and when we have left it astern we shall be fairly in the German Ocean. Our sailing-master has finished his breakfast; and after giving one glance to the sails, and another to the sea and sky, he lies down to sleep on the cabin floor; knowing that as we are clear of the river his services will not be so much required. And now that nothing is heard but the monotonous wash of the waves, rolling in from windward in interminable succession, and the wild scream of the sea-bird, wheeling his glittering circles overhead, let us have a little quiet converse on the character and habits of those who pass their life, and too often meet death, on the dreary ،، waste of waters."

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We think we are justified in asserting, that the true character of our seamen is but very imperfectly understood by landsmen generally, and that those whose ideas of the British Tar confined to the blue jacket, white trousers, and other attractive qualities of the sailor, on paper, can form but little notion of the mental and moral degradation of the generality of those who man our coasting and merchant vessels. The early tuition in the duties of a sailor's life necessarily excludes him from many advantages which landsmen are perhaps too apt to undervalue; and the whole course of his hard servitude strengthens the barrier which seems to divide him from his kind. His privations are great, his usage hard, and sometimes cruel; his means of self-improvement are small, and his inclination still less than his means ; his pleasures (so called) are often brutal and debasing; and his religion is a mixture of superstitious fears and extravagant credulity; but if he is a "thorough sailor," few persons seem to think it either practicable or necessary to make anything else of him. It is true, some masters of ships take very praiseworthy pains to improve the character, and ameliorate the condition of their crews; and as far as outward behaviour and physical comforts are concerned, much good arises. But, to raise the sailor in the social scale, it is necessary that he should have social advantages-that there should be less exclusiveness in his information, tastes, pursuits, and companions, all of which the isolating nature of his profession tends so much to preclude. It is easier to point out the deficiency than to offer a remedy; for, do what we may, it seems we cannot materially alter the constitution of poor Jack, whose chief property consists (as assigned to him in the old song) of "a light heart and thin pair of breeches," with which he endures privations with a cheerfulness which would make a landsman blush at his

own discontent, faces many a night of stormy horrors with unshaken constancy; and when cast, bruised and shivering, on the terrific lee shore, with nothing but his life and a few rags, he wends his way to the nearest port, re-ships under a new master, and smokes his pipe with new ship-mates, with a stoicism worthy the admiration of Zeno himself. There is a singular combination of childishness and manliness in the naval character: on points where a landsman would show acuteness of observation, depth of thought, or soundness of judgment, Jack proves himself a very child; but where that same landsman would hide his fearful head, and close his eyes and ears to sights and sounds appalling, there the sailor displays the coolness and the promptitude, the energy and the hardihood, that have gained for the British flag its proud superiority. Although a sailor's life is passed amid scenes of the most touching beauty or awful sublimity, his uninformed and obtuse mind seldom appreciates their influence; and though he visits lands basking in the rays of Nature's divinest light, and walks the streets of cities resplendent with the glories of art, or dim with the melancholy shadows of departed greatness, it is all the same to him, and the only information he can give you on the subject is, how they had the wind going down channel, how many times they reefed topsails on the voyage, and what a spree they had the first night they went ashore.

But, whilst thus chatting, we have left the land far to leeward, and our tight little craft is pitching and labouring in the heavy sea, now burying her bowsprit till the jib is wet balf-way up, and now settling her stern in the seething waters, till you may see under her fore-foot. If you will kick that sleeping philosopher up, we will take the topsail in, for we have got rather too much canvas on her for this stiff breeze. "Halloa, there, you son of a sea-cook, turn out, will you, and take in topsail." Sailor-like, he is awake in a moment, and after his usual comprehensive glance, he says, "Take in topsail? Yes, I should think so. You must be crazy, together, to carry on her so. I'll lay a farden cake that ere topmast is sprung. Vy, there's the hystermen a-takin' in a reef in their mainsails, and here's you a-drivin' The rest of the sentence he mumbles to himself, as he sits astride on the crosstrees. The wind is backing into the east, and increasing to nearly half-a-gale. The sea is rising, and as it strikes the bows of our vessel, it makes her quiver from head to stern. seems, at such times, to be endowed with the power of thought,

She

and to be reasoning with herself upon the propriety of proceeding. any further. "Look out, there, sir, for that sea-keep her head to it. Luffluff." On it comes, like a hungry giant, and giving a smashing thump to our weather-bow, it breaks over us in a cloud of spray, wetting us to the skin, and covering the floor of the boat with water. "My eye, that vos a washer!" is the exclamation of our sailing-master, shaking his jacket, and knocking his cap against the mast. "Call this goin' a plasurin', don't ye? Vell, I've heard the sayin', that them that goes to sea for plasure ought to go to I 'ont say vere, for pastime.

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But now,

Very good, Bill; very good. Your remarks savour as much of the attic-salt as your jacket does of the sea-salt. boy, let's about ship-it 's no use forcing her through such a sea as this, and we must be careful how we do it, too, for our boat is very low in the water, and her length causes her to 'wear' but slowly; and if one of those great curly-headed fellows should take a fancy to plump aboard us while we are in stays, we should soon sleep on that slimy couch where rest the bones of many a better man. Hoist the mizen, my lad; as we can't carry our topsail, it will help us round the quicker. See your sheets all clear. Now, there's a lull. Down with the helm. Don't let go the foresheet yet, or she'll miss stays.'

The little vessel slowly brings her bowsprit to the wind's eye; the sails flap, and dash, and struggle, with a force that makes her tremble; the mainsheet is tearing from side to side, on its iron horse and if you have any respect for your brains, you had better mind your head; the angry crests are foaming and leaping round us, as if contending for their prey. "Let go the foresheet." "All gone," is the response; and gradually falling off from the wind, she fills on the other tack. We keep the helm up till we have brought the wind right aft. Then "steady" is the word. "Slack away your main sheet-it's jammed, somewhere. Give it a chuck. That's it-let her have all of it, if you like. Clew up the mizen, we don't want it now, and then bundle up and get the topmast down.' There, now she's snug; and we will run her into the smooth water of some quiet creek, and get our dinner comfortably.

We are now running before the wind under mainsail, jib, and foresail, and it seems to be a trial of speed between our boat and the white foamy waves, as they come racing, roaring, and hissing on each quarter: the sharp erking and heavy plunging of the

vessel through the buffeting seas, is exchanged for the graceful and triumphant sweep of a sea-Taglioni, executing a pas seul to the blustering strains of old Æolus. And now we are in the midst of the little fleet of fishing-boats which went dropping down the river in the calm of the early morning-we are quickly leaving them astern, except that smart cutter-built little fellow who seems determined to stick to us; well, she certainly is a little beauty-look what a hoist her mainsail has, and there must be nearly a couple of hundred yards of canvas in her jib; for half-an-hour we bowl along together without being able to shew him our stern, driving a creamy hill of foam before us with one continuous yet musical roar. She is steered by a stalwart fisherman, in water boots, blue banyan, and red night-cap, who, with pipe in mouth, and his hands in his pockets, stands with one foot on each side the tiller and steers with his legs, poising himself to the roll of the vessel with a steadiness and grace unattainable by any save a genuine "salt." The other occupant of the deck is a nondescript creature, supposed to be a boy, nearly extinguished by a "sow-wester" which reaches half-way down his back; he is sitting on an inverted bucket cleaning fish, and is far too absorbed in his occupation to pay the smallest attention to us. But we must bear up for yonder creek; and now comes the point of honour-shall we stand boldly athwart his bows, or confess ourselves beaten by slipping under his stern ? Our sailing-master looks with a wistful eye to our weak top-mast, and shakes his head with the conviction that it is " no go.

"Well, but man, we can carry our mizen if we can't our topsail, and still leave him as much canvas as ourselves." Up it goes, and we slowly draw a-head-" Now for it-hard a starboard! The space of frothing water between us rapidly decreases.: be into us! -no-" just cleared her, and hardly that, our outrigger scraping her cutwater.

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She'll

Call that close shavin'," says our sailing-master shrugging his shoulders.

The stolid but good-humoured countenance of our opponent relaxes into a grin, and with a friendly waive of the hand, we each stand on our separate courses. The summer gale dies away as we near the land, and soon we float in the sunny waters of the calm creek, its stillness only broken by the whispering sedges and the plaintive note of the plover. Far down, through the clear depth, you may see the sandy bottom, studded with glistening shells, and interlaced with the bright-hued vegetation of the deep.

Plounce goes our anchor, frightening the Nereids, and doubtless demolishing some half-score rare plants in " Amphitrite's bower." Dinner over, we luxuriate for an hour with our Havannah, listening in dreamy mood to the poppling of the water under our bows, mentally contrasting the tranquil beauty and soothing idlesse of the scene, with the noisy, driving, scrambling world, and investing some imaginary isle that rears its fairy height above the blue waters, with a Medora's tower or Haidee's grot. A few drops of the like poetic infusion seem to have found their way into the mind of our sailing-master, who remarks, that it was just sich a arternoon as this, the last time as ever he valked vith his young vooman," and forthwith proceeds to communicate to us some interesting particulars relative to the fickleness of a certain barmaid, and the deep wrong which his sensitive heart has endured thereby. The tide is now making again, and warns us (if we mean to sleep ashore) to be getting our anchor up.

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Scarcely a breath crisps the surface of the slumbering and smiling ocean, in which the white sails of motionless vessels are reflected in preposterous length. The larger boats are scooping water on their lazy sails, while the smaller ones are having recourse to their sweeps, and we must follow their example. Slowly and laboriously we retrace the watery path through which we bounded in the freshness of morn-meet emblem of the weary and timeworn man traversing again the scenes of his childhood's buoyancy -at length the church-spire and the vanes of the ships in harbour are discerned like specks of burning gold in the evening sky, and in due time our boat lies alongside the quay where our sailingmaster is soon recognised by some "fidus Achates" instituting an inquiry into the extent of his capability to "stand a pint."

And now, kind reader, thanking you for your company, and hoping you have had a pleasant trip, we present our hand and wish you good night.

A. J.