waters, or to dive through the openings and intricacies of the ship.

Of the seamen it is reckoned that not more than seventy or eighty were saved. Nor is this remarkable when it is considered that the greater part were forced to run down to the guns when the ship began to sink, and were thus unable to extricate themselves from the lumber and machinery of the decks. Few things are more fitted to impress the mind than the appearance of those doomed seamen descending into the lower parts of the vessel when she began to sink. At that moment, all would naturally have desired to remain on the -upper decks; but the stern and clear voice of duty sent them below to the places which became their graves. A greater number of the marines, and of the visitors, who were on the upper decks, escaped; though, after all, it is most likely that between eight or nine hundred perished in that fatal spot.

The lieutenant who neglected the warning, and the carpenter who gave it, were both lost; for though the body of the carpenter was soon picked up and taken on board the Victory, he was dead. The captain who had so vainly striven to open his admiral's door was saved by the generous efforts of a sailor, who bore him up till help arrived. One case of preservation is recorded which is at least singular, and exemplifies the simple agencies which often work out deliverances. from peril. A child, who was on board when the ship went down, clung, in his terror, to the woolly back of a sheep, to which he kept hold till picked up. Both his parents perished in the ship and as the little fellow knew no name except "Jack," he was always called "John Lamb."

Many who escaped by swimming had some dark remembrances of unavoidable acts of desperate selfishness, upon which none could look with satisfaction, however great the necessity for the deeds. Some, whilst striking out for their lives, were clutched by their drowning comrades, whom they were compelled to kick off and leave to perish. In fact, the great danger encountered by those who rose towards the surface, and could swim, came from the death-grips of the hundreds round them. One man, whilst rising, felt the heel of his shoe clenched by some agonized swimmer, whose fatal hold he eluded by striking off his shoe. Such desperate clingings, no doubt, led to the death of numbers who might have risen

to the surface had they not been grasped by the convulsive clutch of the dying around them. This fact was clearly shewn when, some days after, crowds of bodies suddenly darted up to the surface, firmly held together.

But many never rose, remaining where they died, in the lower parts of the ship; and though no church-bell sounded for their burial, seldom have sailors had a more solemn funeral knell than that which echoed over England for the dead in the Royal George. The tolling bell announces the passing away of a soul from this, its first estate, and excites in the hearts of all hearers a solemn thoughtfulness; and loud was the announcement which rumour knelled over the land on that eventful 29th of August, and deep the sympathy excited by the strange tale, as it ran through busy cities, hushing the bustle of commerce, and stirring the heart in many a lone hamlet.

The following lines, written by Cowper when the report of the event reached him, will fitly close this account of so disastrous a wreck.

"Toll for the brave!

The brave that are no more!

All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore.

"Eight hundred of the brave

Whose courage well was tried

Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.

"A land-beeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;

Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

"Toll for the brave!

Brave Kempenfelt is gone:
His last sea-fight is fought-
His work of glory done!

"It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;

She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.