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Spain. The Lion of the day, at Mahon, was the Archbishop of Santiago, a wealthy and important diocese in Spain, who was then in exile for political causes. He had made himself obnoxious by his activity in state affairs, and by publishing an eloquent but somewhat declamatory defence of "sthe altar and the throne,” or in other words, of the divine and absolute right of kings and priests. He is of the Capuchin order of monks, and wears their dress. His age may be sixty; he is tall and erect, with a fine, full form, a splendid silvery beard, reaching down to his breast; a wild, ambitious eye, a noble countenance, and a port and bearing more like that of a military chieftain, than a humble soldier of the Cross. As he walks the streets, people of all ranks and ages eagerly press around him, to kiss his hand.

In the province of Catalonia, there have been troubles for some time past. The clergy there are more numerous than in any other part of Spain, and of course the burdens on the people are greater. The inhabitants, too, are jealous of their rights, and shrewd, active, industrious, and persevering. The Captain-General, who is Governor of the Province, had become unpopular, and the friars had so much fear of the people, that, except in Barcelona, they had left their convents and retired, some of them among their friends, and others to the Carlist army. On the 25th of July, there was a Bull-fight at Barcelona, when those present, pretending to take offence at the want of spirit in the animal, rushed into the arena, and, taking him by force, led him to the Rambla, the principal street of the city. A great mob was thus assembled, when the cry was raised, "Down with the Convents.” The result of it was, that they rushed to the work en masse, burned six large convents, killed forty-seven friars, and wounded twenty-seven more, so that they were removed to the hospital. This was done, not by Protestant Yankees, but by Spanish Roman Catholics. While this outrage was going on, an officer, with 500 cavalry, came to disperse the mob, when a man wearing a mask rode up to him, and showing his face for a moment, and making a sign, no attack was made upon the populace. This man in the mask is supposed to have been one of the Junta of extermination, who, among other objects, are now aiming at the entire suppression of the friars. They originated some time since at Saragossa, but have now their head-quarters at Madrid. As they act entirely in the dark, have no writings, and send no letters, but only living emissaries to effect their purposes, they are very dangerous, but still cannot be detected. Government is aware of their existence, but yet cannot reach them, or bring evidence to convict any one. Still, for some time past, messages have often been sent to the governors of different provinces, informing them that members of this Junta were abroad, and warning them to be on their guard.

When the convents at Barcelona were burned, the CaptainGeneral fled from the city. A short time afterwards, the Lieutenant-General collected a thousand soldiers of the standing army, from the various posts in the interior, and marched towards the city, with a view to restore the authority of his superior in command. While on his way, the common council of Barcelona sent him a respectful and dignified communication, advising him not to enter the city, as it would probably be a signal for new outrages. He replied, that he felt it to be his duty to advance. He did so, and having drawn up his troops in front of the Palace, he entered it, leaving them with his second in command. A battalion of the “Urbana Milicia,” or Citizen Soldiers, were forthwith ranged opposite to them, but, after a short conference between the two leaders, all hostile action was waved. In the mean time, a large mob had forced the windows and doors of the Palace, and were pouring into it from every direction. The guard, which consisted of but forty or fisty soldiers, made no resistance, seeing such numbers against them. The leaders of the mob, meeting some of the Palace household, by threatening them with death, compelled them to discover the Lieutenant-General to them. He was in a part of the church of St. Mary, which was connected with the Palace by a private passage. He was dragged from thence, and, while they were leading him away to confinement, one of the mob came near and snapped a pistol at him, which missed fire. The General raised his sword to strike the ruffian, who forthwith shot him through the heart. His body was then dragged about the streets by the mob, and finally burnt, together with all the papers of the custom-house, and Barcelona was declared a free port. Thus it was at the last accounts, when the friars who remained were confined in two fortresses near the city.

While we were at Mahon, the Archbishop of Tarragona, with five priests as attendants, was brought there by an English man-of-war. He is first in rank in the province of

Catalonia, and has contested the point of precedency with the Archbishop of Toledo, the wealthiest church dignitary in Spain. He is now old and timid, and was quite anxious to go with us, either to France or Italy, for fear of being murdered in Mahon. Arrangements to receive him and his suite on board were in part made, but, owing to some difficulty as to his passport, he did not come with us. In Mahon, there is much excitement against the friars, and an attempt was made a few nights since to burn one of the convents. The friars have forsaken it through fear, and no one now resides there.

Majorca is divided into three districts. When the French troops from Algiers stopped at Palma, the chief town of the island, on their way to Spain, the report was spread in one of the more distant districts, that they were Carlist forces. Upon this, the friars, about sixty in number, excited the people, who seized the public authorities and cast them into prison. As soon as this was known at Palma, four companies of soldiers marched to the place, who took the friars into cus. tody, and released those who were confined. Thus the dark and fearful drama is every day becoming more and more involved. What the final result may be, is known only to Him, who rideth upon the whirlwind and directs the storm of human passion. ~ Who maketh the wrath of man to praise him, and restrains the remainder thereof.

In sailing from Naples to Mahon, in the autumn of 1835, we encountered, near the island of Sardinia, a violent tempest which continued more than a week. With our utmost efforts to make headway against it by beating, we had at one time drifted sixty miles towards the lee shore of Africa; and at the end of a week, we found ourselves just four miles from where we were seven days before. On Sabbath evening, near the close of the storm, our ship was struck by what sailors call a “white squall,” because the clouds in which they come are white, and hence they give no such warning of their approach as those do which come on with a dark, lowering, heavy cloud. We had just commenced taking in sail, when the squall struck us with such violence as almost to lift the ship from the water; and until she came before the wind, the bow guns on the lee side of the spar deck, were under water, and the stern of the ship was raised so high that the helm was useless. Fortunately, it first struck the fore part of the ship, so as to aid in bringing her before the wind; still, there was, for a time, serious danger of carrying away the foremast, in which case the ship must have swayed around in such a way as to let the sea break over and sink us. As it was, our main-topsail was split, the mizen-topsail-yard was broken into four pieces, and other serious injury was done. The Delaware seventy-four, in company with us, had her principal sails set, which were old, and were therefore soon blown into shreds; and the remnant of one of them, which hung from the yard, was tied by the wind into so hard a knot, that it could not be unloosed, and was afterwards, as a curiosity, placed in a musuem in the United States. Had the sails been new, so as not to have readily yielded to the wind, the ship would have been greatly in danger of being lost. Her fore-yard, cross-jack-yard, and mizen-top-gallant mast were carried away. When the squall was over, each ship's company was anxious with regard to the fate of their companions in peril, and it was not until after firing rockets, and exchanging other night signals, that our minds were mutually relieved from anxiety.

Previous to the squall, we had on board a boy by the name of Perry, some sixteen or seventeen years of age, slender, and lightly made, remarkably sprightly and active, and by far the best sailor of his age in the ship. As the squall came on he was the first upon the yard-arm, and when it parted, he caught by a rope, and was whirled swiftly around by the wind, until he lost his hold. He was some sixty or seventy feet from the water; and the old Quartermaster, who saw him fall, said that he was borne off by the wind as a jacket would have been, if thrown from aloft, and struck far from the ship. As the ship was driven on at a fearful rate, he was soon far behind us, and before we could have done any thing to save him, he must have sunk to rise no more.

Poor Perry, - he was a great favorite in the ship, and for days afterwards, many a group of weather-beaten sailors might be heard speaking his praise, and mourning over his loss. He used at times to sing to me, when I made my parish visits in the mizen-top; and his music had not the dull, drawling monotony of manner so common to sailors, but rather resembled the free and joyous carol of the lark. Though he had much of the reckless humor and levity of the sailor, yet he was peculiarly frank in confessing his faults, and kindly listened to counsel and reproof. His loss sug.. gested, at the time, the following lines :

The sable shroud of darkest night,

Was o'er creation spread;
The clouds had veiled the stars' dim light,

When forth the teinpest sped.

No warning reached the noble bark,

Whose canvass floated wide,
Till the fierce night-winds, wild and dark,

Bore on the rushing tide.
Then lowly bowed the towering mast,

The wide-spread sails were rent;
The graceful yards, before the blast,

Like slender reeds were bent.

Borne onward by the tempest's might,

To wildest fury lashed,
Swift as the light-winged arrow's flight,

The noble bark was dashed.

Now list ye to that piercing cry,

For lo! the yards are riven,
And yonder see the lost one fly:-

God grant his sins forgiven.
He sinks beneath the foaming waves,

His voice no more is heard ;
No more the tempest's rage he braves,

In Ocean's depths interred.

Peace, peace be with thee, sailor boy,

The fearless and the true;
Oft shall thy fate our thoughts employ,

And oft our cheeks bedew.

To him who stilled the tempest's breath,

Our ardent thanks we raise;
To Him who saved from threatening death,

We render heartfelt praise.

When, as in the case above, one is suddenly snatched away, leaving no trace behind, and nothing by which to mark the spot where he rests, there is in it something far more impressive and affecting, than when one sinks a sudden victim to disease, or, from aloft, falls a mangled corpse upon the deck, and you are permitted to perform over the remains the holy rites of the Christian faith. There is, in the case first supposed, nothing before one on which the thoughts or the senses may rest, and thus the soul, with no warning of the sad event, and no preparation for it, with all the vividness of fresh and tender recollection, is turned in upon itself to feel the pangs

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