The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 14, No. 403, December 5, 1829. Various

erst illum'd thy shrine;

      And sweetest birds their songs have given,

      For music more divine.

      Beside thee hath the maiden kept

      Her vigils pale and lone;

      While darkly have her ringlets swept

      The chapel's sculptur'd stone;

      And when the vesper-hymn was sung

      Around the warrior's bier,

      With cross and banner o'er him hung,

      What splendour crown'd thee here!

      But a cloud has fall'n upon thy fame!

      The woodman laves his brow,

      Where shrouded monks and vestals came

      With many a sacred vow;

      And bluely gleams thy sainted spring

      Beneath the sunny tree;

      Then let no heart its sadness bring,

      When Nature is with thee.

REGINALD AUGUSTINE.

      A Siamese Chief hearing an Englishman expatiate upon the magnitude of our navy, and afterwards that England was at peace, cooly observed, "If you are at peace with all the world, why do you keep up so great a navy?"

      THE SKETCH-BOOK

      WRECK ON A CORAL REEF

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

      I take the liberty of transmitting you an authentic, though somewhat concise, narrative of the loss of the Hon. Company's regular ship, "Cabalva," (on the Cargados, Carajos, in the Indian Seas, in latitude 16° 45 s.) in July, 1818, no detailed account having hitherto appeared. The following was written by one of the surviving officers, in a letter to a friend.

A CONSTANT READER.

      The Hon. Company's ship, Cabalva, having struck on the Owers, in the English Channel, and from that circumstance, proving leaky, and manifesting great weakness in her frame, it was thought advisable to bear up for Bombay in order to dock the ship. Meeting with a severe gale of wind off the Cape, (in which we made twenty inches of water per hour,) we parted from our consort, and shaped a course for Bombay; but on the 7th of July, between four and five A.M. (the weather dark and cloudy) the ship going seven or eight knots, an alarm was given of breakers on the larboard bow; the helm was instantly put hard-a-port, and the head sheets let go; but before it could have the desired effect, she struck; the shock was so violent, that every person was instantly on deck, with horror and amazement depicted on their countenances. An effort was made to get the ship off, but it was immediately seen that all endeavours to save her must be useless; she soon became fixed, and the sea broke over her with tremendous force; stove in her weather side, making a clear passage—washed through the hatchways, tearing up the decks, and all that opposed its violence.