A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfeldt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought; His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfeldt went down, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full charg’d with England’s thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfeldt is gone, His victories are o’er; And he, and his eight hundred, Shall plough the wave no more. --------------------- _Strange Mode of curing a vicious Horse._--I have seen vicious horses in Egypt cured of the habit of biting, by presenting to them, while in the act of doing so, a leg of mutton just taken from the fire: the pain which a horse feels in biting through the hot meat, causes it, after a few lessons, to abandon the vicious habit.--_Burckhardt._ --------------------- The Bedouins never allow a horse, at the moment of his birth, to fall upon the ground; they receive it in their arms, and so cherish it for several hours, occupied in washing and stretching its tender limbs, and caressing it as they would a baby. After this they place it on the ground, and watch its feeble steps with particular attention, prognosticating from that time the excellences or defects of their future companion.--_Burckhardt._ ---------------------