The chapel of Henry Seventh was designed as a royal sepulchre; and the will of the founder, it is said, has been so far observed, that none have hitherto been admitted, who could not trace their descent from some or other of the ancient kings. What high and rare prerogatives! What a princely expedient to prevent unworthy alliances! Not only must the blood of royalty be kept perfectly pure, but its dust must on no account be permitted to mingle with plebian ashes! It would dishonor the throne, I suppose, and break the august line of succession!

There is much that is antique and curious in the fashion and workmanship of the tombs, in this superb cemetery. In one of the royal vaults are deposited the remains of Charles II., William and Mary, Queen Anne and Prince George. Over them in ▲wainscot press, is the effigy of Charles, in his royal robes. In another of these tombs, repose the remains of George II. And Queen Caroline, the Prince and Princess of Wales, two Dukes of Cumberland, the Duke of York and several princesses of the blood. But nothing here is so universally and justly admired for its antiquity and fine workmanship, as the magnificent tomb of Henry VII. and his Queen Elizabeth, the last of the house of York who wore the English crown.' This tomb stands in the body of the chapel, enclosed a curious chantry of cast brass, most admirably designed and executed, and orDamented with statues. Within it are the efigies of the royal pair, in their robes of State, lying close together, carved on a tomb of black marble, the head whereof is supported by a red dragon! At the head of this chantry is the tomb of Edward VI. who, it will be recollected, died at the early age of sixteen, and left the crown to his mister, the bloody Mary. Edward V. and James I. were also buried here, and here 100 is the lofty and magnificent monument Queen Elizabeth, which was erected to

ber memory by James I.

Westminster Abbey contains no less than line other chapels, which, though small in Jomparison with that of Henry VII. are pacious rooms, filled, almost, with the Matues and tombs and monuments of the mighty dead. As you pass your eye over ne sculptured piece of marble after anothif you are an American, the neat monument of Major Andre arrests your paticuar attention. The treason of Benedict Arnold rushes instantly upon your mind. The fortress of West Point, as it were,

rises up before, and you feel the struggle of conflicting emotions. This is a monument in statuary marble, composed of a sarcophagus, raised on a pedestal. The remains of that heroic young officer were deposited here, on the 28th of November, 1821. On the front of the sarcophagus, General Washington is represented in his tent, at the moment when he received the report of the court martial, held on Major Andre, and at the same time that a flag of truce arrived from the British army, to treat for his life. But the fatal sentence had already been passed. On the top of the sarcophagus a figure of Britannia, reclining, laments the premature fate of so gallant an officer. The British lion, too, seems instinctively to mourn his untimely death.

The open part of Westminster Abbey is a very extensive area, on the south side, familiarly called the Poet's Corner. You enter this proud domain of the British Muse, at the east end, nearly opposite to the House of Lords. Here you find the monnments, and some of them very magnificent and emblematical,) of Dryden, Cowley, Chaucer, Drayton, Butler, Ben Johnson, Spencer, Prior, Milton, Shakspeare, Gay, Thomson, Rowe, Goldsmith, Davenant, Addison, Garrick, and many others. What a constellation! A moment since you was moralizing among memorials of accidental and conventional greatness of birth and rank of sceptres and crowns. Now you are in the richer, wider, prouder empire of mind, of genius,. of imagination, of all that can amuse or thrill, and fascinate-that can sway the passions, captive the fancy, warm the heart, and elevate the soul. When a King of Britain dies, that moment the sceptre falls from his hand, and he takes his niche disrobed of all his authority; but when one of her favorite poets dies, he comes into Westminster Abbey, to be enthroned and crowned; to live and reign, with a wider and wider sway, for a thousand years.Some of the emblematical sculpture in this part of the Abbey, is very finely conceived and executed; and many of the inscriptions and epitaphs are extremely characteristic; but I have very little room for them in this letter. On the monument of Cowley the chaplet of laurel that begirts his urn, and the fire issuing from the mouth of the urn, are fine emblems of the glory he acquired by the spirit of his writings. In passing along you cannot but admire the monument of Gay, especially on account of the masks, tragedy, daggers, and instru

mry. They will readily allow that to incur a considerable danger is endeavoring to escape a small one, can only be the mark of an imbecile mind. In the most of circumstances, the danger from telling the truth, as it is usually immediate, can at least be calculated with accuracy; but no one can tell what mischiefs are to ensue, in Ing-drawn succession, from either the saying of what is false, or the suppression of what is true. In general, the straight-forward course only threatens us with a slight ass of the respect of others, which the ajesty of sincerity is almost sure immeditely to restore: but what an awful responbility do we incur when we undertake to adure the unalleviated miseries, with which e are to be overpowered at that moment, Then it is discovered that we were not only milty of the fault, but destroyed our honor Ja vain endeavor to conceal it! In the try dread of such a detection there must infinitely greater pain than in the most miliating confession. The timid insinfre, when tempted to take this means of roiding a little trouble, would do well to Insider the one danger as well as the her, and not, for the sake of a trifle, edge away more than the nature of the entitles them to stake. But persons this kind often imagine there is danger here there is none, and act the hypocrite nothing. They conceive themselves to called upon either to assume certain lings, which they would not naturally sume, or to put a disguise upon those ich really animate them, and thus, from tever cause often from a mistaken tence to a few surrounding mindsect themselves to the humbling and ting sense of doing what is mean and ong; when a candid and conscientious urse, so far from injuring them in any would gain them that approbation ich sincerity never fails to command. Insincere discourse towards others, for sake of gaining a larger return of apobation, is so short-sighted and so conmptible a folly, that they must be weak deed who are guilty of it. In more than previous paper, an endeavour has been ade to impress the great truth, that, with# genuine deservings, there can be no muine or estimable praise. All false arts obtaining the respect and admiration of ur fellows, are labor in vain; or rather, by grossing present energies, and creating ontempt in the discerning, serve but to ostpone the time of genuine approbation. The peculiar mode here pointed at is no

exception from the rule. The insincerity is much more liable to be detected than may be imagined, if not by the immediate object, at least by some other person; but, at the best, it can only impose upon those whose approbation is not worth having, or will, when obtained, be equally false. With the discerning and good, such a miserable expedient can only serve to raise the worst suspicions, neutralising the value of any little merit that may exist.

There is a kind of insincerity to which it may be more difficult to attach the idea of guilt, but which must not be overlooked. It is the abuse of the habit of innocent jesting. Some give themselves up so entirely to an ironical and bantering kind of discourse, and use a phraseology so full of whimsical al slang, that their real sentiments are at length buried beneath a mass of rubbish, and, after knowing them for years, you become alive to the painful recollection, that, during the whole time, you have not found in their character a single piece of solid ground whereon to rest your foot. Persons of this kind live in a perpetual masquerade; they grow old with the rattle in their hands; and, while their neighbors are all more or less busied with serious objects, aim at no higher gratification than that of being laughed at. All manly and estimable qualities in time sink under the habit; the motley, at first put on as a mask, eats in time into the character itself; and that which was once perhaps a good and valid human being, is found in the end a mere painted husk. There is, in contrast with such a habit, an open and pure kind of speech which, however homely its tone, or in whatever dialect it may be expressed, dignifies every one who uses it, and is unquestionably conducive to moral excellence.

In the indulgence of every kind of dissimulation, in whatever circumstances, there is much danger. However innocent a transaction may be in itself, however absolute may appear the necessity of managing it clandestinely, it cannot be so carried into effect without injury to virtue. In the very consciousness of putting a veil over our thoughts, there is a sure degradation. Hence, smugglers, conspirators, and the members of various ambuscading professions, however convinced they may be of the abstract innocence, and even praiseworthiness of their practices, in time become vitiated. It is of very great importance that the course of our lives should be such that we have little to conceal.

In conclusion, to all who may be disposed by nature or "evil communications" to the vice of insincerity, I would not only represent the obvious disadvantages which follow the practice of the vice, but also the great advantages which accrue from the opposite virtue. No one can reflect on the

vast number of evils and inconveniences which afflict society on account of the necessity of being guarded against possible insincerity; no one can reckon up the fears, discomforts, and expense of both money and pains, which are every where occasioned by the few who habitually depart from truth,-or contemplate the happiness which would attend even a sublunary world, where truth prevailed more generally; without feeling that he cannot in himself practise a virtue more useful to his kind, or accord to any fellow-creature greater praise than to say he is sincere. But, besides the lustre with which we are invested by the practice of sincerity, there is the comfort of the still brighter and more blessed light which it kindles in our own bosoms. -He who is conscious of sincerity can scarcely know fear: he walks through the wilderness of this world, in the placid en joyment of an internal fountain of happiness, which can neither be damaged nor impaired.

FROM THE NAVAL MAGAZINE.

A NAVAL REMINISCENCE.

"All of which I saw, and part of which I was." In the year 1804, when Preble, as Commodore of the American squadron in the Mediterranean, was gaining glory, before Tripolo, alike for himself, his officers and crews, and for his country, Lieutenant Commandant Richard Somers, had coinmand under him, of the Nautilus, a schooner of 14 guns.

During the several fights which had previously occurred with the enemy, this officer had shown great bravery as commander of gun-boat No. 1; and now suggested to the Commodore that a happy result might possibly be obtained, by converting the ketch Intrepid, a captured craft of about 75 tons-the identical vessel with which the gallant Decatur had boarded, recaptured, and burned the Frigate Philadelphia-into a fire ship, and send her into the harbor under the walls of the Bashaw's castle, in direct contact with the entire marine force of the Tripolitans.

This daring and highly dangerous enterprise being determined upon, Somers, with whom it had originated, received the orders

-to which he was thus entitled to conduct it; and the necessary preparations were promptly made by him. Fifteen thousand pounds of powder were first placed loosely in the hold of the ketch, and upon this, two hundred and fifty thirteen-inch

fuseed shells, with a train attached from the cabin and fore peak. Only one officer, the talented and lamented Lietenant Henry Wadsworth-brother of the present commodore Wadsworth-was to accompany him, and only four volunteer seamen were to compose his crew.

All things were now in readiness, except the selection of the men for it came to this, at last, every man on board the Nautilus having volunteered for the service This done, it was determined without delay, to attempt the enterprise-to succeed in it or perish.

Two nights successively did the Intrepid move; but owing to baffling winds, nothing could be occomplished. These failures and an unusual movement in the harbor after dark on the third night, led Somers to believe that the suspicions of the enemy had been excited, and that they were on the look-out. It was the general impres sion, that their powder was nearly exhausted; and so large a quantity as was on board the ketch, if captured, would greatly tend to protect the contest, before setting off, he addressed his crew on the subject. telling them "that no man need accompany him, who had not come to the resolution to blow himself up, rather than be captured and that such was fully his own determina tion!" Three cheers was the only reply. The gallant crew rose, as a single man with a resolution of yielding up their lives, sooner than surrender to their enemies: while each stepped forth, and begged as favor, that he might be permitted to apply the match! It was a glorious moment, an made an impression on the hearts of all witnessing it, never to be forgotten.

All then took leave of every officer, and of every man, in the most cheerful manner with a shake of the hand, as if they already knew that their fate was doomed: and one and another, as they passed over the side to take their post on board the ketch might be heard, in their own peculiar man ner, to cry out, "I say, Sam Jones, I leave you my blue jacket and duck trowsers stowed away in my bag;" and, "Bill Curta you may have the tarpaulin hat and Guern sey frock, and them petticoat trowsers, tha I got in Malta, -and mind, boys, when you get home, give a good account of us!" I