own dearly beloved Queen, or sailors simply eating their Christmas dinner on board their own ship, they might in this respect at least be mistaken for the "good people" feasting in the dominions of Queen Titania.

This is but a fair description of the appearance of our lower deck, as the deputation with their guests appear on the scene. Some one now shouts, "the Captain and the Officers;" and instantaneously the whole crew rise at their tables as one man, and by way of welcome, give three such hearty cheers as only can proceed from British lungs and sturdy hearts of oak!

The ordeal to which I alluded now commences; for each mess expects you to pay them a visit, and would feel affronted if you did not; and each man is so anxious to do the honours of his mess, and so respectful withal, pressing you to eat and drink with an earnest politeness that is irresistible that it requires some tact to pass through the whole of the messes without having offended some one, or else earned a headache as the reward for your good nature. Í remember on one occasion of this kind, that two military men, and on another, a cannie Scotchman, (neither of whom were familiar with our naval customs,) were so completely taken by surprise by Jack's hospitality, and felt so confused after a visit to the lower deck on Christmas Day, that they were obliged to lay down for a time to recover themselves from the effects of the- -plum pudding, or something equally potent, of which from mere courtesy they had partaken too freely or too often. The last mess having been visited, and the Captain (if he be the father of his people, as I am proud to say many Captains are,) having improved the opportunity by a few words of commendation, and recommendation to be both " merry and wise," the Officers retire, and leave Jack to enjoy his meal without restraint.

Sailors are not great eaters. Ere long the sounds of music are heard, and we who are supposed to be the spectators are attracted on deck to witness more of Jack's eccentricities. Something of the spirit of the Lord of Misrule, or the Abbot of Unreason, seems to have taken possession of them: for behold! what a change has taken place! Instead of neatly-dressed sailors, we find the deck crowded with Ethiopian serenaders, clowns, acrobats, corsairs, Turks, Russian soldiers, and a rare motley crew; among whom may be perceived one in the long black gown and shovel hat of a Maltese padre, (the Abbot of Unreason himself, probably). How the latter costume came into the ship I confess is still to me a mystery; but to most of the others a history is attached, which I may not here stay to relate. A Maltese street band has been introduced into the ship, and many of the masqueraders are dancing to their music. On the other side of the deck, by way of opposition, the ship's fiddler is sawing away most energetically, and a crowd of blue jackets is gathered round a party of four of the best dancers in the ship, who are footing it nimbly to the tune of 'Jack Robinson,' or some other well known naval hornpipe, and eliciting frequent rounds

of applause from the bystanders. On the forecastle, a select few, disdaining these lighter pastimes, sit in solemn conclave, pipe in mouth, while some rare old salt among their numbers is favouring them with a song; none of your modern ditties, but one of those relics of the good old times that our forefathers loved to sing. To look at the faces of the tars who are thus being charmed by a regular "fore-bitter," you would naturally imagine they were engaged in some very serious piece of business, and it really would be something beyond a mere joke to us of the present degenerate age, to sit still and listen to one of those good old songs of battles or dreadful shipwrecks, accompanied by ghosts, spread over perhaps twenty or thirty verses, and occupying an hour or more in its execution; and to see the executioner gravely wagging his head from side to side by way of pathos; and to hear the enraptured audience twice repeating a long chorus after each verse, once somewhat gently, and anon at the highest pitch of their gruff voices, prolonging the last notes of each verse and chorus ad infinitum. Leaving our ancient friends in the midst of their song, let us for a moment cast a glance at the boys, the quondam petty officers of the day. Sadly oppressive and tyrannical are these new dignitaries, and with the true spirit of the usurper, especially so over those whom they have deposed. For instance, the most venerable of our tars, who on any other day would scorn to touch a broom, now comes aft submissively to sweep the deck at the imperious command of the new Jack-in-office. A couple of patriarchs of the lower deck obey the shrill summons of the pigmy boatsmain's mate for the "side boys." The master-at-arms touches his hat reverently to the monkey with the cane, who with the spirit of a Judge Jeffreys abuses his power and calls it justice, (if any one will submit to his arbitrary will, that is). The serjeant of marines comes to the 'attention' whenever his clothes appear before him on the urchin who has assumed them. So the day passes. I would fain throw a veil over the rest of Jack's proceedings, but as a faithful chronicler I am compelled to admit that some excesses may possibly be committed; but to the credit of our seamen be it spoken, little of it will offend the eye or the ear; the day has been given up entirely to Jack, and if in the full enjoyment of unrestrained freedom some may forget themselves, there are many who consider it a point of honour not to have their privileges abused, and maintain a rude and summary discipline among their fellows, putting the sleepy ones into their hammocks, and the refactory into store rooms and other places where they can make as much noise as they like without giving annoyance to others.

My narrative so far has been exclusively confined to a sketch of our sailors' doings on one Christmas Day, as it came under my notice. I had an opportunity of visiting H.M.S" Royal Albert, flag-ship to Admiral Lord Lyons, and the "Conqueror," Captain Yelverton, a man so universally beloved that he was known through the fleet as "the angel in epaulettes." In both these ships Christ

mas Day was spent much in the same way as on board my own ship, and as I have described it.

The space allotted for my paper will not allow further comment, or I should have added something of other Christmas Days spent many a mile at sea; in gales of wind, on an enemy's coast, and under various other circumstances. I should have been glad to have told you how the Christmas festivities are conducted on board ships of the Mercantile marine, so far as I have experienced; and I delight in having this opportunity of bearing public testimony to their unbounded hospitality, and the hearty English kindness they invariably show to their more warlike sisters, both at Christmas and at any other time. Something of balls on board ship, (not cannon balls!) I wished to say; of our theatrical performances, including a pantomine, and I can assure you that at the last pantomine I saw, our tars (who you know can do anything,) provided from among their smart young topmen as clever a harlequin, aye, and as graceful a Columbine, as may be rivalled by few of the stars of our provincial theatres; of our races, which include attempts at anything that goes by the name of a race, whether ashore or afloat, on foot, in sacks, on horseback, or on Jerusalem ponies! and of other sports, pastimes, or recreations, which of late years have been fostered or introduced with the desire to add to Jack's enjoyment.

Just one more word about Jack's chandelier. Poor Jack! When Christmas Day is over, his chandelier is a weight upon his mind; he cannot keep it, for it is too clumsy, and is of no earthly use to him in his every-day life; and yet he has not the heart to break it up after the proud satisfaction it has given him. He brings it aft, and gives it to some one of the Officers for whom he has most affection, in the vain hope that it may be considered worthy of a distinguished place in the ward-room, or even in the Captain's cabin; and if the said Officer is a general favourite, he will receive perhaps three or four of these forlorn bequests; and if he is, further, a good-natured fellow, he will accept them all in the spirit in which they are tendered, he will order the steward to present the donor with a soothing mixture, and, in the darkness of night, will quietly consign his newly acquired property to a watery grave.

Birkenhead.

R. P. J. S.

"Domine, quo vadis?" Legend of the Martyrology.

Out from the City of Rome, once called the City Eternal,

Out on the Appian Way, where the mists lay white in the morning,
Forth from the scoffs and rage of those who spurned at his teaching,
Forth from the face of death went Peter the blessed Apostle.
White was his face with fear, and his eyes were wild and affrighted,
Swiftly his feet pass'd on through the dews and the mists of the morning,
Still from the neighbouring groves rose the scent of the orange and myrtle,
Borne on the morning breeze came the soft sweet voice of the ring-dove.
Brightly the blood-red sun from the golden gates of the morning,
Went on his shining way through the purple paths of the Heaven.
Gaily the jocund birds from their haunts in the myrtle grove shadows,
Sang in the summer air their jubilant hymn to the morning.
Still from these sights and sounds with feet which eagerly hasted,
Fast through the morning mists went Peter the blessed Apostle.
Well had he marked the hate and the clamorous shout of the Heathen,
Fiercely demanding his death, and plotting his speedy destruction.
Hated was he and despised as a teacher of things which they knew not,
One to whose opened eyes their numberless gods and their Temples
Were but as stocks and stones and blocks of inanimate marble.

One who had taught them a faith undecked with gay pageants of splendour,
Telling of meekness and hope, and charity ever enduring.

Forth from that city of sin, deep sunk in luxurious languor,
Fled the Apostle of God with terror and deadly foreboding.
He who had ever been both zealous and weak to his Master,
He who had smitten the foe in Gethsemane's garden of sorrow,
He who had thrice denied, then wept in the hour of repentance,
He who had sworn to die, but never to flee from his Master,
Now from the danger of death went forth from the seven-hill'd city.
Suddenly stayed he in fear, for lo! in a ripple of sunlight,
Jesus of Nazareth stood, and gazed on the fleeing Apostle.

"Lord, whither goest Thou now ?" In tones of grief and misgiving
Murmured the Saint who feared to die for the faith of his Master.
Sadly answered the Lord in a voice of tender rebuking,
"To die once more on the Cross for those whom thou hast deserted."
Then with his tearful eyes bent down to the earth in his sorrow,
Turned the Apostle and spoke, "Lord, leave me, for I am a sinner!

I will return to die, though all unworthy to suffer

What Thou hast Thyself endured, and foretold for Thee and Thy servant!"
Then on the Appian Way returning in haste to the city,

Went the Apostle back, though Jesus was no more beside him,
Stood once more in the crowd, nor heeded their cruel reviling,
But gladly gave himself up to die on the Cross of his Master.

W. B.