his duty that day, and it was nobly done. As for the “Santa Anna,” she was soon compelled to strike; and the Spanish captain coming on board to surrender his sword, was told that the name of the ship was the “Royal Sovereign.” “I think she should be called the ‘Royal Devil,’” he exclaimed in broken English, as he patted one of the guns with his hand. When his illustrious friend fell mortally wounded, the chief command devolved on Collingwood, who, for his brave exploits and signal services on this and former occasions, was created a peer, honored with the thanks of Parliament, and rewarded with a pension and the freedom of several cities. On the day following the victory he issued an order for a general thanksgiving to Almighty God, for having mercifully crowned the exertions of the fleet with success. His position now became peculiarly arduous and difficult. He had the responsible task of managing the political relations of England with the countries bordering on the Mediterranean, in addition to discharging the duties appertaining to his naval command. He encountered them with an unremitting industry, which speedily brought on a disease fatal to his health. Yet believing that it was his duty to do so, and that he might live once more to meet the French, he remained at his post, shattering his frame with toil, fatigue, and exposure, and racking his mind with perpetual care and thought. At length his body began to swell and his legs to shrink; so that his removal to England was represented as indispensable. He accordingly surrendered his command, and embarked; but he was not destined to set foot on the soil whose freedom and sacredness he had spent his strength in guarding. On the 7th of March, 1810, he expired at sea, in his sixtieth year. His end was calm, peaceful, and resigned; as his life had been just, exemplary, and benevolent. Throughout he had been sincerely religious, and most regular in his attendance at divine worship. Even on Sundays, when the weather was such that the crew could not assemble on deck, he was in the habit of retiring to his cabin, and reading the service for the day. His piety was utterly without pretense; his acts of charity were frequent; and his ear was never shut against a representation of real distress. He was strictly scrupulous in his respect for inferiors, and particularly anxious for the interests of those over whom he had authority. His disposition was most repugnant to the exercise of severity; and though no man was better qualified by nature to enforce proper discipline, his humanity and refined sentiment rendered him averse to doing so by extreme means. He looked up to his Creator with devotion and gratitude, and he regarded the lowly with kindness and generosity.