But these pleasures are all transient, and then comes the long pining after the fresh earth.

The pleasure of our passage was much marred by the loss of a man overboard. When within a few hundred miles of the Azores, we were overtaken by a succession of severe squalls. Forming almost instantaneously on the horizon, they moved down like phantoms on the ship. For a few moments after one struck us, we would be buried in foam and spray, and then heavily roll ing on a heavy sea. We however prepared ourselves, and soon got everything snug. The light sails were all in-the jibs, topgallants and spanker furled close-the main-sail clewed up, and we were crashing along under close reefed topsails alone, when a man, who was coming down from the last reef, slipped as he stepped on the bulwarks, and went over backwards into the waves. In a moment that most terrific of all cries at sea, “A man overboard! a man overboard!" flew like lightning over the ship. I sprung upon the quarter deck just as the poor fellow, with his “fearful human face," riding the top of a billow, fled past. In an instant all was commotion: plank after plank was cast over for him to seize and sustain himself on, till the ship could be put about and the boat lowered. The first mate, a bold, fiery fellow, leaped into the boat that hung at the side of the quarter deck, and in a voice so sharp and stern I seem to hear it yet, shouted, “in men—in men!" But the poor sailors hung back-the sea was too wild. The second mate sprung to the side of the first, and the men, ashamed to leave both their officers alone, followed. "Cut away the lashings," exclaimed the officer-the knife glanced around the ropes-the boat fell to the water-rose on a huge wave far over the deck, and drifted rapidly astern. I thought it could not live a moment in such a sea, but the officer who held the helm was a skillful seamen. Twice in his life he had been wrecked, and for a moment I forgot the danger in admiration of his cool self-possession. He stood erect-the helm in his hand-his flashing eye embracing the whole peril in a single glance, and his hand bringing the head of the gallant little boat on each high sea that otherwise would have swamped her. I watched them till nearly two miles astern, when they lay-to to look for the lost sailor. Just then I turned my eye to the Southern horizon and

MAN OVERBOARD-A SQUALL.

5

The gallant fellows But it was slow work, almost every wave. It

saw a squall blacker and heavier than any we had before encountered rushing down upon us. The Captain also saw it, and was terribly excited. He afterwards told me that in all his sea life he never was more so. He called for a flag, and, springing into the shrouds, waved it for their return. obeyed the signal and pulled for the ship. for the head of the boat had to be laid on to was now growing dark, and if the squall should strike the boat before it reached the vessel, there was no hope for it. It would either go down at once, or drift away into the surrounding darkness, to struggle out the night as it could. I shall never forget that scene. All along the southern horizon between the black water and the blacker heavens was a white streak of tossing foam. Nearer and clearer every moment it boiled and roared on its track. Between it and us appeared at intervals that little boat like a black speck on the crest of the billows, and then sunk away apparently engulfed for ever. One moment the squall would seem to gain on it beyond the power of escape, and then delay its progress. As I stood and watched them both, and yet could not tell which would reach us first, the excitement amounted to perfect agony. Seconds seemed lengthened into hours. I could not look steadily on that gallant little crew now settling the question of life and death to themselves and perhaps to us, who would be left almost unmanned in the middle of the Atlantic, and encompassed by a storm, and again and again turned away from the appalling spectacle. Every time she sunk from sight she carried my heart down with her, and when she remained a longer time than usual, I would think it was all over, and cover my eyes in horror-the next moment she would appear between us and the black rolling cloud literally covered with foam and spray. The Captain knew, as he said afterwards, that a few minutes more would decide the fate of his officers and crew. He called for his trumpet, and springing up the rattlings, shouted out over the roar of the blast and waves, "Pull away, my brave bullies, the squall is cominggive way, my hearties!" and the bold fellows did “give way” with a will. I could see their ashen oars quiver as they rose from the water, while the life-like boat sprung to their strokes down the billows, like a panther on the leap. On she came, and

on came the blast. It was the wildest struggle I ever gazed on, but the gallant little boat conquered. Oh, how my heart leaped when she at length shot round the stern, and rising on a wave far above our lee quarter, shook the water from her drenched head as if in delight to find her shelter again.

The chains were fastened, and I never pulled with such right good will on a rope as on the one that brought that boat up the vessel's side. As the heads of the crew appeared over the bulwarks, I could have hugged the brave fellows in transport. As they stepped on deck, not a question was asked-no report given -but "Forward, men!" broke from the Captain's lips. The vessel was trimmed to meet the blast, and we were again bounding on our way. If that squall had pursued the course of all the former ones, we must have lost our crew; but when nearest the boat (and it seemed to me the foam was breaking not a hundred rods off) the wind suddenly veered, and held the cloud in check, so that it swung round close to our bows. The poor sailor was gone; he came not back again. It was his birth-day (he was 25 years old), and alas, it was his death-day. Whether, a bold swimmer, he saw at a distance his companions hunting hopelessly for him, and finally with his heart growing cold with despair, beheld them turn back to the ship, and the ship itself toss its spars away from him for ever, or whether the sea soon took him under, we know not. We saw him no more—and a gloom fell on the whole ship. There were but few of us in all, and we felt his loss. It was a wild and dark night; death had been among us, and had left us with sad and serious hearts. And as I walked to the stern, and looked back on the foam and tumult of the vessel's wake, in which the poor sailor had disappeared, I instinctively murmured the mariner's hymn, closing with the sincere prayer

"Oh! sailor boy, sailor boy; peace to thy soul!"

At length the winds lulled, the clouds broke away, and a large space of blue sky and bright stars appeared overhead. The dark storm-cloud hung along the distant horizon, over which the lightning still played, while the distant thunder broke at intervals over the deep. The black ocean moaned on in its heavy sobbings,

A YANKEE SAILOR.

the drenched and staggering ship rolled heavily on its restless bosom, and the great night encompassed all. This was solitude so deep and awful that my heart seemed to throb audibly in my bosom. My eye ached with the effort to pierce the surrounding darkness, and find something to relieve the loneliness of the scene. At length the rising moon showed its bright disc over a cloud, tinging its black edge with silver, and pouring a sea of light on a sea of darkness, till the waves gleamed and sparkled as if just awakened to life and hope. The moon never looked so lovely before; it seemed to have come out in the heavens on purpose to bless and to cheer us.

In a few days more we made the Azores, and then came long, wearisome calms, that were infinitely worse to bear than the storms. After lying for several days "a painted ship on a painted ocean," pining for action, or at least motion, I went in perfect despair to the forecastle, and begged the sailors to give me some work. I would saw wood, turn grindstone, do anything, to break up the dreadful apathy that had settled on the ship. I ground up every old axe and knife and tool there was on board. I was amply repaid, not only in the elasticity of feeling I gained, but in the knowledge I acquired of sailors' character. There was one tall, lank, regular Yankee among the crew, with a roguish twinkle to his small, half concealed eye, that told of many a sly trick. Whenever he left the wheel to go forward and I was on the quarter-deck, he would invariably, as he passed me, roll an enormous quid of tobacco from his mouth into one hand, and, fetching it a box with the other, send it far over the rail into the sea, and, at the same time, thrust his tongue into the vacant place, and toss me one of the drollest winks that ever set a theatre in a roar. One day I saw him making mats for the yards out of the ends of old ropes. "Well," said I, "George, so you keep to work." "Yes," he replied, "there is no rest for poor Jack; if he can't play the Jarman flute he must whistle”—i. e., if he can't do one thing, he must another. Poor Jack! his lot is a hard

one.

Yours, &c.

LETTER II.

The Straits and Rock of Gibraltar-Gulf of Genoa, &c.

GENOA, October, 1842.

ONE morning we were awakened by the cry of land, and as I stepped out of the cabin, the ragged mountains of Africa, the shores of Spain, the Straits of Gibraltar, and over all the glori ous rising Sun burst on the sight. The steady current was setting rapidly for the Mediterranean, and all was silent around save the low crushing sound a heavy tide always makes in its passage. The smoke that rose from burning timber on the hill tops and along the shore, gently inclined towards the Straits as if inviting us to enter, while over all was that dreamy haze which smoothes even the roughest scenery into a quiet aspect. Our keel cut the waters where rode the keels of Lord Nelson's fleet before the battle of Trafalgar. Land was for a moment forgotten as my fancy painted the line-of-battle ships slowly moving to the conflict. I saw, or thought I saw the long row of banners floating in the breeze, the cloud of smoke as broadside after broadside thundered over the sea. There were the broken and shivered masts dangling amid the ropes, the cries of men, the roll of the drum, and the confused noise of battle. The mountains were alive with fearful echoes, and the waves ran blood. The cheerful voice of Mrs. L. beside me called back my erring fancy, and the quietness of a summer morning rested on all the scene. Whether it was owing to the fresh view of land, or the beauty of the day, or the scene itself, I know not, but that day was one of enchantment to me. Its remembrance is more like a rich dream than a past experience. There was a combination of scenery, a succession of sensations followed by rapid associations that bore me away for a time like a child. I surrendered my heart to its impulses and let it regulate its own beatings. Distant mountains