point of land, which jets into the Dardanelles, and below Abydos there is a similar formation of coast, the point of the sandy bay on the Asiatic side pro jecting some distance. From point to point, that is, if they were opposite each other, the distance would be about a mile-certainly not more; but as the current is rapid, and it is impossible to swim directly across, the distance actually passed over would be between four or five miles. Mr. Ekenhead took the lead, and kept it the whole way; he was much the best swimmer of the two, and by far the more powerful man; he accomplished his task, according to Lord Byron, in an hour and five minutes; I timed him at an hour and ten minutes, and his Lordship at an hour and a quarter; both were fresh and free from fatigue, especially Ekenhead, who did not leave the water until Lord Byron arrived. As the distance has been much exaggerated, our great enemy, time, may be the best way of computing it. It is a well-known fact, that it must be a strong swimmer to accomplish a mile an hour. I have often seen it tried, and tried it myself. A mile an hour is a very fair estimation; and therefore making allowances for the time lost in floating, of which resource both availed themselves, the distance actually swam may be safely called a mile and no more-this is no very Herculean task." We quite agree with our Sailor, that the one mile is very poor way indeed, but he says a few sentences before, that the probable distance to be gone over would be about four miles or so on account of the current, which at the above rate would require four hours, the swimming heroes were only one hour in the water; and this with the before-mentioned sentence, seems to create a serious difficulty. We say seems, for we are sure, that the thing is but a mistake. Our last extract shall be one of a "tale on land," as our others have been "of flood." We are told of a precious pair of officers, but our sailor is not one of them, who commit the sacrilegious felony of stealing a brace of nuns; the scene of this awful affair is in St. Michael's in the Western Islands, and the first introduction of the amorous seamen to their run-away caras, is their being turned into a plate-warmer sort of a machine, and thus smuggled into the interior of

the convent "there they found two lovely creatures, with eyes like antelopes, and equally graceful in shape and step." The Captain being one of those gentlemen who always consider a convent a very improper place to be allowed to exist, and caring no more about the Lady Abbess than he did for a Capuchin Friar, availed himself of the favourable moment, and seized the hand of the youngest. She shrunk like a sensitive plant-a very proper emblem of the lady, her eyes expressing rather a feeling of pleasure than disgust, which was not lost upon the Captain. The companion stood at some distance watching, but by no means indicating or giving the least alarm; the situation was tempting, and who could resist? The eyes of the fair captive rested in watery wonder on the face of the bold intruder, and as he drew her white hand towards him, and bent his head forward to whisper some soft expression, the Nun made a similar motion, and instead of receiving a kind word she received a kiss, by no means the cold kiss of religion, but a "kiss of love, and youth, and beauty, all concentrated into one focus." The colour flew into her devotional face, and her heart beat with a quickened motion producing a sensation as pleasant as it was novel. In a moment the amorous Captain proposed to elope with her, but at that time, and in that dress it was impossible. Never did ear listen to the silver sounds of a seducer with more attention than did the lost Nun. Her only objection was leaving her friend behind. She was called, kissed, and entreated, and in three minutes all was arranged. The Lady Abbess was heard pacing the long corridor, the Captain was wheeled about, and religion, calm religion only, beamed on the countenances of the hypocritical Nuns. The Captain instantly repaired on board; two men were placed to make a rope ladder, the other duties of the ship were hurried over, and all the energies of the men and officers in high requisition. At ten o'clock the ship weighed, and hove to in the bay, the Captain and First Lieutenant went on shore in the gig, and a little secresy was observed in regard to the Captain's cloak bag, out of which, by some bungling, fell a cocked hat. The circumstance alone of those two officers being absent to

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gether might have occasioned some surprise, but sailors are dull to suspect. ***. The gig crept in to the shore, not a sound was heard, and the muffled oars propelled the boat in silence, until she reached the pier head, the Captain, the Lieutenant, and Cockswain landed, the latter carrying the cloak bag and advancing in the most cautious manner; the boat was kept with her bow towards the ship at the very extremity of the pier, and the two foremost oars were kept in the water. Hush, hush," said the Captain, "this must be the window; give me the rope ladder, and leave the cloaks and hats here." "What signal are we to give, sir ?" said the First Lieutenant, "I fear we are too early." "Now, Cockswain, stand at that corner, directly we move towards the boat, run and take your place, but if you see any one approach, whistle and walk quietly this way." The Captain then stood back a little and whistled one sharp note, keeping his eye intently fixed on the window, in two minutes it opened, and a fair face was discernible. "La cuerda, la cuerda," whispered the Captain, and a small rope was soon in his hands. To this he fastened the end of the rope ladder, which the Nuns drew up and fastened by the hooks to the lower part of the window. The Captain ascended to be certain of its security and urged the girls, (no longer nuns), instantly to descend. It was now their resolution began to waver, but they had gone too far to retreat. The Captain's urgent, impressive manner fortified their minds for the desperate, rash and irretrievable action; and a minute was hardly elapsed before the youngest was in the arms of the Captain, enveloped in a large cloak with a cocked hat on her head. Again the second wavered in her resolution; she cried and became dreadfully agitated. In vain the Captain ascended, she was still irresolute, when the loud whistle of the Cockswain announced the approach of a stranger. The Captain descended in a moment. The unfortunate girl, now driven to desperation, caught at the last chance of escape, got upon the ladder, and began the descent. Scarcely had she accomplished two steps when she missed her hold, fell from the ladder, and broke her leg. Her screams were dreadful and resounded over the bay. She VOL. I.

was left by the convent wall, while the other was conveyed on board. The sails filled, and when the morning appeared, the island, her former home, and her peace of mind, were for ever lost."

We must now really close these extracts, but before we make our bow to the public, let us say a few words on the extraordinary flow of literature now emanating from the United services as a whole, or the army and navy as integrals of that great and meritorious body. Some few years past, had a book come forth on the world, under the name of a British officer, amusement might have been sought in its pages, but of instruction none. Now, how is the case altered, the pen is now wielded as freely as the sword, and the very men who, under heaven, are the saviours of our country, step out of their otium, and by a strange exchange, become the historians of the very deeds of which many may say, magna pars fui."— Nay further, noblemen are now the able authors of excellent works, whereas a quarter of a century ago, their information could barely suffice to write the order for a half-yearly salary. Some of our bold officers are the accredited editors of periodicals which, though we may widely differ from them in political, yet must give them praise for their literary papers. One whole Magazine is devoted to the interests of the services, and is filled with well-written papers on the general subjects relating to those services, and admirable sketches of adventures from the hands of British officers. We do not wonder at the host of writers, whom the powerful excitement of political feelings has imbued with the spirit of the time, for we know, what enormous power is given by our feelings when we consider them outraged by public misconduct, but we may be allowed a little surprise how it is that the art of writing has become so general amongst a class of men, whose education is not so literary as others, and whose employments when on active service, are sufficient to jar the writer's feelings out of tune. We care not to enter into any metaphysical investigation of the cause of this, we and the public are the benefitters by such an employment as that which has been called their "hotium cum diggin' o' tatoes," long may the whole

4 B

It was about eight o'clock in the morning of the 23rd of July, 1803, when a man in the garb of a peasant, apparently prepared for a journey, and with a small bundle in his hand, knocked at the door of Captain (the present Sir Richard) Wilcox, who resided in the village of Palmerstown, near Dublin. As soon as the servant appeared, the man asked whether the Captain was at home. Being answered in the affirmative, he desired to see him, but was told that he was confined by illness to his bed, and could not see any one. The man seemed much distressed, and repeating his request with great importunity, added, that the business upon which he wished to speak with him was of a public nature, and did not admit of delay. The servant retired to consult his master's pleasure, and upon his return desired the man to walk up stairs. Upon being shewn into the bed-room, "Oh! Leary," said the Captain, "is that you? What is it that brings you here at this hour?" Leary first looked towards the door, to see that all was secure, and feeling confident that there was no one to overhear his communication, he said in a tone of much earnestness to the Captain, "Troth, your honour, and that's what I'm come to tell you. There's bad work going on. You'll have bloody doings in Dublin before morning."

Nonsense, Leary," says the Captain, "this is one of the cock-and-bull stories which some people get up, either to alarm the government, or to amuse themselves by sporting with the credulity of simpletons like yourself. Go home and mind your business. I very well know there are numbers who are wicked enough to desire an insurrection, but there are very few who are fools enough not to know, that any attempt of the kind at present must only ensure their own destruction. Go home, my good fellow, and do not let

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any one else hear that you have been so played upon by the idle schemers who have nothing better to do. Depend upon it, the government is more than a match for them; and that they will very soon discover if they provoke it." "Indeed, your honour," says Leary, "I know I'm a simple man, but I could not be deceived in that at any rate. I know too much, and I seen too much not to know that there is harm brewing, and before twenty-four hours your honour will know enough to be convinced that it's truth I'm telling you, and no lie, But I won't wait to see it. I'm going down to the quay to take my passage in the first vessel that sails, I don't care to what place; for 'tis better to be anywhere than here till the ruction is over." There was an air of calm earnestness, and quiet determination about the man, by which Captain Wilcox was deeply impressed, and he was determined to lose no time in availing himself of his information.— He accordingly, when Leary had taken his departure, sent for his neighbour, Mr. Clarke, who was the proprietor of the large calico printing manufactory in that neighbourhood, and telling him what he had heard, entreated him to go immediately to Mr. Marsden, at that time Under-Secretary of State, and apprize him of the impending danger. Clarke objected. He said Marsden would pay no attention to him; that he had on a former occasion given him information which should have been regarded as of some importance, and was called a fool for his pains. But go," says Captain Wilcox, "now, in my name. Tell him that I insisted on it; and that he will incur a serious responsibility if he neglects to take the proper precautions." Clarke was at length persuaded; and after an absence of about four hours, returned with a vexed and disconcerted countenance, which told sufficiently that his mission had

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been unsuccessful. "Well, did you see him?" asked the Captain anxiously.“I did,” was the reply, “but I might as well not have gone." Why? What did he say?" Oh! the old story! all a humbug. Not worth a moment's notice !" The Captain was greatly excited. He knew Leary to be an honest, hard-working man, whose avocations brought him into constant intercourse with that class who were most likely to be acted upon by the apostles of sedition, while his prudence and good sense never permitted him to be drawn in to take any part in their proceedings. He was, therefore, perfectly convinced that his information was not to be disregarded; and was determined, at the expense of his life, to be himself the bearer of a message to the castle, by which, if he did not produce conviction in the minds of others, he would, at least, satisfy his own conscience. He accordingly rose from his sick bed, and, invalid as he was, put on his clothes, and resolved to proceed immediately to the castle. Clarke agreed to accompany him. Upon second thoughts, the Captain said, "No, we will not, in the first instance, go to Marsden again. Let us go to the Park, where I shall see Dr. Lindsey, the private Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant. He knows me; and I do not think that there my representation will be disregarded."

It was now about four o'clock. The gentlemen immediately mounted their horses, and rode towards the Phoenix Park; but before they passed through the village of Palmerstown, an incident occurred which is worthy of being mentioned. Clarke, as we have said, was the proprietor of the great calico printing manufactory, which was, at that time in full business, and gave employment to, perhaps not fewer than two hundred men. It was Saturday evening; and the workmen, long before the usual hour of discontinuing their avocations, were seen here and there in groups, holding earnest conference with one another, and all dressed in their Sunday clothes! Of this, Clarke had taken no notice; but Wilcox immediately perceived it, and it gave full confirmation to all his suspicions. "Clarke," said he, "do you perceive nothing extraordinary? Look at these men. Is it usual for them to appear in that trim on a Saturday

evening? I should have expected to see them up to the elbows in dye-stuff." Clarke's eyes were all at once opened to the real state of the case; and, without waiting to answer the Captain, he rode directly towards the men, and charged them, openly, with their traiterous designs. "You villains!" he said, "What are you about? do you want to bring ruin upon yourselves and families? It's all discovered! The Captain and I are going to the Castle, to give information to the government; and if you don't desist from your mad proceedings, you'll be shot like dogs!" Wilcox was greatly provoked by this indiscreet and intemperate interference of his friend, and he said hastily, “what do you mean, Clarke ?" Do you mean that we should be shot like dogs?". And he turned his horse's head towards the Park, and proceeded at a quickened pace to the residence of Dr. Lindsey.

It happened that, shortly after they left the village, the agents who had been appointed by the misguided Robert Emmet to arrange the time and the manner of the insurrection, arrived there; and when Clarke's language was repeated to them, they saw, at once, that their designs were betrayed; and felt convinced that if they were not able to intercept Clarke and Wilcox on their way to the Castle, or, to commence the insurrection at an earlier hour than that appointed, and before the Government could be prepared, all must be lost. They accordingly despatched two parties, who were to proceed towards Dublin at both sides of the river, and whose instructions were peremptory, to shoot these gentlemen as soon as they should meet them; and they themselves proceeded to the rendezvous in Thomas-street, and there they met their leader, and those who constituted what they were pleased to call the Provisional Government," who, upon hearing what had occurred, resolved that the insurrection should commence at nine o'clock instead of twelve, the hour originally fixed upon, and that they should take their chance with the force which they had in the city, with which they hoped at least to keep the Government in check until the arrival of their friends from the

country, whom they could not calculate upon before midnight.

Meanwhile Clarke and Wilcox ar