shelter from the inclemency of the weather: when I reflect that, in an open boat, with so much stormy weather, we escaped foundering, that not any of us were taken off by disease, that we had the great good fortune to pass the unfriendly natives of other countries without accident, and at last to meet with the most friendly and best of people to relieve our distresses, - I say, when I reflect on all these wonderful escapes, the remembrance of such great mercies enables me to bear with resignation and cheerfulness the failure of an expedition the success of which I had so much at heart, and which was frustrated at a time when I was congratulating myself on the fairest prospect of being able to complete it in a manner that would fully have answered the intention of His Majesty, and the humane promoters of so benevolent a plan."

Having recruited their strength by a residence of two months among the friendly inhabitants of Coupang, they proceeded to the westward on the 20th August, in a small schooner, which was purchased and armed for the purpose, and arrived on the 1st October in Batavia Road, where Mr. Bligh embarked in a Dutch packet, and was landed on the Isle of Wight on the 14th March, 1790. The rest of the people had passages provided for them in ships of the Dutch East India Company, then about to sail for Europe. All of them, however, did not survive to reach England. Nelson, the botanist, died at Coupang; Mr. Elphinstone, master's mate, Peter Linkletter and Thomas Hall, seamen, died at Batavia; Robert Lamb, seaman (the booby eater), died on the passage; and Mr. Ledward, the surgeon, was left behind, and not afterwards heard of. These six, with John Norton, who was stoned to death, left twelve of the nineteen, forced by the mutineers into the launch, to survive the difficulties and dangers of this unparalleled voyage, and to revisit their native country.

CHARLES DIBDIN'S SEA SONGS.

[CHARLES DIBDIN, English songwright, playwright, and actor, was born at Southampton in 1745; died July 25, 1814. He managed a little theater in London, and was leading man in his own plays, which were interspersed with songs written and set to music by himself. He wrote many hundred songs, some fifty plays and operettas, two novels, a "History of the Stage," and his autobiography (1803).]

POOR JACK.

Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see,

'Bout danger, and fear, and the like;

A tight water boat and good sea room give me,

And it ent to a little I'll strike;

Though the tempest topgallant masts smack smooth should smite, And shiver each splinter of wood,

Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight,

And under reefed foresail we'll scud:

Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft

To be taken for trifles aback;

For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I heard our good chaplain palaver one day
About souls, heaven, mercy, and such;
And, my timbers! what lingo he'd coil and belay,
Why, 'twas just all as one as High Dutch:
For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me.
That Providence takes us in tow:

"For," says he, "do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft
Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry,
When last we weighed anchor for sea-

"What argufies sniv'ling and piping your eye?

Why, what a damned fool you must be!

Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all,

Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll,

You never will hear of me more:

What then? all's a hazard: come, don't be so soft;
Perhaps I may laughing come back,

For, d'ye see, there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!"

D'ye mind me, a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world without offering to flinch,
From the moment the anchor's atrip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Naught's a trouble from duty that springs,

For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's my friend's,
And as for my life, 'tis the king's:

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft

As for grief to be taken aback,

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft
Will look out a good berth for poor Jack!

Yo, HEAVE, Ho!

The boatswain calls, the wind is fair,

The anchor heaving,

Our sweethearts leaving,

We to duty must repair,

Where our stations well we know.

Cast off halyards from the cleats,
Stand by well, clear all the sheets;
Come, my boys,

Your handspikes poise,

And give one general huzza!
Yet sighing, as you pull away,

For the tears ashore that flow:

To the windlass let us go,

With yo, heave, ho!

The anchor coming now apeak,

Lest the ship, striving,

Be on it driving,

That we the tap'ring yards must seek,

And back the fore-topsail well we know.

A pleasing duty! From aloft

We faintly see those charms, where oft,
When returning,

With passion burning,

We fondly gaze, those eyes that seem,
In parting, with big tears to stream.
But come! lest ours as fast should flow,
To the windlass once more go,

With yo, heave, ho!

Now the ship is under way,

The breeze so willing

The canvas filling,

The pressed triangle cracks the stay,

So taught to haul the sheet we know.

And now in trim we gayly sail,

The massy beam receives the gale;
While freed from duty,

To his beauty

(Left on the less'ning shore afar)

A fervent sigh heaves every tar;

To thank those tears for him that flow,
That from his true love he should go,
With yo, heave, ho!

THE SAILOR'S MAXIM.

Of us tars 'tis reported again and again,

That we sail round the world, yet know nothing of men; And, if this assertion is made with a view

To prove sailors know naught of men's follies, 'tis true.
How should Jack practice treachery, disguise, or foul art,
In whose honest face you may read his fair heart?

Of that maxim still ready example to give,
Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live.

How can he wholesome Truth's admonitions defy,

On whose manly brow never sat a foul lie?
Of the fair-born protector, how Virtue offend?
To a foe how be cruel? how ruin a friend?

If danger he risk in professional strife,

There his honor is safe, though he venture his life;
Of that maxim still ready example to give,
Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live.

But to put it at worst, from fair truth could he swerve,
And betray the kind friend he pretended to serve,
While snares laid with craft his fair honor trepan,
Man betray him to error, himself but a man:

Should repentance and shame to his aid come too late,
Wonder not if in battle he rush on his fate;

Of that maxim still ready example to give,

Better death earned with honor than ignobly to live.

GRIEVING'S A FOLLY.

Spanking Jack was so comely, so pleasant, so jolly,

Though winds blew great guns, still he'd whistle and sing, For Jack loved his friend, and was true to his Molly, And, if honor gives greatness, was great as a king. One night as we drove with two reefs in the mainsail, And the scud came on low'ring upon a lee shore, Jack went up aloft for to hand the topg'ant sail

A

spray washed him off, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly,

Come let us be jolly;

If we've troubles on sea, boys, we've pleasures on shore.
Whiffling Tom, still of mischief or fun in the middle,
Through life in all weathers at random would jog;
He'd dance, and he'd sing, and he'd play on the fiddle,
And swig with an air his allowance of grog:
'Longside of a Don, in the "Terrible" frigate,

As yardarm and yardarm we lay off the shore,
In and out whiffling Tom did so caper and jig it,

That his head was shot off, and we ne'er saw him more: But grieving's a folly,

Come let us be jolly;

If we've troubles on sea, boys, we've pleasures on shore.

Bonny Ben was to each jolly messmate a brother,

He was manly and honest, good-natured and free;
If ever one tar was more true than another

To his friend and his duty, that sailor was he:
One day with the davit to weigh the kedge anchor,
Ben went in the boat on a bold craggy shore-
He overboard tipped, when a shark and a spanker
Soon nipped him in two, and we ne'er saw him more:
But grieving's a folly,

Come let us be jolly;

If we've troubles on sea, boys, we've pleasures on shore.

But what of it all, lads? shall we be downhearted

Because that mayhap we now take our last sup?
Life's cable must one day or other be parted,
And Death in safe moorings will bring us all up: