ABOUT four bells in the forenoon watch, the wind began to blow again from the north-west, and we made sail for the Horn; and at seven bells, the surgeon reported to the captain, that in consequence of some internal bruise, Wilson was much worse, and could not live the day out. This intelligence took very little hold on us, for it was a common thing, and no trick at all, for men to die on board; and accordingly it was little minded, and the conversation which followed this announcement in the mess-room of the forward officers, may be taken as a fair sample of sailors' feeling on the subject.

"There, Sails," said the boatswain to the sail-maker, pointing to the sick-bay, "there will be a job for you; something to take the turns out of your fingers. Get your palm and needle and stand by to sew that man up in his hammock, and tell the gunner you want a couple of round shot for the use of the dispensary, to ballast one of the doctor's chickens, and send him to Davy's locker feet-foremost."

"What's to pay, Pipes?" answered the sail-maker, coolly ; "has the doctor hulled one of the poor fellows at last? or have his life-halliards parted at the tie? Send him some ratlin-stuff, so that he can set up brace-backstays abaft, and cross his royal yards, and call all hands up anchor."

"We sha'n't have to man the capstan for him,” interposed the gunner, as he mixed a pannikin of grog, stiff enough to float grape-shot; "we shall man the lee-gangway, and Old Pipes will call all hands to bury the dead."

"I say, Mac," said the master's-mate to the purser's-stew

ard, "how does Wilson's name stand on the books? You'll have to foot up his account, shortly, and give him his discharge from service; he's going to ship under Commodore David Jones, aboard the ship Pacific, ten thousand guns, besides stern and bow chasers. His time is about out; he's done with ra

tions and grog."

"Well," said Dandy-Jack the carpenter, "if you do'nt take it easy! Here's a man dying, and you make no more of it than I would of plugging a shot-hole in the ship's upper works."

"After action's over, Chips means," said the boatswain; "he'd take good care not to sling himself in a bowline over the ship's side, to plug a shot hole in time of action, for fear his own upperworks would get knocked in with a round shot; for that would spoil the looks of his figure-head."

"There, Chips," says the purser's steward, "you'd better haul off, and repair damages. Old Pipes carries too many guns for you."

"You are mistaken!" said the carpenter, as he kicked over his camp-stool, and made a straight wake for the deck.

And while these thoughtless men laughed, and made a mock of death and all its horrors, the poor object of their mirth lay in his cot, surrounded by the noise and confusion of a man-ofwar; silent and sad; knowing that he was beyond mortal aid; reflecting that now the last scene of life was to be acted; that nothing remained but to die. Come when it may, the hour of death is one of awful trial, of deep, overwhelming solemnity; and no where is it more awful, more agonizing, than on board of ship, at sea, far away from home and friends, destitute of the arm of-support, the word of consolation, and the voice of prayer; where the only mention of the name of God, is in oaths and blasphemies.

Would any one, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment of the sick on shore, have thought, from the scenes presented to his view on the berth-deck of our ship, that a fellow creature lay there at the point of death, and that every one was aware of it?

Although there was, in the immediate vicinity of the sickbay, some little attention paid by the sailors to the feelings of their sick shipmate, by lowering the voice, and avoiding to touch his cot; yet, in the crowded limits of the ship, none were so far distant that the sensitive ear of sickness could avoid hearing their loud thoughtless discourse. In one place, two men were fighting, and their fearful curses and violent blows MARCH, 1840.

P

grated harshly on his ear, who was soon to stand in the presence of that God whose name they profaned, and whose wrath they invoked; while he, with his fast-failing breath, besought his mercy. Others were laughing, and enlarging upon the delights of home. That word had, but yesterday, been the theme of his joyful meditations. In health his joy, in sickness his consolation but both were now about to fail him; and here, ten thousand miles from home his life was to end. Three years before, in the ardour of youth, he left his happy home and dear friends, to enter the navy; and having now nearly circumnavigated the world, he was returning on the wings of hope, to taste the sweets of a mother's and sister's love. But that bliss was not in store for him; he was fast falling into the cold embrace of death, and he was soon to be committed to the deep, and find his place of repose in the vast Pacific.

Although amidst a multitude, he felt that he was alone, and recalling his thoughts from home, and all external objects, and commending himself, and all who were dear to the care of Him who made the sea and prepared the dry land, he waited patiently for death. Its coming was not long delayed. At noon, in the heartless formalities of a man-of-war, the surgeon made his report to the captain, that "at twelve o'clock, meridian, died, in consequence of an internal contusion, caused by falling from the hammock-nettings upon the deck, James Wilson, seaman." The captain's reply was, as it always is, to all messages: Very good, Sir;" and then the sailmaker, in presence of the assistant-surgeon, and the masterat-arms, proceeded to sew him up in his hammock, and putting in two round shot at the feet, to sink him, report was made that "the dead was ready for burial."

،،

It is not customary, however, to bury the dead at noon, and therefore the body was brought on deck, laid on the lee-gangway-board, and covered with a flag, there to lie, until the rules of naval etiquette would allow of its interment. Cape Horn was now in sight, and as we rapidly neared it, the wind, northwest, increased so much, that at seven bells, in the afternoon watch, all hands were called to reef the topsails; and, immediately after, the legal time, eight bells, having arrived, came the solemn call, "All hands to bury the dead!" Every soul on board appeared on the lee-gangway, according to rule, and all standing uncovered, the lieutenant, acting as chaplain, commenced reading the solemn burial service appointed to be used at sea; and the gangway board being placed on the rail, and the lashings cast off, and the jack withdrawn, it was ready to

be cast into the sea. The wind had increased to such a degree, that it drowned the voice of the reader, so that only here and there a word was audible. The first-lieutenant waved his hand, at the proper place in the service, and the corpse was launched overboard; and the sullen plash fell impressively on every ear, announcing that another was going to his long home.

We were now abreast of the Horn, about a mile distant, and although the wind was north-west, the waves dashed against those eternal rocks, in defiance of it, throwing the foam mountains high; and the loud roar of those conflicting oceans was a fitting requiem for the soul of him who slept beneath their troubled waters. The sun went down in the pride of his strength, and the full effulgence of his glory and his departing rays illumined three of the noblest of the works of God; the Atlantic ocean in front, the Pacific ocean on the right, and on the left, the bold promontory, Cape Horn, the "last of the Andes."

THE EVENING BEFORE THE WEDDING.

"WE SHALL certainly be very happy!" said Lady Louisa to her aunt, the evening before her marriage; and her cheeks wore a brighter hue, and her eyes were radiant with inward joy. Every one knows who a young bride means, when she says "we,"

"I do n't doubt it, Louisa," replied her aunt; hope that your happiness may be enduring."

"and only

"Fear not for its continuance. I know myself, dear aunt, and know, that whatever faults I now possess, my love for him will correct. As long as we love, we must be happy; and our love can never change."

"Ah!" sighed her aunt, "you speak like a girl of nineteen, on the eve of marriage, with the exhilaration of satisfied wishes, the intoxication of bright hopes, and fond expectations. But remember, my beloved child, that even the heart grows old. The day will come, when the enchantment will be broken, the illusions of love dispersed. When the beauty and grace that charmed us is gone with the freshness of youth, then is it first evident whether we are truly worthy of love. Shadows are ever the attendants of sunshine, even in domestic life. When they fall, then can a wife first know whether her husband is truly estimable; then can the husband first

know whether the virtues of his wife are imperishable. The day before marriage, all anticipations and protestations are to me ridiculous."

As

"I understand you, aunt; you mean that it is only mutual virtue that can preserve mutual affection and happiness. for myself, I will not boast; but is he not the best, the noblest? Is he not possessed of every quality necessary to insure the happiness of life?

"My child," replied her aunt, "I acknowledge that you are right; without flattery, I can say that you are both amiable and excellent. But your blooming virtues have been kindly nurtured in sunshine. No flowers deceive like these. We know not how they can bear the storm; we know not in what soil they take root; neither know we what seed is hidden in the heart."

"Alas! dear aunt, you make me fearful!"

"So much the better, Louisa; I would that some good might result from the evening's conversation. I love you sincerely, and will tell you what I have proved. I am not yet an old aunt; an austere, bigoted woman. At seven-and-twenty, I look cheerfully upon life. I have an excellent husband, and a happy family; therefore you will not consider what I say as the splenetic effusions of disappointment. I will tell you a secret; of something which few speak to a lovely young maiden; something that occupies little of the attention of young men; and yet something of the highest importance to all, and from which eternal love and indestructible happiness alone proceed."

Louisa pressed the hand of her aunt, as she said; "I know what you would say, and I certainly believe with you, that continued happiness and enduring love are not the result of accident or perishable attractions; but of the virtues of the heart, the graces of the mind. These are the best marriage treasures that we can gather; they never become old."

"Ah, Louisa! the virtues can become old and ugly, like the ading charms of the face.'

"Alas, dear aunt! say you so?"

"Name me one virtue that cannot become disagreeable or hateful with years.'

"Surely, aunt, the virtues are not mortal?"

"Even so!"

"Can mildness and gentleness ever becoms odious ?" "When, with time, they become weakness and indeci sion."