'Loud are the complaints here at the manner in which those saved from the wreck were treated after their arrival here. It is said, with great indignation, that when Captain Martin (the representative of Messrs. Gibb and Brights) arrived here, with the rescued passengers, in the steam-tug which had been despatched to the scene of the wreck, he left them standing upon the landing-stage; and had they not been received at the Sailors' Home, they would have had to wander all night about the streets.' This, of a verity, is caring more for gold than human bodies. One would have thought the best accommodation the best hotel in Liverpool could afford would have been prepared by the owners of the wrecked vessel in anticipation of the arrival of the poor creatures whose all, save life, had been buried beneath the waves. In penning my narrative up to this point, it is impossible but that the reader should have felt a large amount of interest in the captain and officers of the vessel. Whatever mistake of those in command may have brought the ship so near the coast, the heart of every one must swell as he reads how heroically the storm was coped with. 'First killed,' or 'last seen on the ship,' are phrases that, like the noblest epitaphs, are associated with the captain and his officers. They succumbed, after glorious battling, to the fate of the sailor; but to show how ill the world could afford to lose such men let me endeavour, in a few concluding lines, to portray them to the reader. Brave and rugged as a lion was the captain. His defiant front, his curt, honest conversation, his implacable will, which, like a wave, bore down all before it; his natural humour and intense love of jollity; his large solicitude for his passengers and crew; his all but feminine love for his ship, and his fervent belief that no other craft was fit to touch the waters with her,--all these points grow upon me as I write, and cause me to blur the paper as I lash them to the name of Thomas Taylor. I do not believe that man was drunk on the evening of the calamity. This, however, I know, that to those who were not in constant communication with him, Captain Taylor _always_ appeared drunk. He had a ruddy face, a quick, abrupt manner, and a husky utterance which, to the superficial observer, naturally proclaimed him intoxicated. This concludes on that head: _I_ never saw Captain Taylor the worse for liquor during our passage home. On the other hand, I heard him pronounced drunk by second and third class passengers nightly. Mr. Stevens, the first officer, was a fine young fellow of some thirty summers. He was a most agreeable companion, delighted in song or dance, and if he got a quiet moment with a friend, would talk by the hour of the young wife and little-ones he had left at home. He made every one his friend--was a friend to every one.