When I was a boy, some years before I obtained my appointment in the navy, I spent many of those happy hours that only childhood kws poring over the back numbers of a British service periodical, which began its career in 1828, with the title Colburn's United Service Magazine; under which name, save and except the Colburn, it still survives. Besides weightier matters, its early issues abounded in reminiscences by naval officers, then yet in the prime of life, who had served through the great Napoleonic wars. More delightful still, it had numerous nautical stories, based probably on facts, serials under such entrancing titles as Leaves from my Log Book, by Flexible Grommet, Passed Midshipman; a pen-name, the nautical felicity of which will be best appreciated by one who has had the misfortune to handle a grommet which was t flexible. Then there was The Order Book, by Jonathan Oldjunk; an epithet so suggestive of the waste-heap, even to a landsman's ears, that one marvels a man ever took it unto himself, especially in that decline of life when we are more sensitive on the subject of bodily disabilities than once we were. Old junk, however, can yet be worked up, as the sea expression goes, into other uses, and that perhaps was what Mr. Oldjunk meant; his early adventures as a young luff were, for ecomical reasons, worked up into their present literary shape, with the addition of a certain amount of extraneous matter--love-making, and the like. Indeed, so far from uselessness, that veteran seaman and rigid ecomist, the Earl of St. Vincent, when First Lord of the Admiralty, had given to a specific form of old junk--viz., shakings --the hors of a special order, for the preservation thereof, the which forms the staple of a comical anecdote in Basil Hall's Fragments of Voyages and Travels; itself a superior example of the instructive recollections, of less literary merit, which but for Colburn's would have perished.