e last ship
of war, which, after the formal confirmations of the peace, remained, of
that vast naval armament, which, from the heights of Torbay, for so many
years, presented to the astonished and admiring eye, a spectacle at once
of picturesque beauty, and national glory. It was the last attendant in
the train of retiring war.

Under the charming roof of Torr Abbey, the residence of George Cary,
esq., I passed a few days, until the Megaera was ready to sail for
Portsmouth, to be paid off, the commander of which, captain Newhouse,
very politely offered to convey my companion, captain W. Cary, and
myself, to that port.

In this beautiful spot, the gallant heroes of our navy have often found
the severe and perilous duties of the boisterous element alleviated by
attentions, which, in their splendid and cordial display, united an
elegant taste to a noble spirit of hospitality.

In the Harleian Tracts there is a short, but rather curious account
preserved of the sensation produced at the Abbey on the 5th of November,
1688, after the prince of Orange had entered the bay with his fleet, on
their passage to Brixham, where he landed:--

"The prince commanded captain M---- to search the lady Cary's house, at
Torr Abbey, for arms and horses. The lady entertaining them civilly,
said her husband was gone to Plymouth: they brought from thence some
horses, and a few arms, but gave no further disturbance to the lady or
her house."

Throughout this embarrassing interview, the lady Cary appears to have
conducted herself with great temper, dignity and resolution, whilst, on
the other hand, the chaplain of that day, whose opinions were not very
favourable to the revolution, unlike his present amiable and enlightened
successor[1], left his lady in the midst of her perplexities, and fled.

[1] Rev. John Halford.

In the Abbey, I was much pleased with an interesting, though not very
ornamental trophy of the glorious victory of Aboukir. The truckle heads
of the masts of the Aquilon, a french ship of the line, which struck to
the brave captain Lewis, in that ever memorable battle, were covered
with the bonnet rouge; one of these caps of liberty, surmounted with the
british flag, has been committed to the care of the family, by that
heroic commander, and now constitutes a temporary ornament of their
dining-room.

Here we laid in provision for our little voyage, without, however,
feeling the same apprehension, which agitated the mind of