Proteus sporting in the sea. The ship sails on, day after day, with easy motion; the white canvas spreads itself wider and higher, to catch the lightest whiff; the captain gives himself up to the entertainment of his lady passengers; and the passengers themselves, after the first few days of sickness, are all out upon the quarter deck to enjoy the free air. The ladies recline around upon pillows and foot-cushions, and the captain's sea jackets, and the gentlemen's cloaks. The invalids remain quiet, while the more fortunate busy themselves with their favorite games-chess, dominoes, or shuffles. It was a bright June morning, when the Ashburton swung out of the Liverpool docks, and floated down the Mersey. The black, asthmatic little steam-craft that had shouldered us along, detached itself about two o'clock in the afternoon, and with all sail set, we stood out for sea. We neared Holyhead in the night, intending to descend St. George's channel, but finding several vessels there, wind-bound already several days, the captain ordered "up helm," and put for the northern passage. The passengers remained on deck till the night shut off all longer prospect of the Scotch and Irish coasts-for both are visible from the middle of the channel. A ragged little Scotch terrier, who belonged to one of the ladies. in the cabin, ran from side to side, and resting with fore paws upon the bulwarks, sniffed the land-breeze, and whined most piteously. The cow, too, looking from her cabin window, pricked up her ears and grew wistful and very pensive, at each glimpse of the green hill sides, that rose with the falling ship. We cleared the passage, I think, the same evening, and the following dawn found us alone on the ocean: cælum undique et undique pontus." And now, at once severed from every wonted association, we turn ourselves to the study of ourselves-the temporary denizens of this little world-this world-fragment, shot into space as by some convulsion, with all its living load. The cabin of a liner is built upon the vessel's main deck, at the stern. Its roof forms the quarter-deck or poop. These decks communicate with each other, only by steep and narrow ladders. The ascent to the quarter-deck from the cabin, is by convenient stairs. within. The cabin itself is generally supplied with a sofa at each end, and a table running nearly its entire length, which, together with the cane-work settees that flank it, is of course fixed. Two parallel ridges running around its edge, serve to guard the plates, with occasional cross-pieces to keep the turkey from chassezing up to the beef, and both from diving into the captain's lap. One day (this, however, happened in a February gale,) the steward was on the lower side of the table arranging the dishes, the ship gave an unlucky lurch-steward's feet slipped .from under him--his chin dropped in a passenger's plate, the turkey cut cable, drove gallantly along his neck and back, leaving a shining wake of gravy in its path, till it finally heaved to, under the berth of the open state room opposite. And not seldom, in a lively storm, you will see the company at table suspend suddenly all operations, and begin balancing their plates in the air, like a band of jugglers, to keep the sauce and chicken in true equilibrum. Then the saltcellar comes tearing down upon you, just as you had grasped the castor with your only free hand, and your neighbor opposite, in trying to overtake it, blackens a yard of table-cloth with his upset coffee. Over the centre of the table, just under the sky-light, swings the ship's barometer, together with a compass. The mizen-mast passes up through the cabin and the dining table, and is cased with mahogany or satin wood, or richly painted. Around this apartment, and opening into it, are the passengers' state rooms, furnished with two berths each, the one above the other, and with washing apparatus and a small settee-which settee serves for a drawer-chest and lounge-and a delightful lounge it is, only being against the vessel's side, you must hold on with both hands, and keep one leg awake to save yourself in a roll. And by the way, talking of the wash-bowl, brings up some funny purgatorial recollections. A storm has risen during the night, and the ship is dancing about like a cockle-shell. You attempt to rise, and find yourself prostrate after every effort, as if your room-mate had got crazy and quarrelsome from sea-sickness, and wouldn't let you up. At last you succeed in coaxing on your pants. One of your slippers has slid under the berth, and you try to hook it out with your cane, but it wont be hooked. By and by, you draw up to the wash-stand, and of the entire contents of the pitcher, spill about a pint in the bowl itself. Then comes a solemn pause. You plant one foot against the berth-side, and the other against the opposite settee. One hand grasps the edge of the wash-stand, and the other a knob below. With hair disheveled, suspenders swinging in air behind, and one slipper between two feet, you eye lugubriously the mouthful of liquid before you, oscillating from rim to rim, and leaping in mimic waves. Slowly and carefully you lower your head and close your eyes, preparatory to the immersion. Biff! your nose flattens out on the damp crockery, while the water has already bespattered the door. One more draught upon the pitcher, and unless very unlucky, you succeed this time in moistening your nasal extremity and the tips of your eye-lashes. Then you wipe yourself very dry, and go to breakfast in your overcoat or gown, but toned up to the ears. But we had no experiences of this sort, aboard the Ashburton. The easy breeze that met us in the Irish sea, attended us across the entire Atlantic. Our mainsail was reefed but once, and for nearly a week the studding-sails were undisturbed; the studding sails, you know, being to the regular rigging, what lace-edging and flounces are to a lady's dress. The winds bore us within two days' sail of Iceland. In those high latitudes, the phenomena of the night were a curious novelty to most of our company. The sun would linger on the horizon till nearly nine, and indeed at ten o'clock one could read in the cabin, beneath the dim sky-light. The sun-sets were gorgeous and peculiar; the huge luminary shooting up into the pale blue sky, broad, quivering pencils of light, like that "flaming brand" which the archangel waved before the gate of Paradise; or rolling along the horizon like a wheel of fire; or poised, as if shrinking and shivering at the inevitable plunge. And then the full moon would come up, pale as the face of a nun; and by and by a few stars withdraw timidly the gossamer veil of the twilight, and disclose their blushing beauties to the sea. The shadow of the tall ship lies upon the water, swaying in and out with the swelling and sinking waves, like a huge banner on the wind, and mottled with phosphoric balls as with stars. The long, white bow-sprit goes beckoning in the moonlight, like the finger of some mighty phantom. All on board is still: The decks are deserted; only the helmsman and the watch remain; and finding your way to the prow, you look down upon the seething, bubbling water below, and the long lines of milky foam, and the glowing phosphoric flakes that fall off from the sharp keel. Then you creep out upon the jib-boom, and turn and gaze upon the mass of canvas that swells up from the vessel like a tower of ivory. Your sensations, at such an hour, are utterly undefinable. Three objects, the chosen emblems of sublimity and beauty, alone occupy your attention. The hoary ocean-"image of eternity"—the moon, round as your horizon; and the ship, the most consummate specimen of the handiwork of man. A feeling of utter loneliness and helplessness comes over you- vague, infinite, irrepressible longings after the unknown and unattainable; and as the moon, so tranquil and motionless in heaven, is slowly drawing towards her, the mighty ocean surge, so do scenes like this stir to their very depths the dark, laboring waters of the human soul. The only unpleasant incident of our trip, was our approach to the icebergs, when upon the Grand Bank. To sailors, as well as landsmen, their presence always causes a little anxiety; more especially from the reason that even the ordinary means of escape from disaster are taken away. In the neighborhood of the icebergs, it is always more or less foggy. They seem to shroud themselves in mist, as if to steal upon you unseen, like monsters seeking their prey. Long before evening, this fog descends, and often so thick is it, that one mast of the vessel is nearly invisible from the distance of another. And then the fog resembles in color the iceberg itself. A double and triple watch was frequently placed along the leeward side of the vessel, and at the prow, to keep a sharp look-out; but it was soon withdrawn, and the vessel left to go where Providence might send it. Every few moments during the afternoon-for the fog gathered at three o'clock -and night, the captain, to ascertain our probable distance from the danger, dropped the thermometer in a bucket of water hoisted from the ship's side. We passed through a field of floating ice, but without receiving a scratch. There was less gaiety than usual on board the ship, in the evening, and much thanksgiving in the morning. We at length cleared the banks, and after beating about three or four days, against a pretty lively head wind, took the pilot, off Montauk, and the next night dropped anchor in the Lower Bay. There was a loud, whirring sound, like the running down of a town-clock, a sharp click, and then all was still. Every body was in his berth, but nobody rose, because every body knew the meaning of the strange sound. It was the prettiest bit of music my ears had listened to, since the last solo of Lablache. But it started no enthusiasm. I lay awake, calmly reflecting on the past, before whose brilliant scene the green curtain had just descended, perhaps never again to rise. I had passed in safety through many dangers, seen and unseen; it was an hour for solemn thought. I repeated to myself that beautiful hymn of Addison's, and soon fell into a pleasant sleep. When I arose in the morning and went on deck, the sun was shining brightly on the hill-sides of Staten Island. The ship soon weighed anchor, and passed up through fleets of vessels, some outward bound, and others that had run in with itself. A steamboat soon hauled along side, and the passengers descending upon her hurricane deck, were soon transported to the docks. A moment after, and we struck foot on New York pavement, and with a general shaking of hands, bade each other, perhaps a last good-bye. Albany, 1848. ON THE DEATH OF JOSEPH JOHN GURNEY. BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY. I well remember him,-his noble form And eloquent words. For he had been the guest His voice, like an imprisoned melody. Philanthropy was his, in every form Mild, yet firm, In duty's path, his calm eye look'd above Courteous, and benign;— His social sympathies were prompt to aid Yet now, methinks, I hear Father, and friend. Commerce foregoes its thrift, And gaiety its revel. Every sect Mingle their tears. Hath prince, or hero found Gifted, and good, farewell! True patriot, and true christian, peace and love, Thy guests on earth made thee at home in heaven, So teaching thee its language, that thy deeds Spake forth its dialect, by night, and day. Oh favor'd of that Spirit, early sought |