feels little pleasure in staring at it like an inactive land-lubber, a character which he holds in hearty contempt; besides, to fire at a fellow Briton is against his nature; thief or no thief it crosses his grain, and he looks at his pistols and hates himself.  His situation is miserable; he is truly a fish out of water; he loves motion, but is obliged to stand still; his glory is a social “bit of jaw,” but he dares not speak; he rolls his disconsolate quid over his silent tongue, and is as wretched as a caged monkey.  Poor fellow! how happy would a companion make you, to whom you could relate your battles, bouts, and courtships; but mum is the order, and Jack is used to an implicit obeyance of head-quarter orders.  The sight of an outward bound vessel drives him mad.

On the appearance of a suspicious sail, the blockader, all vigilance, (Jack excepted) awaits in silence the running of the devoted cargo, when suddenly discharging one of his pistols, the air in a moment rocks with a hundred reports, answered successively by his companions.  This arouses those in the cottages off duty; the cliffs instantly teem with life; all hurry to the beach, by slanting passages cut in the rocks for that purpose, and a scene of blood and death ensues too horrible for description.  Thus are sent prematurely to their graves, many poor fellows, who, had brandy been a trifle cheaper, might have lived bright ornaments of a world they never knew.

After leaving Dover, the scene changes very materially in its appearance; the regimental cottages have vanished, and in their places are found strong brick towers, placed at short distances from each other, containing each a little garrison, over which a lieutenant presides; from the abundance of these towers, and their proximity to each other, the men are numerously scattered over the bleak sands, and living more together, are a social set of creatures, compared with those westward of Dover.  The towers very much resemble the Peel Houses which, “lang syne,” bristled on the Scottish border, and like them, are built to watch and annoy an enemy from; they are about twenty feet in height, of a circular form, and have a concealed gallery at top with loopholes, for observation.  The preventive men have a costume peculiar to them:  white trousers, bluejacket, and white hat; a pair of pistols, a cutlass, and a sort of carbine.  A well painted picture of them, when surrounding their little castles, a fresh breeze stirring the sea into a rage, and a horizontal sun gilding their rugged features, would fairly rival Salvator Rosa’s brigands in the Abruzzi Mountains.

S.S.

* * * * *

ONCE ANCIENT.—­A FACT.

(For the Mirror.)