owing to her falling, luckily, in the critical moment, into the trough of the sea, while her antagonist was, at the same moment, raised on the crest of a wave. "See, Will, he's tired of this, and, by all my hopes, here he comes right afore the wind! Bring her a point more to the wind, Will, and we'll rake him. Steady, my lads, steady, for God's sake, wait till I sing out!" The schooner was now within pistol-shot of the lugger, never suspecting she could have any metal weight enough to harm her, and was just rounding to bring another broadside to bear, when Lawson, springing forward, sang out Away there, ye Lucies, np with the ports, and give it them cherrily, my lads!" The ports were up, the guns run out, and fired by the eager and anticipating smugglers, almost before the words were out of their captain's mouth. The schooner shook to her very kelson, under the unexpected volley. Down came her foremast, her rigging was almost cut to pieces, and in a moment she lay nearly a wreck upon the waters, tossing ungovernably. The smugglers, taking advantage of her helpless state, soon shot far ahead of her, but not before Lawson roared out, "All hands ahoy there, and clear your pipes, and give us the Lucy's song; 'twill serve as grog, by way of a relish to their supper. You three musicians there, are ye all ready to make sail on it?""Ay, ay," answered three of the men, who, from their having rather good voices, with tolerable ears, had obtained that sobriquet from their companions. "Heave away, then;" and instantly, with clear but strong voices, they struck up the following rude strain, which sounded far from disagreeable, especially in the chorus, given at the end of each verse, when the voices of the whole willing crew gave it with a cast peculiar to their own wild kind of life; and the lashing of the waves against her sides, and the whistling of the wind through her cordage, formed a not inappropriate accompaniment. THE LUCY'S SONG. 1st Voice. And now begins the race, for the eager shark's in chase; All hands do pipe, every sail to crowd; While the smoke from their bows in fiery volumes flows, And their guns peal louder and more loud. Chorus. Let the world say what it will, if the truth is told, Happy is the life-the life of the smuggler bold; We live and we laugh at the law; For how merry is the breeze, while we're bounding o'er the seas, In the teeth of the tempest, the wave, and the foe! And we laugh, when we see how the cruizer's balls do flee Far astern, astern, as we onward, onward go. nd Voice. The roar of the gun, and the crashing mast, The sabre's flash, and the musket's ring, Float slowly along on the soften'd blast, But cheerily still from the mast Our red flag flies free and fast; The song was finished; her sails "I say, done."-"Keep her steady, you lubber, or I'm blow'd if I don't make a dead marine of your back." They were now almo t close to the quay. At that time, none of the houses on the northern side, which now protect the harbour from the wind when in that quarter, were built. A fisherman's hut or two, formed of a wall half mud, half brick, with an old boat inverted for the roof, were all that then broke the dreariness of the prospect in that direction. "Come, Will, art ready?" cried Lawson, one foot on the gunnel, about to leap. "Ay, ay. Steady there, steady!" roared he to the lad at the helm. The latter, more intent on recognising his own friends among the crowd on the quay, than in attending to his duty, and hearing some command given, moved the tiller a little to leeward; a gust of wind tore the halfhauled-in sails from the hands of the men; her head yawed off to the wind. Lawson and Will sprung that moment, without seeing what had happened; their feet slipped, and they both fell into the water, between the lugger and the quay. At the cry of "the skipper and the mate overboard!" the lad lost all power in amazemeut, the tiller slipped from his hands, and at the very moment they rose above the water, the lugger, being no longer under controul, yielded to the wind, and was instantly dashed violently against the quay. A shriek of horror burst from the crowd. As quickly as hundreds of eager hands could effect it, she was moved from the place. Their bodies were soon found, but in a state too horrid to describe. An arm and hand of each were alone entire, firmly grasped together in the death-seal of friendship. They had been driven between two beams, which formed part of the frame-work of the quay. Morning broke bright and joyously; the storm was over, and all nature seemed rejoicing in the change; but where was Lucy? She was sitting, gazing fixedly on the bed which contained the inanimate remains of those who were dearest to her on earth. The day advanced, but still she sat. One of her companions spoke to her. She turned her dewy eyes on her for a moment, took another long last look, then rose, and with an erect step walked out of the cottage, under whose roof she had passed so many happy years, and sat herself on the edge of the cliff, with her eyes wandering eagerly over the The guiding light of reason had sea. happily left her. By the side of a brawling brook, running through a beautiful sequestered little glen, a still lovely face night be secn, every summer's eve, reflected on the pure surface, as it bent seeking the water-cresses that were abundant in its bed. "Twas Lucy. She recollected that her father liked them, and in the morning she might be discovered on the edge of the cliff, with her basketful hanging from her arm, still gazing over the sea. Alas! no more will her father's sail break the line of the horizon. Soon she drooped, and died. The tears of the inhabitants for miles round were the last proofs of commiseration for poor Lucy, the water-cress girl! The ill-fated schooner that met the lugger that night was so cut up, that shie yielded to the storm, filled, and went down at sea; and of that brave ship and her gallant crew, nought remains but an old man's tale. Edin. Lit. Jour. THE GUERILLA'S FAREWELL. Farewell to the home of my sires, Ye scenes of my childhood, farewell! I go to the red field of battle, Far away from my own native dell! I go to the red field of battle, To fight for fair Freedom and Spain, And as my forefathers once struggled For Freedom, to struggle again. Farewell to the friends of my boyhood, Life's early companions, farewell! I I go in the death-strife to mingle, Thou beloved one of all, oh, farewell! From its fields its invaders to sweep, E'en, if in the contest I perish, I would have thee too proud far to weep. Farewell to the child of my true love, First pledge of affection, farewell! Thy father goes from thee to battle, Where many an ancestor fell! Thy father goes from thee to batt'e, May his honour receive not a stain! And thou, when thou risest to manhood, Like him, fight for Freedom and Spain. Unit. Serv. Mag. THE PROGRESS OF SCIENCE. Fænum habet in cornu, longe fuge. THE nineteenth century is characterised by events unparalleled by those of past ages; empires and nations have fallen, and the progress of their arts and arms have pointed out to future generations the path to political and intellectual greatness: but whether the great teachers and politic economists of the present age are inculcating those doctrines which will be beneficial to the people in general, is a subject which requires the deepest consideration. The promotion of universal knowledge and religious toleration are now very generally advocated by the representatives of our rights and liberties; they have lamented the gradual decay of the lower classes of society, and they have made many attempts to render them as happy and prosperous as they were when agriculture was the more immediate occupation of their lives. Our legislators have sagaciously perceived that where the resources of a country were adequate to the demands of the people, they must of necessity be in a flourishing condition,-and being so, quickly become the producers of wealth and the patrons of art. Now, this is an inference which needs no comment; but these "enlightened instructors," thus sagaciously perceiving that where there was matter there must be mind, they have fully declared it to be their opinion, an opinion which is adopted from experience, that the presence of mind is the presence of mutter, in other language, that a people, by their industry and perseverance, having possessed themselves of those resources their country affords, become intellectual; so any other race of people, although unblest with the necessaries of life, will by first becoming intellectual, ultimately obtain all those treasures which are so conducive to the happiness and existence of society. Upon this principle mechanic institutes have been formed, and public lecturers harangue an ill-paid body of people upon physics and metaphysics; the cosmogony of the world and the destinies of its nations. This system of lecturing may call forth the erudite powers of the professor, and be sometimes adopted as the readiest means of explaining the intricacies of science, but how far it is conducive to the happiness and wellbeing of the labourer, is a problem that has not yet been solved. Andes, or the exhumations of a thousand ages?-That the " progress of science" has not been so generally beneficial to the interests of the nation, is certainly evident from the very language of our representatives; they declare the provinces are in a state of decay, and the peasantry rebellious. Thus they exult at the progress of arts while they lament the wants of their countrymen. Should any reference be made as to the state of the people in former times, the errors and bigotry of the dark ages are discussed, and they very gravely assert that the people were never happy or contented till the time of the reformation: but it is notorious that the parsimony of Henry the Seventh and the lust of Henry the Eighth were eventually productive of greater injury to society than the avarice and superstition of the abbots and monks, who alleviated the distresses of the labourers of the soil by distributing among them a portion of the revenues of their monasteries. Even in the gloous times of 'England's Virgin Queen' the country was described as swarming with mendicants, and the scene of every species of crime, when the poor laws were adopted as a dernier resort, to prevent that dissolution of society which appeared so rapidly approaching. If the object of these savans were to instruct the labouring classes in the more useful arts of reading and writing, and explain to them some mechanical properties, their efforts would then be meritorious; but, no-their minds are so impregnated with the sublime and beautiful, that they ever neglect the utile by their affection for the dulce. What avails their learned disquisitions concerning the heaven's luminaries, the earth's gravity, the strata of the It may readily be inferred that the happiness of men does not depend upon the progress of science, for although a people whose physical resources are plentiful will become intellectual, no nation can ever become great or prosperous, if it adopts scientifical pursuits, without having first possessed itself of resources adequate to its immediate support and future prosperity. THE LONE MAN. For the Olio. G.M.B. ON one of the wintry days of last Midsummer, I was sitting at a parlour window, enjoying a train of thought suggested by the perusal of one of those emanations from Leadenhall Street, 'yclept romances, when my reverie was disturbed by the appearance of a very Minerva-press looking sort of hero, who had taken his station at the opposite corner of the street, where he stood, as callous to the "pelting of the pitiless storm," as the post against which he leaned. The individual was enveloped in the folds of a large Spanish cloak. A broad rimmed hat, covered as much black curly-hair, as a certain member of the Ecclæsia Scotia might envy. A prominent nose, black piercing eyes, and a pair of mustachios, which left his being in possession of a mouth a matter of conjecture-finishes a most incomplete description of the singular figure. He looked, indeed, like one of the "Misteries of Udolpho," and seemed as though he had walked out of the "Castle of Otranto." The individual appeared for some time wrapped in deep thought, turning his eyes ever and anon over each shoulder, as if to make himself certain he was unobserved; suddenly he threw the skirt of his roquelaure from off his left arm, thrust his hand into his bosom, and grasped something concealed there. Again he looked cautiously around, and had nearly drawn forth the object of his anxiety, when a footstep approached. In an instant his hand was released from his clotheshis cloak was speedily adjusted, and the individual walked, or I should say, strode away, betraying (to use an idiom of the late medical reports) " symptoms of considerable embarrassment." The strange conduct of the individual; his air of lurking caution, together with the wildness of his actions, and singularity of his dress, conspired to fill my mind with conjectures. Was he a thief meditating some plan of robbery? his noble mien, and patrician carriage, were negatives upon such an idea. Was he about to commit suicide? One would have thought that the corner of a street would be the last place he would have selected for such a purpose. My mind, however, clung to the latter conjecture, and I consoled myself by concluding that he had chosen a fitter spot for taking his last earthly farewell. My meditations served to heighten my curiosity, and increase my desire to know the fate of the mysterious individual. What could he have had concealed in his bosom? Probably the miniature of his loved one-yes! he was in love. The settled melancholy which pervaded his countenance, and his deep and half-stifled sighs, proclaimed him the victim of a disappointed passion! Torn, perhaps, from his country-from all he held dear, he was about to end his days in a strange land! These thoughts passing through my mind, excited such a powerful sympathy towards the unfortunate individual, that I resolved to follow him. But he had saved me that trouble-he His had regained his former post. temper now appeared ruffled, and as two or three persons passed him, he threw after them a sullen and dissatisfied glance. The rain now poured in such torrents, that the streets became perfectly clear. The individual was the only victim of the storm-he stood for some time immoveable. At length, he cast an enquiring glance around, and having ascertained that no one was near, he proceeded as cautiously as before to explore the contents of his side pocket. I shall never forget his appearance at this moment. The rain giving a lank and grizzled effect to his long hair, and the wind catching the ample skirts of his immense cloak, as he drew himself up to his utmost height, added to the mental struggle depicted in his countenance, produced an effect upon his figure amounting to the supernatural. At length, he became more calm-it was evident he had achieved a mental conquest-he heaved another sighplaced his hand on his bosom, and plucked from it a 'PISTOL! My conjectures now became certainties-selfmurder was his undoubted object. I rushed out of the house to follow the suicide-he was gone. I stood for a second stupified. I looked down the street just in time to distinguish the skirt of the individual's cloak as he entered a house. My eye remained fixed on the door as I rushed towards it. I entered and found myself in a pawnbroker's shop! My feelings, like those of the persons whose business it is to witness accidents for the newspapers, were "more easily appreciated than described;" nor were they at all alleviated by the following sentence, uttered in the cockney vernacular"Can't lend more nor three and sixpence upon this ere pistol." My dream was now exploded-my love-sick Spanish Don had degenerated into a penny less refugee; retaining, however, enough of the former character to deter him from letting every body see him enter a pawnbroker's shop, or putting it in possession of every gossip, that he was reduced to the necessity of contracting a temporary loan. W. RECOLLECTIONS OF PROFESSOR PORSON. As the celebrated scholar, says Mr. Gordon, in his "Personal Memoirs," was a daily inmate in Lancaster-court, I had frequent opportunities of meeting him; and as I had no objections to a permanent sitting with such a man, I considered myself as rather a favourite. He would freqently pass an evening en famille with us, and while we were drinking a cup of Trinity ale, or brandy and water, he would make charades and conundrums for my wife. It is surprising that a man of such extraordinary talents, has never found a worthy biographer among his many learned friends. A few sketches were given of him before his death in the Morning Chronicle, but little is publicly known of his earlier pursuits; though I am glad to learn that his intimate friend and associate Mr. Scrope Davies is preparing for the press some account of him and other literary friends. The adage-" sapientes aliquando stulti," was strongly exhibited in Porson. He took fits and starts of dissipation. At one time he would sally forth from his den in the Temple, and carouse with his friends for a week or two; after which he would shut himself up and disappear for three months. I had invited him to meet a party of friends in Swane Street, where I lived, but the Professor had mistaken the day, and made his appearance in full costume the preceding one. We had already dined, and were at our cheese. When he discovered his error, he made his usual exclamation of a whoee! as long as my arm, and turning to me with great gravity, said, "I advise you in future, Sir, when you ask your friends to dinner, to ask your wife to write your cards, Sir, your penmanship is abominable-it would disgrace a cobler. I swear that your day is written Thursday not Friday," at the same time pulling the invitation out of his pocket. A jury was summoned, and it was decided nem. con. "that for once the Professor was in the wrong," which he at length admitted. "Your blunder," I replied, "my friend, will cost me a beef-steak and a bottle of your favourite Trinity ale, so that you will be the gainer." He sat on, 66 as was his custom in the afternoon," till past midnight, emptying every flask and decanter that came in his way. As I knew there was no end to his bacchanalia when fairly seated with plenty of drink and a listener, I retired sans facon, leaving him to finish the remains of some half-dozen bottles, for it was immaterial to the Professor the quality of the stuff, provided, he had quantity. On my descending the following morning to breakfast, I was surprised to find my friend lounging on a sofa, and perusing with great attention a curious volume of Italian tales, which I had picked up in my travels. I learned that having found the liquor so choice, and the Novelle Antiche so interesting, he had trimmed his lamp and remained on the premises. "I think," said he, "that with the aid of a razor and a light coloured neckcloth, and a brush, I shall be smart enough for your fine party." A pretty large company assembled in the evening, and Porson treated them with a translation (without book) of the curious tale which had excited his notice. So extraordinary was his memory, that although there were above forty names introduced into the story, he had only forgotten one. This annoyed him so much, that he started from the table, and after pacing about the room for ten minutes, he stopped short, exclaiming, "Eureka!-the count's name is Don Francesco Averani !" The party sat till three o'clock in the morning, but Professor Porson would not stir; and it was with no small difficulty that my brother could prevail on him to take his departure at five, having favoured me with his company exactly thirty-six hours! During this sederunt I calculated that he finished a bottle of alcohol, two of Trinity ale, six of claret, besides the lighter sort of wines, of which I could take no account; he also emptied a half pound canister of snuff, and during the first night smoked a bundle of segars. Previous to this exhibition, I had always considered the powers of man as limited to a certain extent. For two months after this skirmish, I did not see the Professor, nor had he been heard of by any of his friends; but it seems he had been labouring hard at his Greek Lexicon for his college. There is a curious trait of his sang froid respecting this important work. He had engaged to make a copy of this Lexicon, and had got curte blanche as to time and expense. During the summer months he had taken up his quarters with his friend Mr. Perry, at Merton, and when he had laboured for three years on it, his room caught fire, and destroyed all his papers. Mrs. Perry, on condoling with him on the irreparable loss he had sustained, asked him what he meant to do? "The loss, madam," he replied, "is I hope not |