SAILOR'S SONG,

WRITTEN ON BOARD THE

FRIGATE, DURING THE LATE WAR.

WHEN the topsails are set, and the bars are all shipp'd,
And the drums and fifes merrily play,

Round the capstan we dance, till our anchor is tripp'd,
When the Boatswain bawls, " Heave and away!"
To the fife's shrill sound,

While the joke goes round,

We step with a pleasing delight;

Dry nippers clapp'd on,

We soon hear the song,

"Heave, heave, my brave boys, and in sight."

Then the sails are all trimm'd, and the anchor we stow,
Britain's white cliffs recede from our view;

Bound to sea on a cruise, we look out for the foe-
As one man is the whole of our crew:

From mast-head they hail,

"I see a strange sail !".

We obey (hope gladdening each face),
The Boatswain's shrill call,

And the Mate's hoarse bawl,

"All hands to make sail in the chace!"

Old Albion's proud flag at our peak we display,

And the tri-colour plainly discern;

"Cock your locks," cries the Captain,

now keep her away

Steady! Point your guns right at her stern:

Fire! fire! and rake her

Now the shots shake her:

See, see, how her masts rattle down;

The helm hard a-lee,

Bold lads, follow me!"

We board, and the frigate's our own.

Then our ensign, so brave, o'er the tri-colour flies,

Back to England our course we pursue;

The breezes are fair-moot'd in port with our prize-
And the King gives poor sailors their due:

Rigg'd out so fine, ob,

Plenty of rhino,

Grog, fiddles, and lasses so gay;

We spend it on shore,

Till duty once more

Cries, "Heave! and the anchor's away."

Literary Gazette.

THE FATHER OF FIGHT-WRITING.

MAJOR TOPHAM, who died at Doncaster about four years since, has recently received the reward due to his memory as a sportsman and a scholar, by the erection of a plain handsome monument of statuary marble, with a dove-coloured back-ground. We are pleased with this tribute post mortem, seeing that to him is the public indebted for many regulations regarding the prizering, and it was he who set the example of the present manner of reporting prize-fights.

Bell's Life in London.

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE.

"Et caligantem nigrâ formidine lucum
Ingressus, manesque adiit, rejemque tremendum."

GEO. IV.

SWEET Orpheus, as the Poets tell,
To seek his Wife went straight to Hell,
What Husband living could be kinder?
We needs must own we know of none,
Tho' here and there there may be one
To think it quite the place to find her!

Chronicle.

My grandfather was a bold dragoon, for it's a profession, d'ye see, that has run in the family. All my forefathers have been dragoons, and died on the field of honour, except myself, and I hope my posterity will be able to say the same; however, I don't mean to be vain-glorious. Well, my grandfather, as I said, was a bold dragoon, and had served in the Low Countries. In fact, he was one of that very army which, according to my Uncle Toby, swore so terribly in Flanders. He could swear a good stick himself; and moreover was the very man that introduced the doctrine Corporal Trim mentions, of radical heat and radical moisture; or, in other words, the mode of keeping out the damps of ditch-water by

burnt brandy. Be that as it may, it's nothing to the purport of my story. I only tell it, to show you that my grandfather was a man not easily to be humbugged. He had seen service, or, according to his own phrase, he had seen the devil—and that's saying every thing.

Well, gentlemen, my grandfather was on his way to England, for which he intended to embark from Ostend-bad luck to the place! for one where I was kept by storms and head-winds for three long days, and the devil of a jolly companion or pretty face to comfort me. Well, as I was saying, my grandfather was on his way to England, or rather to Ostend-no matter whichit's all the same. So one evening, towards nightfall, he rode jollily into Bruges. Very like you all know Bruges, gentlemen; a queer old-fashioned Flemish town, once, they say, a great place for trade and money-making in old times, when the Mynheers were in their glory; but almost as large and as empty as an Irishman's pocket at the present day. Well, gentlemen, it was at the time of the annual fair. All Bruges was crowded, and the canals swarmed with Dutch boats, and the streets swarmed with Dutch merchants; and there was hardly any getting along for goods, wares, and merchandizes, and peasants in big breeches, and women in half a score of petticoats.

My grandfather rode jollily along, in his easy slashing way, for he was a saucy sun-shiny fellow-staring about him at the motley crowd, and the old houses with gable-ends to the street, and storks' nests on the chimnies; winking at the yafrows who showed their faces at the windows,

and joking the women right and left in the street; all of whom laughed, and took it in amazing good part; for though he did not know a word of the language, yet he had always a knack of making himself understood among the women.

Well, gentlemen, it being the time of the annual fair, all the town was crowded, every inn and tavern full, and my grandfather applied in vain from one to the other for admittance. At length he rode up to an old racketty inn, that looked ready to fall to pieces, and which all the rats would have run away from, if they could have found room in any other house to put their heads. It was just such a queer building as you see in Dutch pictures, with a tall roof that reached up into the clouds, and as many garrets one over the other, as the seven heavens of Mahomet. Nothing had saved it from tumbling down but a stork's nest on the chimney, which always brings good luck to a house in the Low Countries; and at the very time of my grandfather's arrival, there were two of these long-legged birds of grace standing like ghosts on the chimney-top. Faith, but they've kept the house on its legs to this very day, for you may see it any time you pass through Bruges, as it stands there yet, only it is turned into a brewery of strong Flemish beer; at least it was so when I came that way after the battle of Waterloo.

My grandfather eyed the house curiously as he approached. It might not have altogether struck his fancy, had he not seen in large letters over the door,

HEER VERKOOPT MAN GOEDEN DRANK.