Beyond the influence of the hot smoky glare, the glorious planet reassumed her sway in the midst of her attendant stars, and the relieved eye wandered forth into the lovely night, where the noiseless sheet lightning way glancing, and ever and anon lighting up for an instant some fantastic shape in the fleecy clouds, like prodigies forerunning the destruction of the stronghold over which they impended; while beneath, the lofty ridge of the convent-crowned Popa, the citadel of San Felipé bristling with cannon, the white batteries and many towers of the fated city of Carthagena, and the Spanish blockading squadron at anchor before it, slept in the moonlight. We were civilly received by the captain, who apologized for the discomfort under which we must pass the night. He gave us the best he had, and that was bad enough, both of food and wine, before showing us into the hut, where we found a rough deal coffin lying on the very bench that was to be our bed. This he ordered away with all the coolness in the world. "It was _only_ one of his people who had died that morning of _vomito_, or yellow fever." "Comfortable country this," quoth Splinter, "and a pleasant morning we have had of it, Tom!" _Blackwood's Magazine._ * * * * * DIRGE. Green be the turf o'er thy head, Light lie the earth on thy breast, Peaceful and calm be thy sleep, Till thou'rt called to rejoice with the blest. Though we weep, yet we joy at thy lot, Though we mourn thee, we yet can resign, Though we sorrow, 'tis not without hope, Though we lose thee, forbear to repine. From the cares and the pains of this world Thy beatified spirit is free, 'Twould be selfish in us to deplore, For we know that thy God is with thee. _Royal Lady's Magazine._ No. 1. * * * * * THE REBELLION IN STOCK POGIS. _Answer to Mrs. Jones's Letter in Hood's Comic Annual_.[1] Padinton third Janeary 1831.