show his white teeth, while the big tears rolled down from his glistening eyes, and his sympathetic nose streamed in fellowship.

It was about a year after this occurrence, in the afternoon of a pleasant summer day, that an open carriage, driven by a tidy-looking black man, and containing a gentleman and lady, and two blooming boys. was seen slowly ascending the hill, on the summit of which stands the little village I have before described as the native place of William Woodville. The gentleman was a tall, fine-looking man, in the prime of life, and the lady by his side possessed that kind of beauty which disposes the beholder to love as well as admire. When they reached the top of the eminence, the carriage drew up for a moment, while the inmates turned their eyes on a pile of blackened ruins, a little to the right of the road, which still bore enough of their original shape, though sadly defaced by the devouring element, to indicate that they were the remains of a stately edifice destroyed by a conflagration. The gentleman's brow assumed a pensive shade, as he gazed upon the ruined building, and the thoughts that were passing in his mind gave themselves utterance in words.

"How fortunate-how very fortunate it was," said he, “that the fire broke out at the very moment when you were contriving my deliverance, Mungo. Had it not been for that lucky accident, your affectionate efforts would have proved but of little avail, I think ; and I should now be- ," and he shuddered at the thought of the fate from which he had made so narrow an escape.

The

negro made no reply, but his white teeth showed

that he was chuckling over the recollection that the sight of the ruins had awakened.

The carriage soon after drove on, and passing rapidly through the village, at length turned up through an avenue to a little white building which occupied the brow of an eminence about half a mile beyond. The appearance of every thing around this modest mansion betokened the utmost neatness. The clus tering and fragrant honeysuckles almost covered the front, and a grove of stately oak trees bowed their sheltering branches over its roof. A stream on one side danced and murmured along towards the distant sound, and in the rear, the view was agreeably perplexed by the verdant and mazy vistas of a neighbouring wood.

The party alighted from the carriage on reaching this beautiful abode, and after pausing for a moment to look around on the delightful scenery of the landscape, which from some unspoken memory or association, brought tears into the eyes of the female, they entered the house. The negro again mounted the box to drive the carriage towards the stable, and his ebony face glistened with a singularly comic expression as he repeated something to himself. Had any one been sufficiently near, he might have heard the honest black whispering, between the pauses of his merriment "lucky accident-lucky accident! ha, ha, ha!"

A BURIAL AT SEA.

The ship heaves to, and the funeral rite
O'er the gallant form is said,

And the rough man's cheek with tears is bright,
As he lowers the gentle dead.

*

*

*

The ship again o'er the wide blue surge
Like a winged arrow flies,

And the moan of the sea is the only dirge,
Where the lonely sleeper lies.

GOODRICH.

I SHALL never forget the day we buried poor Gerard. It was a clear, pleasant morning, between four and five bells of the forenoon watch. The wind which was about a seven knot breeze, was a little abaft the beam, and in the southern latitude where we were cruising, blew with a welcome freshness on our cheeks. Our studding-sails were set, on both sides, lower and aloft, and they gleamed, in the light of the sun, with dazzling brightness. It had been calm all the day before, while life was slowly exhaling from Gerard's pale lips, and there was consequently but little sea rolling, more than the usual ground swell. Our gallant frigate cut swiftly through the blue water, leaving far behind her a sparkling track of foam in her wake; not unlike, thought I, as I leaned, in a musing mood, over the taffarel, the light which for a little while will linger on the ocean of time, marking the

short and brilliant career of him whom we are about to consign to the deep.

If ever a man combined the qualities of a thorough sailer with those of a thorough gentleman, it was Frederick Gerard. He was not one of your fairweather officers. His was one of those intelligent, cool, collected minds, which no difficulty can appal, and no emergency, however sudden, take by surprise. I remember, as if it were last night, with what admirable presence of mind he worked our ship out of a most dangerous situation, when she was struck aback, with all sails set, by a tremendous squall, in the British Channel, with a reef of rocks just under our counter, and scarcely sea-room enough to wear the commodore's gig. The oldest forecastle sailer on board turned as pale as death, and old Jack Stewart, who had been at sea, man and boy, for forty odd years, gave up all for lost.

Not so Fred Gerard, who fortunately happened to have the deck. With an undaunted heart, he leaped upon the lookout block, and, perceiving in an instant the only chance of salvation, he issued his orders accordingly, in such a clear, distinct, and firm voice, that the very sound restored confidence to the crew. The least confusion of thought, or the least hesitation to act, and we should all have perished. But Fred Gerard was not the man to be confused, or to hesitate in any situation. He would see more at a single glance than most persons could discover by minute inspection; and his actions succeeded the operations of his reasoning powers so rapidly, that he seemed rather to be propelled by intuition than reflection. When poor old Simmons, the quarter gunner, fell overboard, we were running down from Algiers to Gibraltar, before a strong Levanter; and any one who has ever been in the Mediterranean knows what kind of a wind that is to lay to in. Simmons had been ordered out on the

H

side, to black the bends, that we might not look too rusty when we should come to anchor in the bay of Gibraltar. He was a clumsy old fellow, and had foolishly taken hold of some nine thread ratline stuff, that was rove in the gangway, to keep the young reefers from falling overboard; but his weight tore off the thin piece of board to which it was attached, and down he fell into the waves.

The cry of "a man overboard! a man overboard!" was immediately passed fore and aft, and great was the consternation of all hands, as, looking over the bulwarks, they could but just discern the poor old sailer's gray head, already far astern, and the sea rolling between, half mast high. It was a lucky thing for Simmons that Fred Gerard had the morning watch that day; and it would have done his old heart good, nearly suffocated as he must have been, could he have seen with what promptness his preserver backed the yards, hove the vessel to, cleared away the stern boat, and, giving the trumpet to another lieutenant, whom the cry had brought on deck, jumped, himself, the first man, into the jolly boat, and pulled an oar most lustily to his rescue.

But I am wandering from my subject. I meant to speak of the burial of Gerard, and the cause which led to his death; not of his nautical skill and noble promptness of daring in a proper cause.

Till a short time before his death, there was not, in all the squadron, a gayer hearted and happier fellow than Fred Gerard. He was a tall, well built man; and his countenance had received, from his exposure in different parts of the world, a dark tinge, that rather added to, than diminished, his beauty. A sabre cut over the left eye, which had been given him in a personal rencontre with a celebrated West India pirate, whom he had singly met and subdued, imparted a more military air to his expression, without impairing