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newly created influence of the public in the House of Commons will be too powerful for them. If they act wisely they will acknowledge the necessity of arranging their financial plans for 1833 with reference to this latter influence, and thus secure for themselves the only support which can keep them in their places.
Lord Althorp, in his speech, when preparing the budget on the 27th of July, said nothing that could lead us to form a rational expectation that the deficiency of the revenue on the 5th of January, 1833, would be less than the deficiency on the 5th of last July. He even admitted that the Customs revenue would necessarily continue to fall off. The diminution he estimated as follows. On corn imported,
£500,000 Reduction of duties by the new customs act,
100,000 Loss of revenue by allowing for drainage on sugar,
80,000 Loss by allowing for duty paid on Wine in 1831,
£800,000 With respect to the excise revenue, Lord Althorp stated he expected there would be an increase in 1832 of about £250,000 ; but little dependence can be placed on such a loose conjecture. He seemed to rely chiefly, for an improvement in the relative state of the income and expenditure, on the reduction which he estimated would take place in the public expenditure in 1832; the parliamentary grants for 1832 being less than those for 1831 by two millions. But it is to be observed, that the grants for 1831 were of greater amount than the grants for 1830 by one million; and, in addition to this, it must be further observed, that whatever diminution has been shown on the estimates for 1832, no reduction whatever has been made in the great establishments of the country. The diminished grants for 1831 have been produced by not purchasing the usual quantities of naval stores, and by the expenses incured on the militia and yeomanry in 1831 not being continued in 1832. No reduction has been made in the army, or in the number of seamen and ships in commission. We have had a fleet cruising in the channel the whole summer, as if we were actually at war. No reduction has been made in the regiment of artillery, in the sappers and miners, or in expenses on military buildings at home and abroad. In point of fact, no real and honest reduction whatever has been made in the expenditure so as to secure permanently for the future a surplus of income over expenditure.
In a future article we shall show in what way such a reduction may, and ought to be accomplished.
NIGHT-BURIAL AT SEA.
It was a mariner bent and grey,
An English mariner old,
While the slow death-bell tolled ;-
Our brother in the mould.
He saw us mourn, but not like those
Whose sorrow waits on Fear ;
To call our brother dear,
His blameless sojourn here.
At the soft hour of even-fall
“ And sad, in ocean dark and vast, We made his quiet bed,
When death has struck his prey, Beneath the ivy-green church wall, A parted brother's corpse to cast, Amongst the village dead;
A lonely thing, away ; And near the sunny fields, where all To drift beneath the tombless waste His placid years had sped.
Till the great Judgment-Day! Now when our solemn rite had ceased, “ Yet have I stood where sick men dic, The mariner rose, and said :
Where slaughter rife hath been, “ Thus sleeps an infant, on the breast And learned to look with steadfast eye Of a fond mother laid ;
On many a dismal scene; For holy is the slumberer's rest
There's one upon my heart would lie, Within the altar's shade !
Though ages came between. “ And 'tis a blessed lot, to lie
“ 'Tis fifty summers past and more ;Beneath familiar ground,
We had sailed in seventy-three ;Where ever friends are wandering by, For full two years since touching shore, And kindred sleep around;
We cruised, and kept the sea : And many a living memory
Our ship was a lovely forty-fourClings to the burial-monnd.
A gallant bark was she ! “ Such rest, since death is common doom, “ As fair and nobly did she ride, With grief may scarce agree;
As rarely scud and steer, But would ye know how full of gloom, As though she answered to our pride, And cheerless death may be,
And knew we held her dear ;Ye should stand by when the mariner's Well might we love that ocean bride, tomb
And boast her brave career! Is made in the deep, deep sea!
“ She was long and low, and sharp be“ When, for his passing-bell, the gale
low, O'er the brief funeral raves ;
With a gently curved side, For mourner's song, the sea-bird's wail- With sloping stern and piercing bow, Por tomb, the dark sea-caves ;
And white decks, flush and wide, Ay! I could tell a solemn tale
So sweet a mould you could not shew Of sailors' wintry graves!”
In all the seas beside. Thy words have strongly won mine ear
“ Her yards were square, her spars were Say on, thou aged man!
slim, “ Ay, me! how many a brave career
Well set by stay and shroud ; (The mariner grey began)
Her snowy canvass, broad and trim, “ Hath closed on such a weltering bier !"
Swelled o'er her, like a cloud ; And thus his story ran ;
It was a joy, to see her swim,
Her warrior-decks along,
Right terrible and strong ;-
Who wield proud England's might ! When battle gave them tongue ! “God wot, great joy it is, to range
“ Her speed was as the arrowy sleet, The blue waves to and fro,
Winged by a northern gale; A joy the mariner would not change And when away, with flowing sheet, For all that crowns bestow :
She loosed her broad mainsail, But the sea hath seasons sad and strange, The surge behind her rushing feet That landsmen little know.
Shone like a comet's trail. “ 'Tis fearful, when the angry gale
“ Her rest was as a giant's sleep; Strips the curled ocean bare,
Her chase, the stoop of war; And the boiling spray and bitter hail
Her rush was like the eagle's sweep; Are mingling sea and air ;
Her roar, the earthquake's jar; And for all our light, the cloudy veil Her prow, the sceptre of the deep 5 Streams with the levin's glare.
Her flag, the ocean star !" “ 'Tis awful, in the midnight lone, St. George ! how proud the old man grew! When clouds are pacing slow,
He rose, and waved his hand :-
Strange figures on the sand,
His tale, at my demand :
Sailed in our frigate then-
With heart enough for ten ;
To bear the toils of men !
Like sun-light round him shone ; We trembled for the noble boy,
And watched him night and noon, Lest the quick spirit should destroy
His slender lamp too soon. " And when he fain our watch would
share, And every storm abide, We sought his tender years to spare,
But could not tame the pride That bore him on to do and dare,
And might not be denied.
For all our cares repaid;
For fondling like a maid ;
To learn his gallant trade.'
The pride of every eye: -
But smiled as he went by ;
To meet his quick reply.
With sea, and snow, and gale; His little strength ran out anon,
And his fresh cheek grew pale ;The time was all too stern for one
So fiower-like and so frail. “ Though nought would urge him to com
And bore, but did not speak ;-
Have lingered on the deck.
While idly sick he lay:
He withered day by day ;
At length he passed away!
From the cold sea beneath ;
The child had ceased to breathe -
So peaceful was his death!
All ashen-white and cold,-
Like rose-huds' inner fold;
Even as it wont of old.
“ The ancient mates did then declare,
(I ween they deemed aright,)
Was hovering ere its flight;
Till close of that day-light.
(For that we loved him well,)
Discoursing as I tell,
Before the evening bell.'
A dull and sorrowing crew;
And the sea of sullen hue :
Wild, and more wild it blew.
Lowered black and tempest-browed :
The waves were singing loud :-
Wrapped in a hammock-shroud.
By the lee gangway laid,
Till the last rites were paid ;
The hearts of all dismayed.
With spouts of sudden rain;
Made our strong frigate strain,
Groan, like a soul in pain.
To match our task of wo:
The troubled groups below,
Swept in the darkness by;
Our hearts were like to die.
With pain and sea-spray wet,
And cold with dumb regret
It makes me shiver yet!"
Thrill in the withered brake,
Through every limb did shake :
Gravely the old man spake :
“Unheard, thenceforth, the chaplain read ;'
He had as well been dumb ; “Now when his stand the chaplain took, – But we saw his face by the lamp o'er head, He was a weak old man,
And when the time was come, So loud the grinding timbers shook,
He made a sign to cast the dead So loud the wild sea ran,
Forth to its stormy tomb. Scarce could we hear, as from the book
“ Now, when the corpse to sea we gave, The service he began :
Christ! through the pallid night, « « The resurrection and the life
Full on the ship a whirlwind drove, I am,' the Lord hath said;
So swift and full of might, And he shall live who trusls in me,
It swept the unburied from the wave, Although that he be dead ;
And bore it from our sight! Whoso on me doth rest, in faith, “ And the mariners gavea shuddering cry, His life is ransomed !
A cry of wild dismay, “ And ever as the rite was read
To see the corpse pass whirling by, More shrilly rang the gale;
Ere it could break the spray.-And heavier rain, in torrents shell,
For thus, they deemed, the Enemy Hissed in the panting sail ;
Had torn the child away. Thus few of all the words he said
“Short leisure, 'midst the storm's descent, Might o'er the din prevail.
For awe or thought had we, “I know that my Redeemer, Christ,
As straight, through sails and rigging rent, In heaven liveth aye ;
Down gushed the dark green sea ; And he shall stand upon the earth
While reeled our ship, as though she meant In the great Judgment-Day:
To founder by the lee. Yea, though the worms my dust consume, “ Beneath the varying shocks o'er-strained, As for this mortal clod,
A quivering hulk she lay ; Even in the flesh, I yet shall see
The waves, like monsters fiery-maned, The presence of my God!'
Seemed gathering o'er their prey ; 6 And when he breathed that holy word
Lord! how the deafening gusts, unchained The gust it raved so loud,
On every side, did bray! That further speech might none be heard, “ We could not hear the Captain's shout, So rattled sail and shroud :
Yet well we guessed the word, Still we could see his thin lips stirred, As, hissing loud, the waterspout And oft his head he bowed.
Burst terribly on board, “ The burdened mainsail, smitten sore,
And from its flash the light flew out Strained wild at brace and sheet ;
Keen as a flaming sword. The climbing seas, with hoarser roar, “ We could not aid the good ship's toil; On the crushed bulwarks beat;
For masterless, and crossed And, hissing, as the ship lay o'er,
By countless blows, at each recoil, High washed the corpse's feet.
More helplessly she tossed : " Great awe was ours, and whispering We could but hear the mad sea boil, spake
And gave our lives for lost! Each man to man around,
< But ere we drave ten fathoms wide, That the great sea-snake lay in our wake, After the corpse fiew past, That laughs when fleets are drowned :
The gale went down, and lulled, and died ; The next brief lull, this sentence brake And the sea smoothed so fast,
Through the vexed waters' sound : That ere mid-watch, we seemed to glide «« When thy strong breath doth scatter
Across a waveless waste. them,
And where the Eastern billows slept Even as a sleep they pass :
In the moist starlight dim, All suddenly they fall away,
Uprose the loving moon, and pept And perish like the grass :
O'er the full ocean's brim At morning, green it flourisheth :
And a faint murmur round us crept, Lo! ere the even-tide,
Sweet as a seraph's hymn. Its beauty falls before the sithe,
“ Then did our praise to Him who Is withered up and dried.'
wrought “ At once the gale uprose again :
That blessed calm, ascend ;
But awe bechilled us, as we though t
Each questioned much, and answered It came with such a gush of rain,
nought, As though the ship must fill.
For none could counsel lend :
“« Till up and spake the oldest mate, Though when I pray, there falls a beam And thus his rede was given ;
Of comfort on my breast. For that child's soul the demon's hate
“ But none who mourn in churchyards With Angel bands had striven;
green, Whose conquering wings up-bore it straight
Where the dead sleep pleasantly, In the wild storm to Heaven.'
Can know what awe and sadness mean, “ Howe'er it be, though well I deem,
Or what stern death may be, The child is with the blest,
Till they have watched a funeral scene, That burial, like an ugly dream,
In the midnight gale, at sea!” For ever haunts my rest,
SOME LATE PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF JOIN BULL, ESQ.
( Continued from Page 599, vol. 1.)
Shewing how Bill Boswain lost his Breeches, and what came thereof; the Stramash
in John's Family, and the Rumpus at the Mitre.
Bill BOSWAIN did not well remember how he tumbled into bed on the night of the hop, after the dismissal of Gaffer; but all night long he dreams of the 'Squire transformed into a bear in a rage ; and of Gaffer and his Broom talking; and of the message he behoved to send in the morning. And then, that his wenches were frying the old dish, and Hookey standing by, staring at him like a mad doctor, using a horn to make him swallow it. The message to Gaffer, to say truth, was ready cut-and-dry, long before ; though Bill, poor soul, might not know as much.
Late in the morning he rubs up his eyes, with something of a head.. ache, and perhaps, something of a heartache too, if he had owned it ; but he put the best face on the matter. “ Where's my wife ?" quoth he. “ In the back parlour with Hookey, darning a stocking;" for it was always making a pudding or darning a stocking she was. This good housewife was never meddling with John's matters—not she!“ Then bring me my breeches, quoth Bill.—But up or down, high or low, no such article was to be found. “ Where's my breeches,” shouted Bill, manfully ; for his wife was now gone out to chapel. “What a spot of work is here,” quoth that pert gipsy, Jenny Driver; “I daresay that rogue, H. B. has stolen them to make a picture of them, and they may be in Rag Fair by this time.” “ I'll have my breeches,” cried Bill; “ If the 'Squire hear of this,” “ Sure you have no more need of such an article than a Highlander for kneebuckles,” said the forward, saucy wench, whose shrewish, merry humour made her a great favourite with
“ Aʼn't you a brisk Jack tar, and shouldn't sport shorts. There's Hookey on the stairs : throw any thing on you for decency; and get up, and put that prig Gaffer out of his pain. Here's an old petticoat of my mistress's, and here's a wrap-rascal of
-'s." It was impossible to make out the name ; whether the last flourish was the up-swirled tail of an or r; or the sweep of an e or d, no could tell ; and of which garment Bill availed himself, or if he donned both, history is mute ; but up he got, in time to hear that his mes.. sage to Greysteel had caused a commotion in John's family, to which all that had ever happened before was mere moonshine in water;