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duties of mates, when ordered to join in the capacity of brevet lieutenants, and remain with the midshipmen as before; they are, however, to have this advantage

That they may be appointed to a ship as lieutenants, and during the time they are so employed, will mess with the gun-room officers, and receive all the pay, and enter into all the rights, of a full lieutenant, wearing for the time the uniform.

Midshipmen who have passed their examination, and are strongly recommended to be eligible immediately to the rank, and without they have misconducted themselves, to be entitled to it after they have passed, and can show two years subsequent servitude. Once having received the brevet commission, to be under the same control as other officers, relative to employment in foreign service, and leave of absence.

We have now laid our plan before our readers; we acknowledge that it requires much canvassing, and that there are many points to be considered which we have not entered upon ; but as no plan is at first perfect, it is better to give but the general outline, for if deserving of attention it will not be lost sight of, and the defect may be remedied. There is one point upon which we have not touched, the length of time necessary to serve in each grade. This must remain to be regulated. We must, however, observe, that the list being so reduced, the promotions should be suffered to take place from brevet to brevet. We mean to say, that a brevet commander may be promoted to the rank of a brevet post-captain, without it being necessary that he should have worked his way up to the full commanders' list; otherwise there would be little or no promotion. At the same time, a portion of each brevet list should be reserved, to be filled up by seniority from the list below, as vacancies may occur.

But it is unnecessary to enter into all these details at present. We have done our duty-we have pointed out the defects in the present system, and proposed a remedy. We have pointed out the injustice of the service, and shown a way of indemnification, and at the same time, we have had in view what is equally important—that economy and retrenchment which the exigencies of the nation so imperatively demand. If this plan, with or without modification, should be adopted in the navy, we trust that it will be but a precursor to a similar arrangement in the army, where the disproportion between the demand and the supply is even more ludicrous. We have only two hundred and eight admirals, but we have about five hundred and twelve field marshals and generals, and staff officers without number; to that extent, indeed, that if our present army were divided among them, their respective commands would remind us of the army of one drummer, one fifer, and one private, commanded by the great general Chrononhotonthologus in the play, who dismisses them with,

“ Begone, brave army—and don't kick up a row."

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“ An ancient philosopher once told a maiden who sought his counsels, as to what she should do in the world, 'to live, love, and hope ; and that by so doing sho would be fulfilling the end of her being.”

LIVE, but beware of living for thyself,

Live not for earth's low vanities, nor aim
At the acquirement of frail heaps of pelf,

Or the still frailer laurel-wreaths of fame;
Maiden, such joys a fleeting transport give,
Wouldst thou be truly wise—for others live.

Live for the poor and destitute, explore

The haunts of ignorance, of want, and strife,
Relieve their inmates from thy worldly store,

And give them the more precious bread of life;
While heaven's bright glories to their eyes are shown,
Thou in their happiness shalt find thine own.

Love, but love wisely, not too well, reflect

That slights and falsehood thy young dreams may chill,
Nor e'er from love unmingled bliss expect,

The idol of thy heart is human still ;
The union sought by thee, may be thy share,
And much, perchance, be still thy lot to bear.

Bear with thy partner's faults, nor such reveal

Even to the kindest and the fondest friend,
Let gentleness attemper still thy zeal,

Nor vainly strive his errors to amend,
Unless to the rich treasures of thy mind,
Meekness and stedfast piety be joined.

Consult his feelings, and with watchful care,

His worldly interests guard from fraud and hurt,
Commend him to the Lord in frequent prayer,

And ever thy best influence exert
Gently to draw him from this worthless sod,
Winning his thoughts, his words, his heart to God.

Hope, and hope warmly-hope success may crown

Thy schemes to help thy brethren on the earth,
But shrink not from stern disappointment's frown,

The purest hopes are not of mortal birth;
But on the wings of faith triumphant rise,
To seek eternal blessings in the skies.

Thus living, to assist and serve thy race,

Thus loving, with a pure and holy truth,
Thus hoping, for Almighty aid and grace;

Maiden, serene and blest shall be thy youth,-
Duty thy guide, thou shalt be kept from ill,
And well the purpose of thy life fulfil.



I Think some people shook me by the hand, and others shouted as I walked in the open air, but I recollect no more. I afterwards was informed that I had been reprieved, that I had been sent for, and a long exhortation delivered to me, for it was considered that my life must have been one of error, or I should have applied to my friends, and have given my name. My not answering was attributed to shame and confusion, my glassy eye had not been noticed-my tottering step when led in by the gaolers attributed to other causes ; and the magistrates shook their heads as I was led out of their presence. The gaoler had asked me several times where I intended to go. At last, I had told him to seek my father, and darting away from him, I had run like a madman down the street. Of course he had no longer any power over me; but he muttered, as I fled from him, “ I've a notion he'll soon be locked up again, poor fellow ! it's turned his brain for certain." As I passed along, my unsteady step naturally attracted the attention of the passers by; but they attributed it to intoxication. Thus was I allowed to wander away in a state of madness, and before night I was far from the town. What passed, and whither I had bent my steps, I cannot tell. All I know is, that after running like a maniac, seizing every body by the arm that I met, staring at them with wild and flashing eyes; and sometimes in a solemn voice, at others in a loud, threatening tone, startling them with the interrogatory, “ Are you my father?” and then darting away, or sobbing like a child, as the humour took me, I had crossed the country, and three days afterwards I was picked up at the door of a house in the town of Reading, exhausted with fatigue and exposure, and nearly dead. When I recovered I found myself in bed, my head shaved, my arm bound up, after repeated bleedings, and a female figure sitting by me.

“ God in heaven! where am I?” exclaimed I faintly.

“ Thou hast called often upon thy earthly father during the time of thy illness, friend,” replied a soft voice. It rejoiceth me much to hear thee call upon thy Father which is in heaven. Be comforted, thou art in the hands of those who will be mindful of thee. Return thy thanks in one short prayer for thy return to reason, and then sink again into repose, for thou must need it much."

I opened my eyes wide, and perceived that a young person in a Quaker's dress was sitting by the bed working with her needle; an open Prayer Book was on a little table before her. I perceived also a cup, and parched with thirst, I merely said, “ Give me to drink." She arose, and put a teaspoon to my lips; but I raised my hand, took the cup from her, and emptied it. O how delightful was that draught! I sank down on my pillow, for even that slight exertion had overpowered me, and muttering, “ God, I thank thee !" I was

Continued from vol. xiii. p. 355. Sept. 1835.-VOL. XIV.—NO. LIII.

immediately in a sound sleep, from which I did not awake for many hours. When I did, it was not daylight. A lamp was on the table, and an old man in a Quaker's dress was snoring very comfortably in the arm-chair. I felt quite refreshed with my long sleep, and was now able to recall what had passed. I remembered the condemned cell, and the mattrass upon which I lay, but all after was in a state of confusion. Here and there a factor supposition was strong in my memory; but the intervals between were total blanks. I was at all events free, that I felt convinced of, and that I was in the hands of the sect who denominate themselves Quakers: but where was I ? and how did I come here? I remained thinking on the past, and wondering, until the day broke, and with the daylight roused up my watchful attendant. He yawned, stretched his arms, and rising from the chair, came to the side of my bed. I looked him in the face. “ Hast thou slept well, friend ?" said he.

“ I have slept as much as I wish, and would not disturb you," replied I, “ for I wanted nothing."

“ Peradventure I did sleep,” replied the man; “ watching long agreeth not with the flesh, although the spirit is most willing. Requirest thou any thing ?"

“ Yes,” replied I, “ I wish to know where I am ?”

“ Verily, thou art in the town of Reading in Berkshire, and in the house of Pheneas Cophagus.”

“ Cophagus !” exclaimed I; “ Mr. Cophagus, the surgeon and apothecary?”

“ Pheneas Cophagus is his name; he hath been admitted into our sect, and hath married a daughter of our persuasion. He hath attended thee in thy fever and thy frenzy, without calling in the aid of the physician, therefore do I believe that he must be the man of whom thou speakest; yet doth he not follow up the healing art for the lucre of gain."

“ And the young person who was at my bedside, is she his wife ?"

« Nay, friend, she is half-sister to the wife of Pheneas Cophagus by a second marriage, and a maiden, who was named Susannah Temple at the baptismal font; but I will go to Pheneas Cophagus and acquaint him of your waking, for such were his directions."

The man then quitted the room, leaving me quite astonished with the information he had imparted. Cophagus turned Quaker ! and attending me in the town of Reading. In a short time Mr. Cophagus himself entered in his dressing-gown. “ Japhet !” said he, seizing my hand with eagerness, and then, as if recollecting, he checked himself, and commenced in a slow tone, “ Japhet Newland-truly glad am Ihum-verily do I rejoice-you, Ephraim--get out of the room-and -so on.”

“ Yea, I will depart, since it is thy bidding,” replied the man, quitting the room.

Mr. Cophagus then greeted me in his usual way--told me that he had found me insensible at the door of a house a little way off, and had immediately recognised me. He had brought me to his own home, but without much hope of my recovery. He then begged to know by what strange chance I had been found in such a desolate condition. I replied, " that although I was able to listen, I did not feel myself equal to the exertion of telling so long a story, and that I should infinitely prefer that he should narrate to me what had passed since we had parted at Dublin, and how it was that I now found that he had joined the sect of Quakers."

“ Peradventure_long word that-um-queer people-very good and so on," commenced Mr. Cophagus; but as the reader will not understand his phraseology quite so well as I did, I shall give Mr. Cophagus's history in my own version.

Mr. Cophagus had returned to the small town at which he resided, and on his arrival he had been called upon by a gentleman who was of the Society of Friends, requesting that he would prescribe for a niece of his, who was on a visit at his house, and had been taken dangerously ill. Cophagus, with his usual kindness of heart, immediately consented, and found that Mr. Temple's report was true. For six weeks he attended the young Quakeress, and recovered her from an imminent and painful disease, in which she showed such fortitude and resignation, and such unconquerable good temper, that when Mr. Cophagus returned to his bachelor's establishment, he could not help reflecting upon what an invaluable wife she would make, and how much more cheerful his house would be with such a domestic partner. In short, Mr. Cophagus fell in love, and like all elderly gentlemen who have so long bottled up their affections, he became most desperately enamoured; and if he loved Miss Judith Temple when he witnessed her patience and resignation under suffering, how much more did he love her when he found that she was playful, merry, and cheerful, without being boisterous, when restored to her health. Mr. Cophagus's attentions could not be misunderstood. He told her uncle that he had thought seriously of wedding cake-white favours-marriage -family—and so on; and to the young lady he had put his cane up to his nose and prescribed, “ A dose of matrimony-to be taken immediately." To Mr. Cophagus there was no objection raised by the lady, who was not in her teens, or by the uncle, who had always respected him as a worthy man, and a good Christian; but to marry one who was not of her persuasion, was not to be thought of. Her friends would not consent to it. Mr. Cophagus was therefore dismissed, with a full assurance that the only objection which offered was, that he was not of their society.

Mr. Cophagus walked home discomforted. He sat down on his easy chair, and found it excessively uneasy-he sat down to his solitary meal, and found that his own company was unbearable—he went to bed, but found that it was impossible to go to sleep. The next morning, therefore, Mr. Cophagus returned to Mr. Temple, and stated his wish to be made acquainted with the difference between the tenets of the Quaker persuasion and that of the Established Church. Mr. Temple gave him an outline, which appeared to Mr. Cophagus to be very satisfactory, and then referred him to his niece for fuller particulars. When a man enters into an agreement with a full desire to be convinced, and with his future happiness perhaps depending upon that conviction; and when, further, those arguments are brought forward by one of the prettiest voices, and backed by the sweetest of smiles,

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