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On the deck of fame that died ;-
With the gallant good Riou * :
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!

the steep."

POOR JACK. The greatest writer of Sea-songs was Charles Dibdin. He was a musician as well as a poet. It is not too much to say that his songs were worth more for national defence than a hundred “towers along

His songs are now provided in abundant volumes for every ship of our navy. We give his 'Poor Jack,'— the very perfection of simplicity and pathos.

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, d’ye see,

'Bout danger, and fear, and the like ;
A tight water-boat and good sea-room give me,

And t'aint to a little I 'll strike:
Though the tempest top-gallant masts smack smooth should

smite,
And shiver each splinter of wood,
Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse every thing tight,

And under reef'd foresail we 'll scud :
Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;
For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.
Why, I heard our good chaplain palaver one day

About souls, heaven, mercy, and such ;
And, my timbers ! what lingo he 'd coil and belay,

Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch :
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d’ye see,

Without orders that come down below;
And many fine things that proved clearly to me

That Providence takes us in tow : Captain Riou, justly entitled the gallant and the good by Lord Nelson, when he wrote home his despatches.

For, says he, do you

mind

me, let storms e'er so oft,
Take the topsails of sailors aback,
There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,

To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,

When last we weigh'd anchor for sea,
What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye,

Why, what a damn'd fool you must be !
Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore,
And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

Why you will ne'er hear of me more :
What then, all 's a hazard, come don't be so soft,

Perhaps I may laughing come back,
For, d'ye see, there 's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of Poor Jack.
mind me, a sailor should be

every

inch
All as one as a piece of the ship,
And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,

From the moment the anchor 's a-trip.
As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,

Nought's a trouble from duty that springs,
For
my
heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my

friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's :
Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback,
For the same little cherub that sits

up

aloft Will look out a good berth for Poor Jack.

D'ye

257.-REFLECTIONS UPON EXILE.

BOLINGBROKE. [Who now reads Bolingbroke ?' said Burke. Few, indeed. Some are deterred by his character for infidelity; some because many of the subjects on which he treats are of temporary interest.

A great orator of our own day has written his panegyric. Of his abilities no one can doubt: of his honesty we are inclined to believe that it was neither much below nor much above the standard by which most orators and party leaders are tried by those who come after them. But as an author he has remarkable merit. Pope called him “the best writer of his age.". The following extract is from his · Reflections upon

Exile.' It would be interesting if only viewed in connexion with his own circumstances. It is professedly an imitation of Seneca. Noble as are some of the sentiments, pure as is the style, we cannot avoid seeing how insufficient is mere philosophy to take the sting out of adverse fortune; and we know moreover that his own exile had none of the calm he describes, but that he lived and died an intriguer. Henry St. John, Viscount Bolingbroke, was born at Battersea in 1678. His political life belongs to history. He was an exile from 1715 to 1723, being attainted of High Treason; but was permitted to return to England, and was restored to his property, though always excluded from the House of Lords. He died in 1751.]

W

Dissipation of mind and length of time are the remedies to which the greatest part of mankind trust in their afflictions. But the first of these work a temporary, the second a slow effect; and such are unworthy of a wise man. Are we to fly from ourselves that we may fly from our misfortunes, and fondly to imagine that the disease is cured because we find means to get some moments of respite from pain? Or shall we expect from time, the physician of brutes, a lingering and uncertain deliverance ? Shall we wait to be happy till we can forget that we are miserable, and to the weakness of our faculties a tranquillity which ought to be the effect of their strength ? Far otherwise. Let us set all our past and present afflictions at once before our eyes. Let us resolve to overcome them, instead of flying from them, or wearing out the sense of them by long and ignominious patience. Instead of palliating remedies, let us use the incision knife and the caustic, search the wound to the bottom, and work an immediate and radical cure.

The recalling of former misfortunes serves to fortify the mind against later. He must blush to sink under the anguish of one wound, who surveys a body seamed over with the scars of many, and who has come victorious out of all the conflicts wherein he received them. Let sighs and tears, and fainting under the lightest stroke of adverse fortune be the portion of those unhappy people whose tender minds a long course of felicity has enervated; while such as have passed through years of calamity, bear up, with a noble and immoveable constancy, against the heaviest. Uninterrupted misery has this good effect, as it continually torments, it finally hardens.

Such is the language of philosophy; and happy is the man who acquires the right of holding it. But this right is not to be acquired by pathetic discourse. Our conduct can alone give it us; and, therefore, instead of presuming on our strength, the surest method is to confess our weakness, and, without loss of time, to apply ourselves to the study of wisdom. This was the advice which the oracle gave to Zeno, and there is no other way of securing our tranquillity amidst all the accidents to which human life is exposed.

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In order to which great end, it is necessary that we stand watchful, as sentinels, to discover the secret wiles and open attacks of the capricious goddess, Fortune, before they reach us. Where she falls upon us unexpectedly, it is hard to resist; but those who wait for her, will repel her with ease. The sudden invasion of an enemy overthrows such as are not on their guard ; but they who foresee the war, and prepare themselves for it before it breaks out, stand, without difficulty, the first and the fiercest onset. I learned this important lesson long ago, and never trusted to Fortune even while she seemed to be at peace with me. The riches, the honours, the reputations, and all the advantages which her treacherous indulgence poured upon me, I placed so, that she might snatch them away without giving me any disturbance. I kept a great interval between me and them. She took them, but she could not tear them from me. No man suffers by bad fortune, but he who has been deceived by good. If we grow fond of her gifts, fancy that they belong us, and are perpetually to remain with us, if we lean upon them, and expect to be considered for them; we shall sink into all the bitterness of grief, as soon as our vain and childish minds, unfraught with solid pleasures, become destitute even of those which are imaginary. But if we do not suffer ourselves to be transported by prosperity, neither shall we be reduced by adversity. Our souls will be of proof against the dangers of both these states; and, having explored our strength, we shall be sure of it; for, in the midst of felicity, we shall have tried how we can bear misfortune.

It is much harder to examine and judge than to take up opinions

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