PROCESSION. Guard of honour. Lieutenant colonel of royal marines, Vicar and curate of Saint Andrew's. THE HEARSE, With the corpse of the deceased captain, Attended by eight seamen, late of the Argus, with crape round Also eight British captains of the royal navy, as pall bearers, Captain Allen's servants, in mourning: The officers late of the Argus, in uniform, with crape sashes John Hawker, esquire, late American vice consul, Captain Pellowe, commissioner for prisoners of war, Followed by a very numerous and respectable retinue of inhabitants: "The procession left Mill Prison at twelve o'clock. The coffin was cov ered with a velvet pall, and the ensign under which the action was fought, and upon that, the hat and sword of the deceased were laid. On the coffin being removed to the hearse, the guard saluted; and when deposited in the hearse, the procession moved forward, the band playing the Dead March in Saul. On their arrival near the church, the guard halted and clubbed arms, single files inward, through which the procession passed to the church into which the corpse was carried, and deposited in the centre aisle, whilst the funeral service was read by the reverend vicar, after which it was removed and interred in the south yard (passing through the guard in the same order from, as to the church) on the right of Mr. Delphy, midshipman of the Argus, who lost both his legs in the same action, and was buried the prece. ding evening." Such has been the bright and enviable course of the lamented Allen. He has died, as he had lived, in the pursuit of glory, and in the service of his country. His name will long be famous in the annals of our navy, and will descend to an admiring posterity, constellated with the names of Lawrence and those other heroes who have bravely fallen in this unequal, but glori ous contest. A presentiment of that fate, which awaited him, seems to have possessed his mind for some time previous to his last cruise. Just before sailing, he writes to his sister: "When you shall hear that I have ended my earthly career, that I only exist in the kind remembrance of my friends, you will forget my follies, forgive my faults, call to mind some little instances dear to reflection, to excuse your love for me, and shed one tear to the memory of HENRY." There is a consolation to his mourning country, in the reflection, that, though she loses his services forever, she adds one more imperishable name to the list of her worthies. That he did not die until he had matured his own, and added new splendour to her fame. That he nobly died defending the honour of her flag, and now sleeps enshrouded by it. Such heroick fortitude in death is more terrible to our foe, than even our conquests and captures. It shews that settled determination in our officers to render our navy illustrious, which must ultimately atchieve its object. None of our brave fellows have died ingloriously, Many have fallen; but they have fallen -like stars, Streaming splendour through the sky;" and Albion, contemplating their death, trembles on the throne of naval supremacy. But it is not in publick life alone, that the traits which designate character are to be sought. A man, with the soul of a robber, might boast an arm, which would "turn the tide of battle." It is when the virtues which adorn the walks of peace, mingle themselves with, and chasten the boisterous courage of the warriour, that the character of the hero is completed. Great as is the glory with which the name of Allen is encircled; notwithstanding all the lustre, which he has thrown around the flag of our infant navy; it is over the virtues of his private life, it is over the endearing recollections of domestick intercourse, that his friends linger with the fondest enthusiasm. His, were all those qualities, his, that sensibility, that amenity of heart, which form the agreeable companion, and the valuable friend. His loss will be long felt and acknowledged by his country; but in the sweet domestick circle, of which he was the ornament and the pride, he will never be forgotten-It is there, he will be "Beloved, 'till worth can charm no more, And mourned, 'till pity's self be dead.” But a proud consolation mingles with the grief of his friends. He died the death which he had always chosen. He ceased not to exist until all the purposes worthy of existence were accomplished. His virtues have borne him to heaven, and he has left a name on earth, over which time can have little power. "From the dust his laurels bloom, High they shoot and flourish free; Glory's temple is the TOMB ; Death is IMMORTALITY." FROM MY PILLOW. "Dreams are but interludes, that fancy makes.” Last evening, as I lay indulging in my accustomed ruminations, my thoughts were insensibly directed to a consideration of the multitude of poetick productions, which have latterly poured from the English press; and the many varieties of style, which the invention of modern writers has introduced into the walks of poesy. A comparative estimation of the respective merits of the authors of these innovations, naturally resulted from this course of thinking. But in vain did I seek for some criterion, by which to try the orthodoxy of poetick productions. In vain did I assume, by turns, the various rules of excellence, with which the generosity of criticks has so plentifully furnished us. In vain did I endeavour, after the manner of Piocrustes, to erect a bed of torture, on which to stretch and measure the objects of my consideration. On bringing my most favourite authors to the ordeal, I perceived, that, notwithstanding all the pleasure derived from their perusal, they must be condemned together, if judged by critical rules. The style of one was too exuberant; yet, from this very exuberance, did the glowing fervour of his descriptions evidently proceed, and I felt that I admired him for his fault. Another was too laconick and sententious; but the strength and simplicity of his expressions constituted his beauty. One wanted invention; but he painted nature in the colours of truth, and had he been more inventive, I should have liked him less. Another boldly broke through all rules, and soared into regions, purely the creation of fancy; but he introduced me to a world of magical wonders, and I could not regret the cold realities of the world, that I had left. In short, I thought I discovered, that rules could not be made for genius; that art destroyed its force and brilliancy, as we lead the lightning of the heavens inert and invisible, when we controul it by our inventions. That, by binding and taming the eagle, we destroyed the terrour of his beak, and lightning of his eye." Tired at length with my disquisitions, and half dissatisfied with my conclusions, 1 insensibly yielded to the influence of that benevolent God, whose benignity, (to use the sage words of the wise governour of Barritaria,) "covers a man all over like a cloak." Though under the dominion of sleep, my thoughts were still directed to the same subjects; but they were no longer under the steady guidance of the matron reason, but the sport of fancy, that frolicksome madcap of a wanton, whose rogueries are perpetually teazing, and yet constitute a large proportion of the happiness of life. Under her guidance I soon found myself on a vast plain, crossed and divided by numerous intersecting paths. By my side stood the genius of Instruction. On one side lay the vast temple of Interest, to which most of the paths finally conducted. In another direction, I beheld the paths lead 1 ing to the fane of Virtue, with only "here and there a traveller;" and before my eyes was a mountain, lofty, precipitous and craggy, on whose summit was a dome, hiding its lofty turrets in the clouds. This temple was sacred to POETICK FAME. To this my attention was particularly directed; as I understood from my guide, that I should there have an opportunity of observing the paths and progress of my favourite authors. I could not, however, but observe, that in the middle of the plain there was a vast multitude, wandering carelesly about, without attempting a progress in either of the paths; but seemingly contented with their present situation, and deriding the painful exertions of the persevering travellers in their view. These, I learned, were the subjects of Indolence, whose "listless length" was stretched on a couch of roses, and of Ignorance, ever busy without an object, and ever industrious without atchieving any thing. Passing this crowd, I approached the mountain, to take a nearer view of the few who were toiling towards its summit. So steep were the sides, and so craggy, that to reach the top, by a direct ascent, was impossible; but there were various paths winding in different directions, which I was informed, led to the temple on its summit, though few possessed vigour and perseverance paramount to the difficulties of the way. A little way up the mountain, I observed certain persons who appeared to have resigned every idea of farther progress, and were employing themselves in throwing dirt and stones at those who were in earnest endeavouring to reach the temple, with a diligence and perseverance of exertion, which must have surmounted every obstruction, had they been employed in ascending. These I understood to be criticks, and on closer observation, I easily knew Jeffries and Gifford, their leaders, who were standing by themselves, a little farther up the side. The latter of these, my guide informed me, had once nearly attained the summit; but from a paltry ambition of shewing that he could throw stones as well as the former, had voluntarily descended, and now employed himself in pelting those whom Jeffries suffered to pass unassailed. I could not but observe that a most virulent animosity existed between these two troublesome characters, and that when |
