IN attempting to trace the professional life of Sir Robert Calder, we again find ourselves acting under the pressure of circumstances rather delicate than pleasurable. It has ever been our wish to regard the Naval Chronicle as a depository of facts, as a register of honourable and heroic transactions. Without any bias to, or aversion from, political parties, our unremitting endeavours have been, to “speak the plain and simple truth,” to bestow the palm where it may have been deserved, and to render justice to the professional merits of all men. Our opinion strictly accords with the sentiment so often expressed, and inculcated by the late gallant Lord Rodney, “that our naval officers have nothing to do with parties or politics, being simply bound to carry their instructions into execution, to the best of their abilities, without deliberating about men and measures, which forms no part of their duty, and for which they are in no degree responsible.” Under the influence of this opinion, it matters not to us, whether an officer be a whig or a tory, an adherent to the ministry or to the opposition; provided he perform his duty, to his own, and to his country's honour.

Every Englishman will feel the powerful appeal to his heart, which has been made to the Declaration of Russia, and, we trust, will shew that he feels it. This is not the first time that the little island has been left alone to chasten the overweening insolence and calumnies of France: and, whatever our forefathers accomplished, we trust their posterity, with such an example before them, and such ample resources in their possession, will not fail, with the blessing of Heaven, to do likewise.

We dread only the violence of party, and that inclination which so many of our countrymen indulge, to attach themselves rather to particular men, and the support of particular opinions, than to the general cause which calls so loudly for unanimity. It is in vain that our naval heroes strive to exceed each other in zealous and patient service, for the good old ship the Britannia, if the different admirals and captains cannot agree among themselves: and cheerfully agree, to take a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether. And then, my masters, what signifies argufying and dealing out speeches a fathom long, when the boatswain pipes all hands, and whistles till his lungs are ready to crack?

Vice-admiral Sir John Thomas Duckworth is one of those brave officers whose professional services have shed such lustre on the maritime county of Devon.

Sir John is the descendant of an ancient and highly respectable, though not opulent, family in that county. His father was a clergyman, whose living, as is too frequently the case with the undignified part of the profession, was not very productive; but who, by means of a strict economy, was enabled to provide for his family, and to live in a respectable manner. Being extremely well qualified for such a task, he educated the subject of this memoir, and fitted him for the service to which he has since done so much honour.

The first account which we find of our young seaman is, while he was serving as a Midshipman on board of the Kent, of 74 guns, Captain Charles Fielding. He was in that ship when her aftermost magazine blew up, on the 4th of July, 1774. While saluting the Admiral, as she was sailing out of Plymouth Sound, the wadding from the guns of the Kent communicated with some powder in an ammunition-chest on the poop, which instantly took fire, and blew up all that part of the ship. The beams of the quarter-deck were forced in; and many others, in different parts, were much shattered and broken.

DURING the period which this portion of the Naval Chronicle embraces, our good old ship the Britannia has suddenly changed its Officers, and its Quarter Masters, whose places have been occupied by the followers of her old Commander, William Pitt; and, as it was found necessary also to have a new Ship's Company, the press has been very hot throughout the different counties, and public notice was given by Commodore Percival, that the Boatswain would pipe all bands on the 22d of June.

Never did party run more high, never was abuse of the most angry and calumniating nature poured forth in such abundance from both sides: tending, in our humble opinion, to irritate the public mind, and to weaken that spirit of patriotism, which all who are true Englishmen should sedulously cherish. It too much reminds us of the wretched and illiberal Bulletins of the French.—In the present Ministry are men of the highest talents, and the most respectable character. In the late Ministry there was also an aggregate of public spirit, of independence, and of ability, which if it sometimes erred, and there never was any Ministry that did not err, most certainly deserved the thanks and the gratitude of their country.

IN presenting a memoir of Admiral Sir Francis Geary—a distinguished officer of the old school—we are in hopes of gratifying many of the friends of that deceased Commander.

The father of Sir Francis was the descendant of an ancient family, which had been long settled near Aberystwyth, in the county of Cardigan. In the earlier part of his life, he resided at Cheddington, Bucks; but afterwards at Areall Magna, near Wellington, in Shropshire. Sir Francis was born in the year 1709; but whether at Cheddington, or at Areall Magna, we know not.

Mr. Charnock informs us, that, having made choice of a naval life, Mr. Geary was, in 1727, by an Admiralty order, entered as a Volunteer on board the Revenge, a 70 gun-ship, at that time commanded by Captain Conningsby Norbury. She was one of the fleet which, under the orders of Sir John Norris, was sent to the Baltic, for the purpose of overawing the Czarina, and preventing a rupture between the courts of Denmark and Sweden.—On his arrival off Copenhagen, Sir John was joined by a Danish squadron; but, as the death of the Czarina happened soon after, hostilities were prevented, the Russian fleet was laid up, and the English Commander returned home.

As our inimitable poet has expressed himself,

At a period, such as the present, when we are likely to be again annoyed by the threats of invasion, from the hostile shores of France, it is pleasing to revert to past ages; to dwell upon the exploits of those to whom our ancestors looked up–nor looked up in vain–for protection and deliverance. As Englishmen, we cannot but feel an honest pride, a generous ardour glowing in our veins, when we reflect upon the glorious days of Elizabeth: who, “though she had but the body of a weak and feeble woman, yet had the heart of a king; and of a king of England too; and thought foul scorn, that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of her realms!”

France, it is true, is not now what Spain was two hundred and twenty years ago, the first naval power in Europe; yet there are circumstances, which at the present epoch, render the Spanish armada, and its glorious defeat by the British, objects of very considerable interest–Under this impression, and from motives which will hereafter appear, we have selected the Earl of Nottingham, as a fit subject for biographical illustration.

Sir henry trollope is the descendant of an ancient and distinguished family. Amongst his supposed ancestors were, Andrew Trollope, Esq. who signalised himself in the French wars, in the time of Henry VI. and was killed at the battle of Towton; and Thomas Trollope, of Thorleby, Esq. who married Margaret Lumley, a daughter of Elizabeth Plantagenet, the daughter of Edward IV.–In the year 1641, Thomas Trollope, Esq. of Lincolnshire, was created a baronet; and, consequently, the subject of this memoir is collaterally, though distantly, related to the present Sir John Trollope, Baronet.

Sir Henry is a native of Norwich; and was born about the year 1750. Originally intended for the sea, he entered the service at a very early period of life; but, under whose auspices, we have not been able to ascertain.

As far back as the year 1779, we find him, as lieutenant, commanding the Kite schooner, of 14 guns. The period to which we particularly allude, was, when the combined French and Spanish fleets, consisting of sixty-six sail of the line, escaped the vigilance of the British, entered the Channel, and appeared before Plymouth, to the great alarm of the inhabitants. Sir Charles Hardy, with the Channel fleet, was then cruising in the Soundings.

TO the distinguished names of Nelson and Duff, heroes who fought and fell in the ever-memorable Battle of Trafalgar, we now add that of Cooke, another of those lamented officers, whose fame will be cherished and revered, “while memory shall hold her seat on this distracted globe.”

Captain John Cooke was the second son of Francis Cooke, Esq., Cashier of His Majesty's Navy. At the early age of eleven years he embarked on board the Greyhound cutter, commanded by Lieutenant (now Admiral) Bazely. From this first introduction into his profession, he however, soon returned to Mr. Braken's celebrated naval academy at Greenwich, that no time might be lost for acquiring thoroughly the first elements of nautical science and military tactics.

It was during his residence at this seminary, that he first received that patronage from Sir Alexander Hood, (now Lord Bridport,) which was never withdrawn through life. By his favour and kindness, he was borne on one of the King's yachts' books, and thus obtained the double advantage of prosecuting his naval studies, and reckoning his time as though in actual service.