lavers, as he styled them, and looked very knowing. He understood there was a chance of fighting, so he felt perfectly delighted. To his berth he descended, and as usual, when he was particularly happy, managed to get particularly drunk, and turned in evidently the worse for liquor. Now, it so happened that in about an hour after he had thus settled himself in his hammock he suddenly awoke. A burning fever, an agonizing thirst parched his mouth, so he arose, and went to his locker; but, alas! he had drunk every drop of liquid he possessed, and where to find more he knew not. On board the vessel he had no hopes; shore was his only chance; so, unseen by any one, he made his way into the water by lowering himself from the chains, or from a port-hole, or some such place, and struck out for the beach, where he landed safely, in spite of alligators, sentinels, and all other similar oppositions.

When he had shaken the water from his hair, and hitched up his trowsers, he began to look around for a toddy-shop, where he could purchase some of that liquor, or some arrack, to take the chill off the water he had swallowed; but, alas! no building of the kind met his view, not a single habitation could he see. The fort frowned

gloomily over him in sullen grandeur; no other place where spirits were likely to be found could he discover, though he peered anxiously round on every side. To lose his time, to be laughed at by his comrades on his return for the wild-goose chase he had undertaken, was by no means palatable to Bunting. To be baulked is a maxim unknown to a British sailor; so, rather than lose his grog, he determined to lose his life, or, at all events, risk it. Without farther ado, he began scaling the walls of the fort. This he easily managed, and in a few moments found himself at the top of the glacis. Elated at his success, he began shouting as loud as ever he could bawl, to the horror of the garrison, who instantly fancying themselves assailed, started up, and were about to run to the spot where they supposed the attacking party had made good a lodgment, when Jim, who had scampered round the defences, again began to shout from the opposite side, and suddenly lowering himself into the town itself, commenced cheering as loud as he could, intermingling his vociferations with cries for liquor.

Assailed, as they supposed, on both sides, the enemy actually in the fortress, surprised in the middle of the night, expecting nothing less than to be cut to pieces in the dark, what could they do? The bravest might well hesitate; unable to get their forces together, confused, and astounded, they naturally believed that they had been betrayed. They had but one course left to pursue. They opened the gates, and fled as fast and as far as their feet would carry them, leaving the town in the quiet and peaceable possession of James Bunting, who, after shouting vainly for some time, fell down, and slept for a couple of hours, when he awoke, perfectly sober, though about as much puzzled at finding himself alone, and in the enemy's fort, as the poor man was in the Arabian Nights, when he suddenly found himself transformed into an eagle.

Jim rubbed his eyes. He pinched his legs, and walking up to a tank, actually drank three mouthfuls of water before he could believe that he was awake. He then strutted up to the ramparts; and convinced himself he was in his proper senses, for there lay the two

frigates, and there floated the union-jack, for which he had often risked his life. "Shiver my timbers! but this is a queer go!" said he, and with that he twitched up his trousers as usual, and shook the pigtail-which then hung from every sailor's head.

The vessels, perceiving a man thus expose himself, began to fire at him.

"Avast there!" shouted Jim; but, as they did not hear him, or attend to him, he ran to the principal battery, and, climbing up the flag-staff, pulled down the Dutch colours, and hoisted up a ragged old turban he found lying in one of the streets. The commanders of the vessels thought this extremely odd. Something strange had evidently happened; so they sent a boat on shore, bearing a flag of truce, carried by the first-lieutenant of one of the frigates. Unmolested the party marched up to the fort; and, as the gates were open, unmolested they marched into it. Not a soul did they meet till Jim strutted up to them.

"Holloa, you sir, what's the meaning of this?" said the firstlieutenant to Bunting, in a voice of anger; for it was sadly infra dig. for an officer of his rank to have been thus sent off to parley with a common sailor. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Please your honour, I hope you won't be angry, Leeftenant, but, somehow or other, I've taken this place. The enemy have cut the painter, and sheered off."

"What!" cried the superior. Jim nodded.

"You took the fort!"

"And, pray who the devil gave you leave to do so, I should much like to know? Get on board, sir, directly."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied Jim respectfully, instantly doing as he was desired.

In the meantime the Lieutenant went, and formally took possession of the place by running up the British colours; then writing a most pompous despatch, in which he recommended the real captor to be tried for leaving his ship without permission, he sent it back by a young midshipman, remaining behind himself with half-adozen sailors, in order, as he expressed it, to garrison the Fort.

Strange to say, his recommendation was attended to, and Jim Bunting brought to a court-martial, who most reluctantly were compelled to find him guilty, adjudging him, however, to undergo the least possible punishment that could be inflicted for so glaring a breach of discipline. Jim felt highly indignant at the turn things had taken. He could not help fancying himself an ill-used man; but he bore it stoically. When, however, he heard the verdict delivered; when he heard himself pronounced guilty, he once more hitched up his nether garments, and exclaimed in an audible voice as he left the cabin, "Damn my eyes if ever I take another fort as long as I live."

Need I add that, though, to satisfy the strictness of the law, to which all in the navy must bow, the verdict of guilty was brought in, he was afterwards amply praised, and rewarded by his superiors?

In which Richard Savage the philosopher is transformed in a moment into a very common man. With some worthier specimens of human nature than were to be found (save one) in the foregoing chapter.

THERE was an interval of four days between the trial and the passing of the sentence. That sentence was pronounced upon us by Page when we were brought before him, after I had addressed the court in a short speech, in which, if I pleaded for an extension of mercy, (there were other judges on the bench: to Page I had disdained to appeal,) I did it in no unmanly or unbecoming way, and, I take Heaven to witness, more on my friend Gregory's account than on my own.

It was of no avail. We were returned to our cells, with an intimation that we must prepare ourselves for an ignominious death, which we were to undergo within a fortnight.

I must mention here that Merchant was burnt in the hand, and discharged.

It is perhaps a happiness of my nature, and not one of my virtues, that I can bear afflictions (and I have had many to bear) not only with fortitude, but with serenity. I endeavoured to shake the old world from off me, and to mould my mind to a frame of becoming resignation to my fate. I confess my chief desire, in the first instance, was to show the world that I could meet death face to face with a gallant spirit. I acknowledge with shame that the next world was not very much in my thoughts, till it was recalled to me by the kindest letter ever written by one friend to another, which I received from Dr. Young, who had then recently entered into orders, and from whom I had experienced many acts of kindness, the last of which had been the introduction of me to the Lady Mary Wortley Montague, a lady whose goodness I shall never cease to reverence, whose generous nature shall have my admiration to the last, and this in spite of a man whom I love and venerate as much as I can well do any man breathing, but whom, I take leave to say so, I love the less, and do not entirely venerate, because of his extraordinary, extravagant, and pitiable attacks upon that lady.

This letter, and the Bible to which it bore frequent reference, wrought a change within me; and-beyond one pang of anguish constantly recurring when I thought of my Elizabeth, and which I had not been human (below, not above humanity) had I striven to assuage or to suppress-I felt that now indeed I could die like a man and a Christian.