ticularly in
the art of manoeuvring a fleet, he was considered by the commanders of
that day as unrivalled. His excellent qualities, as a man, are said to
have equalled his professional merits.

This melancholy occurrence has been recorded by the poet Cowper, in
the following beautiful lines:--

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-breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfeldt 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.

His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfeldt went down,
With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes!
And mingle with our cup
The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again,
Full charg'd with England's thunder
And plough the distant main.

But Kempenfeldt is gone,
His victories are o'er;
And he, and his eight hundred,
Shall plough the wave no more.

LOSS OF THE AENEAS TRANSPORT.

The AEneas transport sailed with 347 souls on board, including a party
of men belonging to the 100th regiment of foot, as also some officers,
together with several women and children. About four in the morning of
the 23d of Oct. 1805, the vessel struck violently on a rock, and
received such damage that her total wreck soon became evident to all
on board. For the first few minutes after this alarming occurrence,
the women and children clung to their husbands and fathers; but in a
short time, a prodigious wave swept not less than 250 of those
miserable people into the ocean. The rock whereon the vessel had
struck, speedily forced its way through the decks, and then it
appears, from her parting, thirty-five of the survivors were driven on
a small island before eight in the morning, about a quarter of a mile
distant, but when she had entirely gone to pieces.

The narrative of these events was collected from one of the survivors,
a