bodied, not a single gap was thus produced in their original complement. It became, therefore, a subject of no slight concern, when the first breach by death occurred in their ranks.

James Moreton was the eldest son of one of the Captain's tenantry, and died of a lingering decline. For months, however, after this fallacious disease had fastened upon him, he continued to attend every drill. He had been a robust young man, and was one of the most enthusiastic of our volunteers; and he seemed to refuse to be overcome by the fell enemy. It was pitiful to see how he strove to go through the necessary manœuvres, when he had not the strength to handle his arms with certitude,- -so eager was he to keep by his comrades. At length, it being in summer, he was only able to march with them to the exerciseground, and then leave the ranks till the drum beat for their return to the village. But neither few nor vague were the inquiries nor the attentions to which he was subjected, during the interval, while reclined upon the rustic seat in the neighbourhood of the volunteers, where a group of the old and young spectators never failed to surround him; nor was the Captain's device, of making his men perform their most interesting evolutions within the close inspection of the invalid, the least delicate of those passages of kindness. But this was not all; for James Moreton had in his commanding officer a daily visitant, and a neverfailing giver; and, ere the close of the last dark scene of mortality, he blessed the dying volunteer with the assurance that his father, who was a poor man and a widower, should never be turned out of the farm.

But what I have chiefly upon my heart, with respect to the first departed of our volunteers, is to speak of his funeral. As already mentioned, James Moreton's death formed the earliest breach in the corps; the people were enthusiasts in everything connected with the establishment; and, when it was proposed by the Captain that the burial should be conducted according to military etiquette, the idea was cordially and generally approved of. Was it not strange that such an innovation should be tolerated among this primitive and simple-hearted community? But these were the "days of the volunteers," when the sympathies of all, whether of a gladsome, magnanimous, or distressful kind, were in unison or borne along with the ideas of the country's defence and renown. That the bereaved father, however, who was a plain, staid man, should have acceded to the extraordinary proposal, afforded also a striking instance of how speedily and completely the soldier-system might be engrafted upon the most retired peasantry. Here was the most solemn duty that falls to the lot of man to perform to man, which, even among the Presbyterian austere simplicities, is one of simplestaccording to its usual performance in Scotland-about to be distinguished by many formalities and much parade, in a corner of the land where no such thing had ever been witnessed by any of the living generation, merely because the whole population had put on, if not the soldier's uniform, at least the feelings and associations belonging to the soldier's life. The funeral of James Moreton, which, in ordinary circumstances would have been as noiseless and unostentatious as is possible where a number of mourners congregate to give to the churchyard a new tenant, in a country where not a whispered word is usually uttered at that sad instant when dust mingles with dust-tears, sighs, and uncovered heads being all the show-was to form an epoch in our

parish annals. The senseless clay was to be borne shoulder high,-the great body of the mourners wearing a military uniform, carrying glittering arms, and marching to the sound of the muffled drum and solemn music. But strangest and most heart-rending of all was the moment when the musketry announced that the grave had obtained its new charge-that the funeral obsequies were completed. What a concourse of spectators, male and female,—the old as curious as the young,— mantled the grave-stones and walls of our decent churchyard on that sorrowful occasion! The people were strangely moved while only anticipating prospectively the extraordinary ceremony: how much more deeply affected must they have been when they became the immediate witnesses of its celebration! Eyes that swam in tears sparkled and dilated as if sudden inspiration had entered their souls; and the nature of these blended emotions might be construed from the nature of the ejaculations that escaped the lips of individuals. I overheard an old man say, when the volleys uttered the mimicry of war-" The day of battle is surely at hand;" and a female, equally sententious and prophetic, improved upon this, and said-" Jamie Moreton, poor lad! hears not this; nor will he awake when the battle is at our doors; but when the last trump sounds, Jamie shall come forth from that grave, to be, I doubt not, of the number of the just."

The circumstances which I have been enumerating may be taken as strong evidences in reference to the deep and universally-pervading sentiments that characterised the "Days of the Volunteers." I would also remark that the patriotism that was thus evinced passed readily into religious feelings, to which, indeed, it is nearly related. Respect and veneration towards the supreme and constituted authorities of the land, I think, are identified with the highest attestations of love of country; and surely obedience and strenuous attachment to these human authorities can never be found severed from fidelity to Heaven. In my parish, at least, and in the days I speak of, religion, loyalty, and patriotism were seen to be most harmoniously united and inseparable; nor in any other part of the nation, where I have since that period resided, have I ever known a professor of love to God, country, or king, taking any one of these, in a disunited and solitary condition, who could have stood the test, even upon his own favourite and individual theme, with the three-fold lovers I strive to commemorate.

But it would be too much to say that all the professed friends of our volunteers deserved the high commendation now bestowed. There was, for example, old Andrew Macbride, who had been a soldier for more than twenty years, whose occasional efforts to benefit them seemed solely to be prompted by selfish motives-for he could, at other times, bitterly ridicule and revile the establishment. He it was who had been drillserjeant to the "Hams;" but after their dissolution he formed a sort of anomalous connexion with the surviving volunteers, by becoming feather-maker to the majority of them.

For a considerable period after they were embodied there was no precise regulation enforced with respect to the shape of the item in the appointments upon which Andrew exercised so much of his taste and ingenuity. If supplied with the fleece of a snow-white chanticleer, and a certain consideration, he would, with the addition of some adhesive material, thread, and whalebone, set up an article that would not have

disgraced a Field-Marshal's Aide-de-Camp. There was sad havoc, in consequence of the veteran's adorning occupation, wrought upon the comforts of the crowing gentry of the farm-yard-not that they suffered the martyrdom of having their necks drawn in the King's cause, though their case was not much more preferable-for they had, in this region of their bodies, as well as that near the tail, every lancet-like and wavyfeather plucked, leaving the former space as bare as the palm of my hand. I remember the old rascal got my eldest brother persuaded to intrust him for a short time with two of my mother's finest crowers, declaring that they would neither suffer pain nor inconvenience of any kind from his treatment of them. I was the stealthy carrier of the gallant cocks to the tormentor's crib, and also the distressed witness of their torture. There they were, one after the other, imprisoned between Andrew's knees, while he tore from their skin every part of their gay attire that suited his purpose. It was not the moulting season, so that a heart-piercing sort of shriek ensued, which to this day I think I could imitate with my own voice, so deeply impressed did the oft-repeated cry become which these harmless creatures gave forth during their slow and excruciating martyrdom. I never forgave the old pensioner; neither did my mother; for, though she valued the sufferers beyond their real worth, it was the cruelty inflicted upon them, and their damaged condition, which most affected her. She could not, however, at her will array them anew, or make them any amends; but she did the next kindest thing this was to put them beyond the reach of pain the instant she perceived their deplorable fate.

It would carry me farther than intended in this paper were I to go into all the scenes and notable things which I remember connected with our volunteers. Field-days, the 4th of June, the jubilee in 1809, and the annual periods when the whole regiment to which our corps belonged went to the county-town upon permanent duty, might each supply me with characteristic and interesting materials.

One question, in conclusion, may aptly be suggested by the foregoing particulars:-Are the people of Great Britain more enlightened, more virtuous, or more happy, now, than they were in the " Days of the Volunteers ?" I am not competent to answer the query, when embracing such an extensive field; but I think it may be safely affirmed that, in so far as my native parish is concerned, the answer must be in the negative. There is, at least, more restlessness, and greater divisions of opinion now, than there were then. Improvements in the state of society, it is undeniable, have been of late years introduced; but there have also been doctrines mooted and inculcated of high pretensions, that have not hitherto brought the promised good. Yet I will not be a grumbler or a prophet of evil: I believe that there is an onward march appointed still for the people of this country, and to a great extent through them for the whole human family, towards higher civilization-consisting of knowledge, refinement, and virtue; and that, however numerous or alarming may be the crudities in matters of speculation at the present day, the dross is destined to subside to the bottom, and to become innocuous; and that everything will finally be found to have tended to the greatest possible amount of good to the species. One thing seems incontrovertible respecting the peculiar features of the present era--the love of war with the sword has given place

in the most enlightened nations of Europe to a war of opinions maintained by the pen. At the same time, were foreign enemies to invade our land, or again threaten to commit the violation, every Briton feels conscious that the "Days of the Volunteers" would be revived, and their scenes re-enacted, with all their former spirit and formidable effect; and though the "Hams," perhaps without an exception, have gone to the land of forgetfulness, and many of the more regular and permanent corps inhabit the churchyard where James Moreton's remains sleep, yet it is certain that not a few of their descendants, and of those that were 66 wee," " would buckle on the sword, and be a host deserving of a better historian than G. A.

DESPERATE AFFAIR AT BENI DORMÉ OF LIEUT. DWYER AND BOAT'S CREW OF H.M.S. MINSTREL, IN 1812.

IF but one gallant deed can be rescued from the fading remembrance of our naval or military renown, it is a duty we owe our country, and an oblation to the manes of those brave men whose blood and mortal remains are mingled with the depths of the ocean, or the dust of the fields of glory won by their courage. Few indeed are now left to attest acts of solitary valour; still fewer of the actors now live who shared in the daring enterprise of the old war. Let us not, however, forget their devotion, but snatch from oblivion achievements that still remain brilliant though distant beacons of our country's glory. Among the bold deeds of the period none perhaps is more deserving a proud remembrance than the following daring attempt to cut three privateers out of the port of Beni Dormé, on the coast of Catalonia. Success, it is true, did not attend these gallant men, but even failure excited their courage to a defence desperate as it was honourable, attested by their wounds and the admiration of a generous and brave enemy.

During the Peninsular war of 1812 H.M.S. Minstrel, Capt. Peyton, was stationed on the south-east coast of Spain, to co-operate with the division under Sir John Murray, then opposed to Marshal Suchet, besieging Valencia; a strong detachment of French troops occupying the small town of Beni Dormé, on the coast, as an outpost. It was observed early in August, 1812, that three feilucas, privateers, had taken shelter in the port, and, as they were closely watched by the Minstrel, it no doubt led them to suspect some attempt would be made to cut them out. To guard against it they were observed to haul up as high as possible on the beach, remove their rudders, and use every precaution to frustrate any attempt that might be made on them. Six ninepounders were also added to the battery that commanded every approach from the sea; this battery was manned by their united crews, consisting, as was well known, of about eighty men, well armed. Looking on these vessels from day to day was as tantalizing as it was exciting to the gallant fellows of the Minstrel; but any attempt in the face of the French troops, only a few yards in their rear, was too unpromising to be thought of. It, however, fell to the lot of Mr. Dwyer, of H.M.S. Unité (but then doing duty as Lieutenant of the Minstrel), to suggest to Captain Peyton

a plan either to bring out or destroy the enemy, by landing out of sight, and getting in their rear, the very first moment the French detachment should leave Beni Dormé. This shortly occurred, as, on a demonstration made by Sir John Murray to relieve Valencia, Suchet drew in his outposts, and Mr. Dwyer was informed by a Spanish fisherman, well known to him, that the place had been evacuated, leaving only the crews of the privateers to protect their vessels.

Accordingly, on the evening of the 12th of August, 1812, to use Mr. Dwyer's own words, "it became my duty to row guard. I picked my boat's crew, each man armed with a musket, pistols, and cutlass, and, under pretext of landing for sand, left the ship with my brave fellows, determined to bring out or burn the enemy. We landed, in all nine of us—too few, true, but I knew my men had the hearts of ninety-nine. To make matters as sure as possible, and prevent, in case of any disaster, the boat falling into the hands of the enemy, I told my men that it must return to the ship. On hearing this a difficulty arose among them as to who should take the boat back, each man exclaiming, 'You don't doubt me, surely, Mr. Dwyer?-you won't send me, Sir,' &c. My lads,' I said, 'You know I have made choice of you all out of the whole ship's company for the enterprise of this night; you know me well, as it is not the first time we have acted together; the boat shall proceed to the ship; follow my orders-all but Clarke (the coxswain) draw lots; the shortest rope-yarn decides the man who must take the boat off.' They drew; the lot fell on one of the very best of my men—if, indeed, there was a choice to be made among them. As to the poor fellow, his mortification is not to be described, and he actually shed tears on shaking my hand and bidding his shipmates farewell. I directed this man to pull a mile into the offing in the direction of the ship, there to wait for the result of the attack; that, should there be much firing, and should it cease and no blue-light be shown about a quarter of an hour after, then he was to regain the ship with all speed, as in that event we should not have succeeded. With these orders, I made him push from the shore, and we started for the battery, I and my seven men, full of confidence, supposing we had only the eighty privateer gentry to encounter, who, in their surprise and consequent confusion, we should soon square the yards with.'

"We had landed about two miles and a half to the south-west of the town and battery; it was a beautiful, starlight, calm evening, about halfpast nine. To avoid discovery, I made the men keep in-shore of me, while I walked out more openly. We had not proceeded above a mile when, rather to my surprise, I was challenged by a 'qui vive,' which I answered in Spanish, and we were allowed to pass. When clear of this unlooked-for fellow, I got my men together, and told them we had more on our hands than we expected, as I was inclined to think the enemy had again taken up his old quarters at Beni Dormé; retreat was now impossible, and to surrender ourselves prisoners quite out of the question; we must make a bold dash with circumspection, and trust to Providence and our own good arms for the result. They one and all said, We see how it is, Sir; if you will lead us on, we will follow you.' On then, my lads, and be silent-not a word; I will answer; keep close to the water's edge; I will walk higher up to meet any sentinel that may be near, and on no account speak or fire.'