Bath. ENIGMA XXX. The author of some political letters, And under this mask traduces his betters, The abbot who fill'd the pontifical chair His adversaries he did not spare, When fix'd on his throne of state. Also a learned mathematician Fair Albion's boast and pride: Then think of a queen who boldly address'd And let her initial be join'd with the rest, KEY TO ENIGMA No. 29. Kennet. Ness. O tter. X agua. The only one who has answered this enigma is J. T. S. King, Bottesford. LINES TO A YOUNG FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. A many returns of the day! As bees upon blossoms and flowers; When the morning of life is so fair; A many returns of the day! A gladness of spirit be thine! The glories of Heaven we pray Surround when the heart dare repine! The spirit of blessings above Descend if by sorrow opprest! The charm of bright Angelic love A many returns of the day! A many more bright happy years! As the summer of life disappears; Macclesfield, Will it help to the regions of bliss. THE WANDErer. THE LOSS OF THE LONDON. 1865, FOUR years ago, at the end of last January, the heart of England was smitten with grief and sadness, with one of those exciting narratives that reach us from time to time of fearful shipwrecks, dangers encountered, and sufferings endured, by those that do business in deep waters. The London left the East India Dock, December 29th, bound for Melbourne, calling at Plymouth, which she reached at day-light on January 5th. About midnight she hove her anchor, and was soon on her long voyage to the distant antipodes. When she steamed out to sea, all appeared propitious. Here was a good ship, a skilful and vigilant captain, a proper complement of officers and crew, and the weather quiet. On Sunday, the 7th, though the wind had freshened, the atmosphere gave not the least hint of the awful storms that were awaiting the ill-fated ship; service being conducted in the saloon by two ministers who were on board. Late at night a stormy wind came on, with heavy squalls and a high sea. On Monday, the 8th, the sea was so heavy that the engines had to be stopped, and the ship put under easy canvas, but the weather moderated, and the London was again put under steam. On Tuesday morning the 9th, the wind had risen to a perfect gale, carrying away the flying jib-boom, top-gallant mast, and royal-mast. In the afternoon, it blew a fearful hurricane. The sea broke over the ship, and carried away the port life-boat, and did serious damage. At three p.m., on the 10th, the captain thought it prudent not to face the fury of the storm any longer, and he put the ship about under full steam, for Plymouth. And now commenced that series of disasters that ended only in the sinking of the gallant vessel. As soon as she was put about, she began to ship many seas, which swept over her decks and carried away her starboard life-boat and destroyed one of the cutters. At half-past ten on Wednesday night, a big sea, or, as one called it, "a mountain of waters," broke over her and swept away the main engine-room skylight, filled the engine-room, and, in three minutes, extinguished the engine fires. Every effort was put forth to cover the aperture made by the destruction of the skylight. Mattresses, tarpaulin, and other things were brought into requisition. Passengers and crew worked like giants to bale the water out of the engine-room, and to stop its further ingress, but in vain. Nature, wrought up into fury, was too strong for the puny efforts man was putting forth to arrest her in her destructive march. It was evident, that unless that opening which the carrying away of the sky-light had made, could be stopped, the sinking of the London was only a question of time. To this point all efforts were directed-on this mortal spot all attention was converged. By the stoppage of the engines, the ship had become unmanageable, and she lay as a log at the mercy of the boiling deep. The battle between man and the elements was well fought, but the conflict was unequal. At length, Captain Martin, seeing all was lost, said to his men, "Boys, you may say your prayers!" On board this ill-fated bark there was a Methodist preacher, an Englishman by birth, but he had been living in Australia, and now regarded that distant land as his home. He had come over as the Australian representative to the British Conference of 1865, held that year in Birmingham, and was now returning to the land of his adoption full of hope and pleasing anticipations. He had taken an affectionate leave of his English friends, and had left a blessed savour behind him in many of the families where he had visited in his brief sojourn in London. Mr. Boyce, in a letter to his biographer, says, "The last night Mr. Draper was in London was taken up in reading and praying with brother Horton. On the 28th December, his last dinner at Mr. Mc. Arthur's, my wife and many |