a capture, became ingenious in other explanations, which appear to us equally ridiculous and remote from the truth. Some said that it was to win a foolish bet, others that it was a female attraction; and not a few, for an overwhelming desire to go to the theatre at Havre. That he was taken in a very singular position is certain, but we believe ours to be the true account of the matter.

His justly deserved fame: his unceasing vigilance, and his courage bordering on rashness, had rendered him peculiarly obnoxious to the revolutionised nation, and the French Directors showed the respect they felt for his heroism by departing from the established system, consecrated by the law of nations, which humanely prescribes an exchange of prisoners during the continuance of war. Captain Sir Sidney Smith was not to be exchanged. He was conveyed to Paris, and confined in the Temple for the space of two years—a time truly dreadful when spent in rigid incarceration.

It would not be foreign to the subject, were we to pour out the vials of our indignation upon such unworthy and dastardly conduct as was then exhibited by these soi-disant renovators of human institutions, the republican French authorities. But abhorrent as were their proceedings towards

Sir Sidney Smith and several other distinguished captives, it was mercy and beneficence compared with that which they displayed to the best and bravest of their own countrymen. Truly the regeneration of the human race was attempted in the brazen furnace of cruelty, and fed with the flames of democratic and dastardly revenge.

The above-mentioned little skirmish, so awkward in its results to Sir Sidney Smith, furnishes us with an example of that which we have just advanced, that in naval operations the best conduct is often controlled and baffled by chance. When the privateer lugger was at first taken possession of, there was a steady breeze blowing from off the land, but before things could be well arranged on board of her by the captors, there fell a dead calm, and she began to drift rapidly up the Seine. It may be urged that she ought to have been abandoned after having been scuttled. Sir Sidney had a right also to depend upon the chapter of chances. The night before him was long, and the tide would certainly turn, and the wind probably change. We do not think that there is a British officer in the service who would not have acted in a similar manner.

But

CHAPTER IX.

Sir Sidney Smith badly treated as a prisoner of war—Removed to Paris, to the prison called the Abbaye-Placed under unwarrantable restrictions-Opens a communication with some ladies to aid his escape.

We are now to consider our subject as a captive, and view him in the struggle against the oppression and tyranny of the French authorities. We see him no longer controlling and directing the energies of hundreds of seamen-warriors, with the boundless ocean for the scene of action-the freest of the free, and with none other restraint, either upon deed or will, than the prudential dictates of his own magnanimous mind. No, for a space, we must view him no more in this glorious light, but consider him as concentrating all his mental energies within the walls of a strongly guarded prison, waging with unlimited power the war only of the mind, yet still glorious, still

unshaken and unconquered.

How many gal

lant men who are heroes on the field and on the wave, are less than women in the cell! If these spirits be not fed with the atmosphere of liberty, they pine and dwindle away until the light of their lives expires, and they go mad or die. After all, the dungeon is the true testing place for greatness of soul. Infinitely more easy is it to be heroic on the scaffold or in the breach, for these are but the efforts of the moment, than to remain for years in a prison unsubdued. How Sir Sidney Smith bore this terrible ordeal will be shortly seen. Were we writing a romance instead of a biography, the two years of Sir Sidney Smith's confinement would amply supply us with exciting materials sufficient for two volumes. Fears, hopes, despondency, even love, were all in their turn brought into play. When Sir Sidney was captured, he was accompanied by his secretary and a gentleman of the name of T-, who had emigrated, and was in constant attendance on Sir Sidney in the hope of serving the royalist cause. Thus suddenly and unexpectedly finding himself a captive in a country where he would be looked upon as a traitor and executed as a spy, the commodore arranged with him that he should assume the character of his servant; and so well did he

act up to the disguise, that he was never suspected for a moment. He was called John, by his supposititious master, and Mr. T.'s assimilation of the menial proved to be perfect.

At Havre, Sir Sidney was treated with the most unjustifiable rigour, subjected to insult, taunted with being a spy, and threatened with a trial by a military commission. So obnoxious had he become by his activity, and the detriment he had been to his enemies, that they would have gladly hung him, had not the fear of retaliation prevented this mean vengeance. He was, however, a prisoner much too valuable to be permitted to remain so near the sea-coast, and the French government accordingly ordered his removal to Paris. In that metropolis, he was at first confined to the prison called the Abbaye, and, with his two companions in adversity, kept under the most rigorous surveillance as well as the closest confinement.

But no external circumstances could paralyse the activity of a mind such as Sir Sidney's. Escape formed the constant object of his thoughts. He did not confine himself to idle wishes, but set about deeds. His consultations with his fellow sufferers were incessant, but such was the rigour of his custodiers that, for a length of time, nothing feasible could be suggested. The window