counsel with his peers.
He was true English-down to the heart's core;

His sternness and his softness English both;
Till we are slow to think that he can be no more.
Our reverence and love grew with his growth,
Peace to him! Let him sleep near him who fell
Victor at Trafalgar; by Nelson's sidewal
Wellington's ashes fitly may abide.
Great captain-noble heart! Hail to thee, and fare-

well!

WEBSTER.

From the Boston Post.

GONE! and the world may never hear again
The grand old music of thy wondrous speech,
Striking far deeper than the mind could reach
Into the heart and purposes of men!

Gone! and the helm that in thy Roman hands
Drove the stout vessel through the blinding storm,
Scarce to a feebler guidance will conform,
When waves beat high, and ropes break, strand by
strand.

Gone! we are like old men whose infant eyes
Familiar were with some vast pyramid-
Even as we gaze, earth yawns, and it is hid-
A low wide desert mocks the empty skies!

A PLAGIARISM BY DISRAELI.

THE London wits are making themselves merry over the discovery that the remarks made by Disraeli in the House of Commons, on the death of the Duke of Wellington, were stolen from a speech of Thiers on the death of Marshal St. Cyr. The London News says:

In his "Curiosities of Literature," Mr. Disraeli senior tells us :-"Some authors have practised singular impositions upon the public," and he then goes on to quote the case of Varillas, the French historian, who enjoyed for some time a great reputation in his country" as a writer who had penetrated the inmost recesses of the Cabinet."

deceived.

66

66

Embalmed, therefore, in the Curiosities of Disraeli the Father, we find the names and deeds of Gemell Carreri, George Psalmanazar, Lauder, Annius of Viterbo, Macpherson, and the great literary Jew impostor, Benjamin of Todela. Of such men our author discourses at some length, and with much gusto-amusing his readers by many ingenious scraps and facts gleaned industriously to illustrate his theme. But all his inmanias than degrading literary thefts. stances illustrate rather dishonest literary mono

and runs as follows:

When a new edition of the "Curiosities of Literature" is required to satisfy the cravings of public appetite for such knowledge rechauffée, we may But, alas for Varillas and his reputation! other expect to find within the book another illustration scholars proved him to be a plagiarist and an in- of the least favorable portion of the subject that genious literary forger, "and the public were un-lor of the Exchequer, should not happen again to is, if Mr. Benjamin Disraeli, our present ChancelThe father of the present Chancellor of the Ex-be the editor of the publication. The illustration chequer further declares that a large volume we refer to occurs in the Globe of last evening, might be written on literary impostors," and their modes of deception-and he dilates upon the fact that "we have had both forgers and purloiners, as well as other more obvious impostors, in our republic of letters." Mr. Izaak Disraeli's chief in-patient.' As to invention, the less perhaps that stances, however, relate rather to the class of liter-we say of that, the better. But few will dispute ary forgers than to literary thieves-rather to the the Chancellor of the Exchequer's claim to the constructive impostors than to those whom blunt praise of extraordinary patience, when they recolSam Johnson describes in his dictionary as lect his exposition of the military character in last stealers or book-thieves who father another man's night's oration on the late Duke of Wellington, and compare it with the original in the following: works upon themselves-thieves in literature who steal the thoughts of others."

"book

formed the House of Commons last night, that "It may possibly be true, as Mr. Disraeli in'fortune favors those who are at once inventive and

PARALLEL PASSAGES.

It is not that a great general must be an engineer geographer-learned in human nature-adroit in the management of men-that he must be able to fulfil the highest duty of a minister of state, and then to descend to the humblest office of a commissary and a clerk; but he has to display all this knowledge and to exercise all those duties at the same time, and under extraordinary circumstances. At every moment he has to think of the eve and of the morrow of his flank and of his rear-he has to calculate at the same time the state of the weather and the moral qualities of men; and all those elements that are perpetually changing he has to combine, sometimes under overwhelming heat, sometimes under overpowering cold-oftentimes in famine, and frequently amidst the roar of artillery. (Hear, hear.) Behind all these circumstances there is ever present the image of his country, and the dreadful alternative whether that country is to welcome him with laurel or with cypress. (Hear, hear.) Yet those images he must dismiss from his mind, for the general must not only think, but think with the rapidity of lightning; for on a moment more or less depends the fate of the most beautiful combination—and a moment more or less is a question of glory or of shame. (Hear, hear.) Unquestionably, sir, all this may be done in an ordinary manner, by an ordinary man, as every day of our lives we see that ordinary men may be successful ministers of state, successful authors, and successful speakers but to do all this with genius is sublime. (Hear, hear.) To be able to think with vigor, with depth, and with clearness in the recesses of the cabinet, is a great intellectual demonstration; but to think with equal vigor, clearness and depth, amidst the noise of bullets, appears to me the loftiest exercise and the most complete triumph of human faculties, (Cheers.)-Mr. Disraeli on the Duke of Wellington,

1852.

An engineer, a geographer, a man of the world, a metaphysician, knowing men, knowing how to govern them, an administrator in great things, a clerk in small-all these things it is necessary to be, but these are as yet nothing. All this vast knowledge must be exercised on the instant, in the midst of extraordinary circumstances. At every moment you may think of the yesterday and the morrow; of your flank and of your rear. Calculate at the same time on the atmosphere and on the temper of your men; and all these elements, so various and so diverse, which are ceaselessly changing and renewed, you must combine in the midst of cold, heat, hunger, bullets.

Farther off, and behind them, is the spectacle of your country, with laurel or with cypress. But all these images and ideas must be banished and set aside, for you must think, and think quickly— one minute too much, and the fairest combination has lost its opportunity, and, instead of glory, it is shame which awaits you. All this undoubtedly is compatible with mediocrity, like every other profession; one can also be a middling poet, a middling orator, a middling author; but this done with genius is sublime.

"We will not add a word to diminish the effect and vulgar theft. Eren while the Chancellor of that must attend the bare notice of this impudent! the Exchequer was in the act of speaking, many

of his audience must have been struck by the | guns, and a shock communicated as though we had studied falsetto of his tone, the meretricious glitter received their contents.

had fired into us.

of his rhetoric, the utter absence of that broad The water was forced through the air-ports, splashed and genial warmth which, as one might have over the spar-deck, and dashed down the hatches. thought, would have risen, unbidden, to the lips The first and general impression was that the frigate of the eulogist of Wellington. Felix opportunitate could be distinguished, for we were completely envelOn rushing upon deck, nothing mortis. At least the duke was spared witnessing oped in a dense cloud of flame and smoke. For ad this ignominy. minute or two nothing could be determined.onAta The Duke of Wellington had experienced the length an old quartermaster sung out, "The frigated vicissitudes of either fortune, and his calamities has blown up!" I ascended the poop, and looking were occasionally scarcely less conspicuous than towards her moorings, saw all that remained of the the homage which he ultimately secured. He "Donna Maria Segunda❞—a part of her stern-frame was pelted by a mob. He braved the dagger of just above the water, and burning. Where once had Cantillon. The wretched Capefigue even accused pointed her tall spars, so proudly decked with the him of peculation. But surely it was the last re- Hags of all nations, no trace remained. She was the finement of insult that his funeral oration, pro- most complete wreck that could be imagined. The nounced by the official chief of the English Parlia-water was covered for acres with her fragments, and ment, should be stolen word for word from a trashy her masts and spars were shivered to splinters. Our boats were instantly alongside the wreck, and panegyric on a second-rate French Marshal. took from it, and picked out of the water, ten persons in all, of whom two were Chinamen. Amongst these was the young officer

By W. evening, with the invho boarded us

Kathay; a Cruise in the China Seas.
HASTINGS MACAULAY. G. P. Putnam & Co., New
York.

us the previous to join in celebration -a fine-looking man. He had been drawn from under the capstan, which had been blown aft-was horribly mutilated, and had doubtless nearly all his bones broken, besides sustaining internal injuries. He died like a hero upon our quarter-deck, without a

The crew of the Donna Maria was said to have been

JUST the thing to slip into your pocket as you take your seat in the morning train for Albany or Boston. A pleasant book to dream over during the long day, the changing of the car-wheels keep-groan. ing up a running accompaniment to your rapid thoughts. There is always a charm in narratives of voyages in the Indian seas. The mind leaps over the book into warm and sunny imaginings of a sail among innumerable dark-green spice islands, with bright skies and crimson birds, and canoes paddled by handsome and scantily-clad natives, bringing fruits, flowers, and fantastic shells. Mr. Macaulay can do more than excite us to a voyage in the dream ocean. He met with some marked adventures which are well described. Wo quote specimen :

BLOWING UP OF A PORTUGUESE FRIGATE.

a

Our anchorage in the Typa was the same we had occupied on our first visit, and was very eligible, being protected by the Typa island from the sea. Upon the point of this island nearest to us stood a fort named after the island; and a little more than a cable's length from our moorings lay the Portuguese frigate, Donna Maria Segunda, of thirty-eight guns, commanded by Captain Francisco d'Assis e Silva.

Affairs had been pursuing their usual routine, when, upon the evening of the twenty-eighth of October, a boat boarded us from the frigate, under charge of an officer, who brought an invitation from Captain D'Assis to join with him on the twenty-ninth in the celebration of the birth-day of the king consort of Portugal, upon which occasion it was his intention to dress his ship, and fire a national salute at meridian. Of course an assent was given; and accordingly at eight o'clock the next morning, everything having been previously prepared, we broke stops with the frigate, and, thus bedecked, both vessels made a gallant show.

composed of two hundred and forty souls; but there were some sick in the hospital at Macao, and a few absent on leave and duty. They had, however, some Chinese on board, not mustered as the crew, carpenters, and other artisans, and some prisoners from a French bark, the "Chili." I consider the number killed by this catastrophe may be fairly set down as two hundred!

The commandant, d'Assis, perished with his vessel. His body was found two days after, dragging astern, he having been blown through the stern port and caught in a sail. His remains were carried to Macao, and buried with military honors, our officers assisting at the ceremony. His son, a young aspirantè, or midshipman, was ashore at the time. A lieutenant was in charge of the "Typa Fort," and the surgeon in Macao, at their hospital. The other officers were principally on board the frigate.

Our commander, with others, had received an invitation to dine on board, but the time had been fortunately postponed.

At the precise moment of the explosion on board the "Donna Maria," we were probably as near as it would have been possible to have been in our relative moorings, lying broadside on, but a little astern of her; our starboard battery could have been brought to bear a point forward of the beam; and this very proximity was doubtless the cause of our escaping serious injury. Two of her heavy guns passed entirely over us, clearing our royal masts, and falling into the water about twenty feet on our port beam. Our main deck awning was spotted, as if a shower of blood had passed over it. Some shot, pieces of lead, fragments of spars, and the brains and entrails of the sufferers were lodged in the tops, and other parts of our ship. The gig was stove, but her keeper escaped We had dressed perpendicularly, whilst she had without injury; another boat-keeper was not so forher flags fore and aft, running up to her flying jib-tunate, an iron bolt striking him on the knee, and boom from the water, and down to the gaff on her mizzen. The frigate had been newly painted, and looked upon this occasion exceedingly well, her neat appearance being the subject of general remark.

maiming him for life.

A gun carriage was thrown past us into the fort, breaking through the roof, and falling directly in the place where an officer had been seated writing but a few moments before.

We lay thus, side by side, until meridian, when she fired a well-timed salute, in which we joined; and After the explosion a number of smaller ones took everything remained quiet, until about twenty min-place, and then the remains of the ill-fated frigate utes past two, when a report was heard resembling burned to the water's edge. the discharge of a whole broad-side of double-shotted Her magazine was said to have contained eighteen