rise the Martello Tower and take the feeble garrison
thereunder, was the work of Tom Coxswain and a few of his blue-jackets.
The surprised garrison laid down their arms before him.

It was midnight before the boats of the ship, commanded by Lieutenant
Bunker, pulled off from Bonchurch with muffled oars, and in another hour
were off the Common Hard of Portsmouth, having passed the challenges of
the "Thetis" and the "Amphion" frigates, and the "Polyanthus" brig.

There had been on that day great feasting and merriment on board the
Flag-ship lying in the harbor. A banquet had been given in honor of the
birthday of one of the princes of the royal line of the Guelphs--the
reader knows the propensity of Britons when liquor is in plenty. All
on board that royal ship were more or less overcome. The Flag-ship was
plunged in a deathlike and drunken sleep. The very officer of the watch
was intoxicated: he could not see the "Repudiator's" boats as they shot
swiftly through the waters; nor had he time to challenge her seamen as
they swarmed up the huge sides of the ship.

At the next moment Tom Coxswain stood at the wheel of the "Royal
George"--the Briton who had guarded, a corpse at his feet. The hatches
were down. The ship was in possession of the "Repudiator's" crew. They
were busy in her rigging, bending her sails to carry her out of
the harbor. The well-known heave of the men at the windlass woke up
Kempenfelt in his state-cabin. We know, or rather do not know, the
result; for who can tell by whom the lower-deck ports of the brave ship
were opened, and how the haughty prisoners below sunk the ship and its
conquerors rather than yield her as a prize to the Republic!

Only Tom Coxswain escaped of victors and vanquished. His tale was told
to his Captain and to Congress, but Washington forbade its publication;
and it was but lately that the faithful seaman told it to me, his
grandson, on his hundred-and-fifteenth birthday.

A PLAN FOR A PRIZE NOVEL.

IN A LETTER FROM THE EMINENT DRAMATIST BROWN TO THE EMINENT NOVELIST
SNOOKS.

"CAFE DES AVEUGLES.

"MY DEAR SNOOKS,--I am on the look-out here for materials for original
comedies such as those lately produced at your theatre; and, in the
course of my studies, I have found something, my dear Snooks, which
I think will suit your book. You are bringing, I see, your admirable
novel, 'The Mysteries of May Fair,' to an end--(by the way, the scene,
in the 200th number, betwee