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lating ten men to each of the vessels lost with their crews, the seamen who perished must have amounted to between four and five thousand. High, indeed, must have been the premium of the ships preserved to bear the underwriters clear of loss, yet was there no failure of the slightest consequence that year among gentlemen in that line. During the same period not a single man-of-war was wrecked.

To instance a single case. Had the Amphitrite, the convict-ship, the loss of which caused a sensation so great throughout Europe, been built man-of-war fashion, not a life need have been sacrificed. She would have held together till low water, and every soul on board might have walked, literally speaking, dry shod from the vessel to the beech.

The only practicable remedy we see is, that which we have just mentioned the making it impossible to build any ship or vessel intended to navigate the seas, without the sanction of surveyors, that sanction only to be granted to ships built, at least, as strong as men-of-war. This could be easily done: you cannot build a ship as you can coin money, in a corner.

We are sorry to be obliged to inform our readers that this so necessary reform in mercantile naval architecture has always been, and is still, violently opposed by the parties who necessarily have the completest control over it. The underwriters must naturally be opposed to a measure that would reduce their profits so much as to make their profession valueless. The merchant's interest is nearly the same as the underwriters: both will have their profit-the consignee and the consumer pay them. The public at large, and the crews and passengers in these ill-built vessels, are the victims. So ardent is the spirit of opposition to all reform in the construction of merchant shipping, that Mr. Ballingal, a person who has made this subject his study, tells us, upon the best authority, that when a model of an improved merchant vessel, built by Admiral Shank, was sent to the naval museum at Somerset House, it was bought up, and either destroyed or sent out of the country, as being not only inimical but destructive to the mercantile and underwriting interests. Every one knows who is at all conversant with this subject, that when, a few years ago, models of a superior construction of merchant vessels, combining safety with despatch, were offered to be exhibited, free of all expense, to the committee of Lloyds', that committee declined even to look at them. We suppose that the hitherto slow progress that Lieutenant Rodgers' anchors have made must be attributable to the same spirit. The masters of merchant vessels, to a man, are desirous for them, but, as they are a trifle more expensive, and infinitely more secure than the common ones, the owners seem very much adverse to their adoption.

That the frailty of the mercantile navy is the fortune of the underwriter is certain; but the merchant and the shipowner deceive themselves by holding the same opinion as regards themselves. They would most assuredly very largely partake of all the wealth that is now annually engulphed in the ocean; their transactions would be more secure, and much less complicated; and, above all, they would share among themselves all the enormous wealth that is so rapidly

made by the underwriters, were they to insist upon trading vessels being built upon a more scientific and secure plan.

We have made all these appeals to private classes and influential individuals, through the widest of all viaducts, self-interest. We might write volumes did we take the question upon the grounds of humanity. It is a singular anomaly of our depraved natures, that we will weep over the sufferings and mourn the death of an individual that accident may bring closely under our observation, whilst at the same time we are instrumental, by distant implication, to the death of thousands. We can very well conceive, and do ample justice to benevolent feelings and high sensibilities, in a shipbuilder who is running up a large, frail, sieve-like structure, that when it is launched and fairly on the seas, will require the constant interference of a miracle to preserve it, and all that it contains, from destruction. We heartily wish that we could instil into the habits of these architects a knack of shuddering whenever the gale arose, and of reflecting on what might, haplessly, be occurring in one of their light frameworks. We think that they would make it a matter of conscience to build strongly in order that they might sleep soundly.

But it is to government that the nation has a right to look for a remedy to this crying evil-this sin of many fearful contingencies. From the faulty construction of merchant craft we lose, at least, a thousand good sailors yearly--men who would be always ready and willing to fight our battles. The bereaved families of these poor fellows, who are thus daily sacrificed to a false notion of securing property, would be no longer burthensome to the community, and, above all things, by removing the extreme hazards of the seafaring life, many more valuable persons, and those of a class more respectable, would be induced to embark in it.

Our security depends upon our seamen, and we consider that our arms have always been victorious because our quarrels have been just. Let us not tempt that protecting Providence, by being not only unjust but even heartlessly cruel in neglecting the very instruments of our preservation and our glory, in the abandonment of their lives to the indifference of interested individuals. If we disregard thus guiltily our defenders, ought we to be surprised if, in the day of danger, God disregards us?

ANACREONTIC.

WHEN Jove, veil'd in a show'r of gold,
His beauteous Danäe woo'd and won,
Cried Bacchus, "I'll be yet more bold,
Jove's self by me shall be outdone.
One woman's heart to gold resign'd!
A prouder boast shall soon be mine;
I'll gain the hearts of all mankind,
Descending in a shower of wine!"

ELEANOR SNOWDEN.

NOS. 1402 AND 1403* OF THE SONNETS OF SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, BART.

SONNET 1402.

THE fire, that burns to age, must leave a spark
Of vital force, that comes not from without;
The borrow'd fuel oft will fail supply;
And, as it comes by chance, by chance expires.
There is a ray, which leaves us in the dark
When most we want a lamp to see our route;
But the true flame the blasts, that o'er it fly,
More brightly cherish at our fond desires.
Wrongs cannot crush, and sorrows cannot cloak,
The struggling burst of inborn inspiration;
It heaves its breast against the cruel stroke;
And, as it most is press'd, most feels elation.
On verge of seventy-three sad years of strife,
I feel the warmth of inexhausted life.

SONNET 1403.

All that we most desir'd is, when possest,
Joyless and vapid:-e'en the voice of Fame
Soothes not ;-but blame, or scorn, or chill neglect,
Afflict and freeze the movements of the breast,
When happiness is but a moment's flame ;-

On rocks at every light breeze we are wreck'd!
While with light streamers o'er the wave we go,
No deep and lasting bliss of heart we know.
O! at a distance ere we reach the goal,

How glorious does the palm, we strive for, seem!
Hope leads us on with ardour of the soul;

But when arriv'd, we find it all a dream!

Without it, wretched ;-when in our embrace
We find nor love, nor worth, nor warmth, nor grace!

* We have not been regularly supplied with these effusions.

JAPHET, IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.1

BY THE AUTHOR OF "PETER SIMPLE," &c.

HAVING finished my letters, I set off to Park Street, to call upon Lady de Clare and Cecilia. It was rather early, but the footman who opened the door recognised me, and I was admitted upon his own responsibility. It was now more than eighteen months since I had quitted their house at Richmond, and I was very anxious to know what reception I might have. I followed the servant up stairs, and when he opened the door walked in, as my name was announced.

Lady de Clare rose in haste, so did Cecilia, and so did a third person, whom I had not expected to have met-Harcourt. "Mr. Newland," exclaimed Lady de Clare, "this is indeed unexpected." Cecilia also came forward, blushing to the forehead. Harcourt held back, as if waiting for the advances to be made on my side. On the whole, I never felt more awkwardly, and I believe my feelings were reciprocated by the whole party. I was evidently de trop.

"Do you know Mr. Harcourt?" at last said Lady de Clare.

"If it is the Mr. Harcourt that I once knew," replied I, "I certainly do."

"Believe me it is the same, Newland," said Harcourt, coming to me and offering his hand, which I took with pleasure.

"It is a long while since we met," observed Cecilia, who felt it necessary to say something, but at the same time did not like to enter upon my affairs before Harcourt.

"It is, Miss de Clare," replied I, for I was not exactly pleased at my reception; "but I have been fortunate since I had the pleasure of seeing you last."

Cecilia and her mother looked earnestly, as much as to say, in what?-but did not like to ask the question.

"There is no one present who is not well acquainted with my history," observed I, "that is, until the time that I left you and Lady de Clare, and I have no wish to create mystery. I have at last discovered my father."

"I hope we are to congratulate you, Mr. Newland," said Lady de Clare.

"As far as respectability and family are concerned, I certainly have no reason to be ashamed," replied I. "He is the brother of an earl, and a general in the army. His name I will not mention until I have seen him, and I am formally and openly acknowledged. I have also the advantage of being an only son, and if I am not disinherited, heir to considerable property," continued I, smiling sarcastically. "Perhaps I may now be better received than I have been as Japhet Newland the Foundling: but, Lady de Clare, I am afraid that I have intruded unseasonably, and will now take my leave. Good morning ;"

1 Continued from p. 143.

and without waiting for a reply, I made a hasty retreat, and gained the door.

Flushed with indignation, I had nearly gained the bottom of the stairs, when I heard a light footstep behind me, and my arm was caught by Cecilia de Clare. I turned round, and she looked me reproachfully in the face, as the tear stood in her eye.

"What have we done, Japhet, that you should treat us in this manner?" said she, with emotion.

"Miss de Clare," replied I, "I have no reproaches to make. I perceived that my presence was not welcome, and I would no further intrude."

"Are you then so proud, now that you have found out that you are well born, Japhet?"

"I am much too proud to intrude where I am not wished for, Miss de Clare. As Japhet Newland, I came here to see the Fleta of former days. When I assume my real name, I shall always be most happy of an introduction to the daughter of Lady de Clare.”

"Oh! how changed," exclaimed she, fixing her large blue eyes

upon me.

"Prosperity changes us all, Miss de Clare. I wish you a very good morning;" and I turned away, and crossed the hall to the door.

As I went out I could not help looking back, and I perceived that. Cecilia's handkerchief was held to her eyes, as she slowly mounted the stairs. I walked home to the Piazza in no very pleasant humour. I was angry and disgusted at the coolness of my reception. I thought myself ill used, and treated with ingratitude. "So much for the world," said I, as I sat down in my apartment, and spun my hat on the table. "She has been out two seasons, and is no longer the same person. Yet how lovely she has grown! But why this charge-and why was Harcourt there? Could he have prejudiced them against me? Very possibly." While these ideas were running in my mind, and I was making comparisons between Cecilia de Clare and Susannah Temple-not much in favour of the former-and looking forward prospectively to the meeting with my father, the doubts as to my reception in society, colouring every thing with the most sombre tints, the door opened, and in walked Harcourt, announced by the waiter.

"A chair for Mr. Harcourt," said I to the waiter, with formality. "Newland," said Harcourt, "I come for two reasons: in the first place, I am commissioned by the ladies, to assure you"

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Harcourt, for interrupting you, but I require no ambassador from the ladies in question. They may make you their confidant if they please, but I am not at all inclined to do the same. Explanation, after what I witnessed and felt this morning, is quite unnecessary. I surrender all claims upon either Lady de Clare or her daughter, if I ever was so foolhardy as to imagine that I had any. The first reason of your visit it is therefore useless to proceed with. May I ask the other reason which has procured me this honour ?"

"I hardly know, Mr. Newland," replied Harcourt, colouring deeply, "whether, after what you have now said, I ought to proceed with the second-it related to myself."

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