foot and in carriages, "There ye are, ye liers upon beds of down, ye feeders upon the poor man's toil; often have you slept secure, and safely enjoyed your wealth, whilst poor Jack rode out the gale, hung on the rigging betwixt life and death, and endured the storm which held him every moment betwixt the chance of clinging to a fragment of the wreck and sinking into eternity: but, now the war is over, smart-money paid for a sharp wound, and neglect and oblivion, are the seaman's portion." The expression of his face and eyes seemed to speak thus; indeed, it spoke volumes; but its mute appeal was lost on the worldlings, who brushed by him, and who, bent on love of gain, scarcely were aware that their fellow-man was starving by their side, too feeble and too much an outcast to work, yet too proud to beg; the middy's heart, however, was of that texture that it leant towards a brother-sailor, meet him where it might, and he naturally looked round at poor Jack on his beam-ends: he had but one penny in his pocket, and that the plaintive voice of a blind woman had drawn, as if by magic, from its deep recess. What was to be done?—for he should have liked to have taken this wreck of a man of war into tow. The reflection caused him to examine more closely the shivering seaman, when a small scar, occasioned by a splinter, on the bridge of the nose, brought to his remembrance Bob Clewlines, who had served in the same ship: the tar recognised him also; but, so far from making himself known to him, he hid his face in his hand: the reefer, however, was resolved to bring him to. "What, Bob Clewlines!" cried he, "do I not hail an old shipmate in you, a quarter-master on board the ——, the bravest heart of oak, the best reefer, and the merriest steersman of the whole ship's crew; and," said he audibly, that every one passing might hear and value fallen courage and fidelity, "and as prime a seaman as ever trimmed a sail, or served a gun; why, what has broke up your old hulk this way?" The man could not find utterance; remembrance of unrequited services and other associations checked him. The middy stretched out his hand, which the broken-hearted sailor ventured not to take. "Come, Bob," cried the other, "no subordination now: we are all equals on life's quarter-deck, and when my fellow-man suffers, he rises a peg in my estimation. Why?—because unfeeling lubbers slight him. Come tip us your fin. Your hand may be dirty, but your soul is as kind as a new sail in a sunny day. I'll show it against any lord's in the land. Come, heave a head; follow me, old tarry breeches; I'll soon set your timbers and rigging to rights; you shall have an entire refit. Come, bear a hand; set all your canvass; it's all in ribbons, I see, and shivers in the wind; but I'll keep out wind and weather for you."

Thus saying, he walked proudly with the poor tar, astern of him, until he came to a slop-shop, near Wellclose square: it was a Jew's. "Here, Moses," quoth the middy, who detected the Israelite bending looks of disdain and mistrust on the poor man, as if he considered the contents of his shop in danger: "come, Moses, a regular built outrig for this gentleman," laying great stress on the word gentleman. This was pitching it strong, but his heart was carrying royals, sky-scrapers, moon-rakers, and his pulse was sailing at the rate of ten knots an hour at least; so elate was he to serve a brave man in distress, and above all, a son of the ocean: "come, let us have every thing good, and spic and span new."—"Pray, Shair, who's to pay?"—"Myshelf."—"O, your honour, that's right." The poor man retired to a back-room, and stepped forward clad from head to foot, and with two changes of linen and a pair of shoes (by the midshipman's order) tied up in a pocket-handkerchief under his arm. BOB CLEWLINES looked with a blush on his old clothes, and at this moment an almost naked boy passed by: the midshipman duly appreciated and truly interpreted one look of the tar. "Bob, I say, heave that overboard, and let the poor boy pick it up: one good turn deserves another." The payment was the next. "Three pounds fifteen.—Is that the lowest?"—"O, yesh: I don't gain five shillings by the whole deal."—"Well, then, do you take the case of my gold watch, and weigh it, and give me the produce of it."—"Let ush see: it's vary pretty, but not vary heavy; it's all fashion you see: indeed, it's a great pity to part, the vatch and the caish; watches are a drug now, or else I'd buy it; but just to oblige you, I'll see what I can give."—"Don't trouble yourself, Mosey; just do as you are bid: you take the outside case, and I'll keep the watch."—"I shall lend you four pounds upon it," resumed the Israelite; "and you may depend upon my honour to return it to you, when you bringsh me de monish."—"No, you won't, Mosey; you'll do just what I bid you."—"It will spoil the watch"—"Not a bit; she must work without her jacket, as my friend has often done in all weathers. I shall sell the outside case to serve a shipmate in distress; but the watch was left me by a dear friend, so I shall keep her: a metal case will do as well for a little time, and when fortune's breeze springs up again, the case will be altered."—"Vel, shair, you shall be obeyed: five pounds, five shillings is just the price of the weight; there's the money."—"Good morning, Master Moses; but do you, Clewlines, set sail again; I want to get you into port: it is only what I owe you. Were you not the kindest creature to me in the world when I was confined to my berth with the yellow fever, and not expected to live a day? Come, come, you must take your cargo in; you must be victualled as well as refitted. I have got a chalk at a house near this,—another shipmate who is set up in business in a public line: call for what you want, and here's the loose change to keep your pocket until something turns up." Poor Bob got a good dinner, a good bed, and a snug hammock, that night; and shortly afterwards he obtained a birth in an Indiaman, and is now doing well. The royal reefer's heart bounded with joy at performing this noble action to recover which he put himself for a month on short allowance. But this is only one of many such traits in the character of this heart of oak whose name the writer could scarcely venture to state, but who will here remember this scene.

HARRY HATCHWAY.

H.M.S. Perseus, off the Tower, Nov. 1827.

By way of a tail-piece to this already extended memoir, we present our readers with an accurate engraving of

THE ROYAL CLARENCE CUP,

given by the gentlemen of the Thames Yacht Club, in honour of his royal highness the Lord High Admiral having condescended to become the patron of the club, on Thursday September 27, 1827. A steam packet was engaged, to accompany the match, by the Club for the accommodation of their friends, among whom we had the good fortune to be numbered. It was altogether a most grateful relaxation from our land labours. The distance sailed was from off Blackwall to Gravesend and back, and the muster of the fleet almost unprecedentedly fine. The whole of the vessels were admirably managed throughout, the match, which towards the close, became intensely interesting. At length it was decided by the Lady Louisa, (Mr. Thomas Smith, owner) arriving first at Blackwall, distancing eight others, but gaining the victory with only a few minutes to spare. If we recollect "right well," the day was fine for the advanced