yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief, and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed these badges of honour from the enemy, England perhaps would not have had cause to receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The cock-pit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he was with some difficulty conveyed, and laid upon a pallet in the midshipmen's berth. It was soon perceived, upon examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself, being certain, from the sensation in his back and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him, and attend to those to whom he might be useful; "for," said he, 66 you can do nothing for me.' All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself.

He

As often as a ship struck, the crew of the Victory hurrahed; and at every hurrah a visible expression of joy gleamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero.

But he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried, "Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!" An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time when Nelson received his wound before Hardy could come to him.

They shook hands in silence; Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful and yet sublimest moment. Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us?" "Very well," replied Hardy; "ten ships have struck, but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the Victory. I

"I

have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I hope," said Nelson, "that none of our ships have struck." Hardy answered, there was no fear of that. Then, and not till then, Nelson spoke of himself. am a dead man, Hardy," said he; "I am going fast: it will be all over with me soon. Come nearer to me." Hardy then once more shook hands with him, and, with a heart almost bursting, hastened on deck. His articulation now became difficult; but he was distinctly heard to say, "Thank God, I have done my duty!" These words he repeatedly pronounced; and they were the last words which he uttered. He expired at thirty minutes after four-three hours and a quarter after he had received his wound.

LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE.

(ALFRED TENNYSON.)

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, of me you shall not win re

nown,

You thought to break a country heart for pastime, ere you went to town.

At me you smiled, but unbeguiled I saw the

retired :

snare, and I

The daughter of a hundred earls, you are not one to be

desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name,

Your pride is yet not mate for mine, too proud to care from whence I came.

Nor would I break for your sweet sake a heart that dotes on truer charms,

A simple maiden in her flower is worth a hundred coats of arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, some meeker pupil you must find, For were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind,

You sought to prove how I could love, and my disdain is my reply.

The lion on your old stone gates, is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, you put strange memories in my head,

Not thrice your branching limes have blown since I beheld young Laurence dead.

Oh! your sweet eyes, your low replies: a great enchantress you may be;

But there was that across his throat which you had hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, when thus he met his mother's view,

She had the passions of her kind, she spake some certain truths of you.

Indeed, I heard one bitter word that scarce is fit for you to hear;

Her manners had not that repose which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere, there stands a spectre in your

hall:

The guilt of blood is at your door: you changed a wholesome heart to gall.

You held your course without remorse, to make him trust his modest worth,

And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare, and slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, from yon blue heavens above us bent,

The grand old gardener and his wife smile at the claims of long descent.

Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere: you pine among your halls and towers;

The languid light of your proud eyes is wearied of the rolling hours.

In glowing health with boundless wealth, but sickening of a vague disease,

You know so ill to deal with time, you needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, if time be heavy on your

hands,

Are there no beggars at your gate, nor any poor about your lands?

Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read, or teach the orphangirl to sew,

Pray Heaven for a human heart, and let the foolish yeo

man go.

By permission of Messrs Strahan & Co.

ENGLISH SELF-ESTEEM.

*

(RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE.)

And now I will grapple with the noble Lord [Palmerston] on the ground which he selected for himself, in the most triumphant portion of his speech, by his reference to those emphatic words, Civis Romanus sum. He vaunted, amidst the cheers of his supporters, that under his administration an Englishman should be throughout the world what the citizen of Rome had been. What then, sir, was a Roman citizen? He was the member of a privileged caste; he belonged to a conquering race,—to a nation that held all others bound down by the strong

* From a speech occasioned by the rupture with Greece, 1850.

arm of power. For him there was to be an exceptional system of law; for him principles were to be asserted, and by him rights were to be enjoyed, that were denied to the rest of the world.

Is such, then, the view of the noble Lord, as to the relation that is to subsist between England and other countries? Does he make the claim for us, that we are to be uplifted on a platform high above the standingground of all other nations? It is, indeed, too clear, not only from the expressions, but from the whole spirit of the speech of the noble Viscount, that too much of this notion is lurking in his mind; that he adopts in part that vain conception, that we, forsooth, have a mission to be the censors of vice and folly, of abuse and imperfection among the other countries of the world; that we are to be the universal schoolmasters; and that all those who hesitate to recognise our office can be governed only by prejudice or personal animosity, and should have the blind war of diplomacy forthwith declared against them.

Sir, the English people, whom we are here to represent, are indeed a great and noble people; but it adds nothing to their greatness or their nobleness, that, when we assemble in this place, we should trumpet forth our virtues in elaborate panegyrics, and designate those who may not be wholly of our mind as a knot of foreign conspirators. Now, the policy of the noble Lord tends to encourage and confirm in us that which is our besetting fault and weakness, both as a nation and as individuals. Let an Englishman travel where he will as a private person, he is found in general to be upright, high-minded, brave, liberal, and true: but with all this, foreigners are too often sensible of something that galls them in his presence; and I apprehend it is because he has too great a tendency to self-esteem-too little disposition to regard the feelings, the habits, and the ideas of others.

I doubt not that use will be made of our present debate to work upon this peculiar weakness of the English mind. The people will be told that those who oppose the motion are governed by personal motives, have no regard for