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from Sussex, absorbed in mournful reverie on the pitiable circumstance of the poor maniac, Emma, while sitting alone in my parlour, when a gentleman was announced. Rousing myself as well as I was able, I had the pleasure of receiving by the hand an old and valued friend, in the person of Mr. Roberts, who had lately returned from Gibraltar.

After a few hours conversation, a question was very naturally asked by my friend, if, during his absence, I had experienced any serious loss, to produce such a sombre cast in my manners. Until this moment I was not properly conscious of the fact, but now I felt it. In a few words, therefore, I mentioned the incident I had lately met with. I perceived, in some parts of my narrative, especially towards its end, his attention was roused in an extraordinary degree. I had not mentioned names, and, therefore, when I ceased, he inquired, with evident anxiety, the name of the young man to whom I referred.-I answered, "Alfred Harlow." -"Alfred Harlow!" exclaimed my friend; "Is it possible? I have now letters in my portmanteau from him, directed to his parents and beloved Emma. If you will allow me, I will finish the tale, of which you have furnished me with the first part; with the sequel of which, I apprehend, you will not be less interested than by the former portion. I requested he would gratify me with the detail, still hoping that something might yet transpire, by which to comfort the sorrowing heart

of poor Emma. Mr. Roberts immediately commenced, as follows.

"Of my visit to Gibraltar, and the purposes of my going thither, it is not necessary I should trouble you, as you possess, already, sufficient information of those subjects. I will therefore confine myself, for the present, to the circumstances immediately connected with the subject before us.

"On the morning of the 14th of August, 1816, -a morning memorable to every lover of liberty— a sight, awfully impressive, stood before the impregnable Rock. A fleet of British ships of war was just breaking from its anchorage: each vessel was spreading her flowing sails, to shape her course towards the bay of Algiers, to chastise the ferocious plunderers of Africa, by the bombardment of the tyrant's capital. The squadron consisted of the Queen Charlotte, of one hundred and ten guns; on board which the admiral, lord Exmouth, had hoisted his flag; the Impregnable, of ninety-eight guns; four seventy-fours; with frigates and smaller vessels; attended by a sufficient number of boats, gun-boats, and other flotilla. The signal for sailing was watched with anxiety by the assembled multitudes on the shore, who had met to animate, by their cheers, the departing heroes of their country. The signal-gun, from the admiral's ship, reverberated in the excavations of the Rock, and was answered by a shout, whose echo only died away to be answered and repeated

again and again. It was an imposing spectacle, to stand and gaze upon the lessening sail, until the beautiful fleet receded from sight in the foggy distance. It was scarcely possible, on such an occasion, not to feel the force of Montgomery's beautiful lines,—

'Majestic o'er the sparkling tide,

See the tall vessel sail;

With swelling wings, in shadowy pride,-
A swan before the gale.'

"The object which the ship-lodged warriors had in view, was glorious :—the humbling the arrogant powers of the pirates of Barbary, and the deliverance from slavery, numbers of their fellowmen. But the sickening conviction would force itself upon the mind, amid the brightest visions which an emulation of Roman greatness, and Grecian heroism could create, that numbers of those who had but now quitted the shores with cheering spirits, would, ere a few hours had elapsed, have exchanged the warm embraces of wife and children, for the cold and bloody arms of death.

"The results of that expedition are well known. To recapitulate the sanguinary scenes which followed the anchoring of our fleet immediately in front of the Barbarians' city, at a distance of not more than fifty yards, would only be to excite feelings of the most painful nature. On the 28th, the haughty dey, willing to capitulate

on any terms, to save his city from the burning ruin which threatened it, engaged to abolish Christian slavery for ever; and throw open the prison-houses immediately to all slaves in his dominion, of whatever cast and nation they might be. Other concessions were made, honourable to our country and beneficial to the parties immediately concerned. The mission being completed, the victors returned; and as they cast anchor in the gut, received the hearty welcome of their countrymen and friends. But, ah! how changed the scene. The gallant war-ships, which, only a few days before, stood out to sea in all the pride of nautical beauty, bestudding ocean's bosom with white and flowing sails, presented in their battered hulks and shattered rigging, some of the destructive effects of warfare, while many of our hardy tars, whose tongues had sounded in the loud 'huzza,' as Gibraltar lessened from their view, had found a watery grave, and hundreds were writhing under the agonies of burning wounds, or disabled for ever by the loss of limbs.

"The hospitals were soon crowded with mutilated sufferers, whose prolonged lives appeared only the prolongation of their mortal miseries. A few days after the return of the fleet, I visited the receptacles of the wretched sufferers. But the scenes of woe I witnessed baffles description. The spectacle still stands before my mind's eye, and never shall I escape the heart-felt impression which they made. But with none was I more

struck than with two young men, whose beds were next each other. One had served in the army; the other had been engaged in the navy. The soldier had lost both his legs, which, during the heat of the action, had been torn away by a chain-shot: the sailor had been deprived of both his arms, one of which had been shot off in the onset of the fight; the other, from being much fractured, had since been amputated. Of neither were there any hopes of recovery entertained. But the difference with which each bore his sufferings was expressively striking. The youthful seaman enjoyed a calm tranquillity, which neither the agonies he suffered, nor the prospect of death could remove. The effects of Christianity were vividly displayed by him. His waking hours, and they were many, were employed either in silent prayer, or in affectionate and meek exhortation to his fellow-sufferer. The character of the soldier was the very antipodes of this. A dreadful gloom sat scowling upon his sun-browned visage, while the agonies of his body seemed exceeded by the torments of his mind. A fearful drowsiness gradually fastened upon him, as the certain precursor of approaching death. During one of my visits for I visited the young sailor several times, being greatly interested in his welfare

-I found the soldier groaning in uneasy slumbers, while his companion, as usual, was prayerfully looking towards a better world. I soon obtained from him his tragic history: his name, he informed me, was Alfred Harlow; of his birth-place,

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