of christian feeling, free from the rankness of sectarianism, and devoid of bigotry or fanatic prejudices. It is a pleasant and enticing work, wherein one may read an instructive essay, "an auld world tale," with its im pressive moral, or a page of stirring versé, redolent of pious thought. But we may spare our words: the editor has said, and well has he said, the objects of the work in the course of the preface, and we beg of our readers to peruse the following quotation.

"The present work has been undertaken with a view of ministering to the moral improvement, as well as to the intellectual enjoyment, of that class of readers among whom an Annual would be likely to find favor. It is believed that an American Annual of a high literary order, and of a decidedly religious characterglancing in several of its articles at MISSIONARY topics, and the great interests of Christian benevolence, in conjunction with all the other kindred subjects common to a work of this description, would, in several respects, be eminently useful.

"Such a work would contribute to throw a hallowing influence around American literature, and furnish to the youth of this land additional proof, that, so far from there being any thing in religion repugnant to a pure and cultivated taste, there is no field into which the student in polite literature can go and find such choice, beautiful, and fragrant flowers, as those which bloom on Zion's hill, or dip their pendent petals in the brim. ming edge

"Of Siloa's brook, that flows

Fast by the oracle of God."

Such a work would enable parents and Christian friends to confer the means of spiritual instruction, while at the same time they were gratifying those kind feelings of their heart, awakened by the return of the Christmas and New Year holidays. In putting such an Annual into the hands of their children and young friends, they would feel they were bringing them under an influence that would tend to improve their heart and expand their intellect, as well as gratify their taste and regale their imagination.

"And finally, such a work would have a tendency to fasten divine truth upon minds that could scarcely be reached in any other way. I will suppose that the ornamented and elegantly bound volume is purchased and laid upon the centre table, without the slightest reference to the lesson of holy instruction it is intended to convey. This volume has inscribed upon its gilded pages THE WORDS OF ETERNAL LIFE. It is caught up in some moment of thoughtlessness or of ennui; and just then speaks to the eye, that holds communion with its pages, so winningly of Christ and eternal things-or breathes forth upon the listening ear notes of heaven so sweetly, that from that hour there begins in the heart a work of transformation that will terminate in the everlasting salvation of one of the gayest and most thoughtless of earth's children."

It is impossible to speak in detail of the numerous articles contained in this volume, or of the merits of the long list of contributors. Our own poetess, Miss Waterman, has two sweet productions that may compete with any. Willis Gaylord Clark has a vivid page of "Reflections" illustrating one of the finest prints in the book. We wish we could afford room to add his poem to the extracts already marked for insertion. Dr. Stephen Tyng has written a capital article upon the late Bishop White, whose head, most exquisitely engraved, is the appropriate frontispiece to the Annual. We have never seen a more striking portrait, and Inman, the painter, has had full justice done to his extraordinary likeness by the burin of Mr. Dodson. “The Missionary Preaching to the Red Men" is a delicate little vignette, in Mr. Tucker's best style. "The Death of Sapphira" is not to our taste; there is a coarse horror about the picture that disgusts the eye; the sitting figure is badly foreshortened, and looks like a deformed dwarf, while the strong glare of light upon all the fleshy portions of the group, betrays a woful want of knowledge in the distribution of effect. Cottage Piety" is one of those delightfully portrayed scenes that you can linger over by the hour, and fancy the history of any individual depicted in the plate-W. H Ellis has well engraved the painter's splendid conception. "The Brahmin Suicide" well depicts the costumes and the country of the Eastern clime. "The Storm in Harvest" is a capital copy of Westall's famous picture-"The Polish Exile," and "Olympia Fulvia Morata" are in nowise inferior to their predecessors. "The Morning Walk" embraces a female head of singular beauty, well defined by Forrest; and "The Shrine" deserves our warmest praise.

We have expended our catalogue of eulogies in endeavoring to give the reader an idea of the beauties of these works-but, in fact, we have seldom been better pleased than when critically analysing the nature of the elegant volumes before us. We subjoin a short tale from the Christian Keepsake, and for the present, bid the Annuals adieu.

THE MARTYRED MISSIONARY AND HIS WIDOWED MOTHER. By Heman Humphrey, D. D.

"HENRY L. was born in that delightful village on the banks of the Connecticut, where the great Edwards reaped his spiritual harvests, and the apostolic Brainard rests from his labors.' He was a son of many prayers; and I have heard his father speak with deep emotion, of the thanksgivings and wrestlings with which he lent the child to the Lord all the days of his life,' in full faith that he would be born again,' and called to the work of the ministry. Heury was early informed, and often reminded of this his infant dedication; but he grew up, as other boys do, without the love of God in his heart. Much as he loved his father and mo ther, he was so far from making their act his own, that there is reason to believe he secretly resolved to mark out his own course, and in pursuing it, to walk in the way of his own heart, and after the sight of his own eyes.' Entirely averse as he was, and as the carnal mind' always is, to holiness and self-denial, how could he think of taking up the cross,' and following him who was despised and rejected of men, and in whom he saw no form nor comeliness why he should desire him.'

"He however wished for a public education; and having read the preparatory books, came to college, in the autumn of 1825, a tall and goodly' young man, with a frank and open countenance, fine health, and a perilous flow of animal spirits. Guided as he had been, from early childhood, in the right ways of the Lord,' by parental instruction and example, an enlightened conscience held the wayward propensities of his heart in check; and it was manifest, from his alternate restlessness and fixed attention under the preaching of the word, that the truth did not fall powerless upon his ear.'

"Soon after leaving college, Mr. L, commenced his professional studies in the Theological Seminary of A, where he spent three years. He thought there could be no higher, nobler earthly aim, than to be. come thoroughly qualified to preach the everlasting gospel. But what field of labor should he himself enter? Should he remain at home, or should he go far hence unto the Gentiles? The heathen were perishing, and his choice was soon fixed. His parents perceived it in the benevolent aspirations of his soul, long before his lips made the disclosure; and when he told them all his heart,' and craved their consent and their blessing,. 'immediately they conferred not with flesh and blood,' but said, go, and the Lord be with thee.' "While pursuing his theological course, Mr. L. became exceedingly interested in the Dyaks of Borneo, who were then represented as even more savage and blood-thirsty than the cannibal tribes of New Zealand. Could any thing be done to save them? While he was musing the fire burned.' They were continually before him, in all their horrible barbarity. Day and night his ardent spirit yearned over them; and though he had reason to believe that no white man could venture within their reach, even for an hour, without extreme danger, his desire to visit their country and attempt their conversion became irrepressible. The American Board, under whose direction he had placed himself, yielded to his wishes; and, as soon as the necessary preparations could be made, he embarked with a brother of a kindred soul, for the great eastern Archipelago. Touching at Batavia, on the frontiers of the vast empire of pagan darkness, they yielded to the judg. ment of an experienced veteran in the missionary service, whom they met there, and concluded to remain, till they could make the wisest and best arrangements in their power for proceeding to the place of their destination. While they were waiting at Batavia, they were induced to plan a voyage to the island of Sumatra, with the view of spending a few weeks in exploring the country of the Battas, which it was supposed might be done without any greater hazard than missionaries have often encountered, with entire safety.

They landed—they sought for information-they were encouraged-they were dissuaded-they looked to heaven for direction, and finally resolved to proceed. Having procured suitable guides, they advanced slowly and with great difficulty three or four days' journey into the interior, when they came suddenly upon a kind of fort, which belonged to the Battas, and from which they sallied out with the most hostile demonstrations. The guides fled. The missionaries could not make known their benevolent errand, for there was no one to interpret, and the spears of the barbarians soon closed the interview in blood. How the orgies of the succeeding night were kept may be conjectured, for the Battas too are cannibals. But the martyrs—young, vigorous, ardent and fresh from their long preparations-went up (who can doubt it?) to receive their crowns. What a change! How sudden-how great-how glorious! One hour entangled in those horrid jungles, and the next walking the streets of the New Jerusalem!' One moment stunned by savage yells, in the agonies of a cruel death, and the next listening to the song of Moses and the Lamb!

"When Henry L. left America, both his parents were living to receive his last embrace, and to commend him to the protection of that Power which rules the winds and the waves. In the autumn of 1834, his father was suddenly called away from a large and dependent family, several months after the death of Henry, but before the tragical news had reached this country. His mother, now a widow in feeble health and deep affiction, was my neighbor. The letters from Batavia which brought the overwhelming intelligence to her brother, were of such a character as to leave no room for doubt, or hope. As soon as I learned their contents, I was on my way to her dwelling. But how should I meet her, whose life, since the death of her husband, was more than ever bound up' in Henry? What sympathies had I to offer in such an hour? What could I do but sit down, like Job's friends, without speaking a word? Surely I shall find the martyred missionary's widowed mother, utterly prostrated by the shock. Such were my thoughts, during the few moments that it required to bring me to her door, and such the painful anticipations with which I entered the house. But how could I do her this great injustice; or rather how could I thus make the grace of God of none effect?' I was never more mistaken in my life.

"She was not prostrated. She met me as usual with a smile. It shone through her tears, it is true; but it was no less a smile for that. This day brings you heavy tidings.' 'Yes,' was her calm reply; but I am so far from being sorry I parted with Henry, as a missionary to the heathen, that I never in my life felt so strong a desire that some of my other children might engage in the same canse. O, how much do those poor creatures, who have murdered my son, need the gospel! The surprise, the relief of that moment, I cannot express. It was giving a turn to the affliction which I had not thought of. But it was so natural, or rather, there was so much of the grace of God in it, that as the new idea flashed on my mind, I seemed to see the conversion of the poor Battas intimately connected, and very much hastened by the tragical event. Surely it will, I said to myself, excite the church to more fervent prayers and more strenuous efforts in their behalf. The more savage they are, the more urgent the reasons for sending them missionaries. Here is a widowed mother, whose son they massacred in cold blood, before he could speak a word to them of Jesus Christ, the great atoning sacrifice,-wishing, in the first moments of her grief, that her other children might be prepared go and carry them the gospel of peace. Surely, when Christian mothers come, by hundreds and by thousands, to issues like these, all the dark places of the earth, which are full of the habitations of cruelty,' will be enlightened, and become the dwelling places of righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost."

to

The Fourth Volume of THE PICKWICK PAPERS has just been issued by Messrs. Carey, Lea & Blanchard. The author of these inimitable sketches, in one short year, has attained immortality; our children will place his volumes upon the same shelf with Smollett, Fielding, Irving, Scott, and Marryatt. “Boz" is an unequalled painter of human life; his portraits are not a rifacimento of every artist's scrap book, nor are they copies

from any "great original," but positive studies from nature itself, without the least taint of caricature ;— striking and undeniable resemblances, full of the spirit of the master, and free from the sophistications of varnish and gold frames. If Boz delights in developing the peculiarities of humble life, it is not from any vulgar predilections, but from its richness and variety of material; his portraits of Count Smorltork and Lord Mutanhead, are equally true, and his descriptions of fashionable society at Bath equally racy with his accounts of the family of the Wellers. The variety of “ Boz” is a wonderful charm-his pathetic touches are par ticularly effective: one minute you are laughing till the water runs down your cheeks, and in the next, you are smearing off a tear with the tip of your finger, as if ashamed of crying at the fictitious distresses narrated by the skilful Boz. The man who could peruse the death scene of the chancery debtor, described in this Fourth Volume, and rise from such perusal without experiencing a dimness of vision from a flow of moisture in his eyes, ought not to assume a human appellation—" At his birth, be sure, some demon did preside." The character of Mr. Pickwick is well sustained throughout-the quiet benevolence which exhibits itself beneath the mass of pleasing absurdity that enwraps the old gentleman through the many laughable adven tures he is fated to endure, speaks wondrously to the heart. His philanthropy seriously affects the sensibilities of his devoted Samuel, with whom, in his opinion of his master, we cordially agree

"I never heerd, mind you, nor read of it in story books, nor see in picters, any angel in tights and gaitersnot even in spectacles, as I remember, though that may ha' been done, for any thin' I know to the contrairey; but mark my vords, Job Trotter, he's a regular thorough-bred angel for all that: and let me see the man as wenturs to tell me that he knows a better vun.' With this defiance, Mr. Weller buttoned up his change in a side pocket; and with many confirmatory nods and jestures by the way, proceeded in search of the subject of discourse."

Old Wellers' plan for the deliverance of Mr. Pickwick from prison, and the old gentleman's opinions of the Americans, are worth transcribing:

"Sammy," whispered Mr. Weller, looking cautiously round, "my duty to your gov'ner, and tell him if he thinks better o' this here bis'ness, to commoonicate vith me. Me and a cab'net maker has dewised a plan for gettin' him out. A pianner, Samivel-a pianner!" said Mr. Weller, striking his son on the chest with the back of his hand, and falling back a step or two.

"Wot do you mean?" said Sam.

"A pianuer forty, Samivel," rejoined Mr. Weller, in a still more mysterious manner, "as he can have on hire; vun as von't play, Sammy."

"And wot 'ud be the good o' that?" said Sam.

"Let him send to my friend, the cab'net-maker to fetch it back, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller. "Are you awake now?"

"No," replied Sam.

"There ain't no vurks in it," whispered his father. "It 'ull hold him easy with his hat and shoes on; and breathe through the legs, vich his holler. Have a passage ready taken for Merriker.' The Merrikin' gov' ment vill never give him up, ven vunce they finds he's got money to spend, Sammy. Let the gov'ner stop there till Mrs. Bardell's dead, or Mr. Dodson and Fogg's hung, vich last ewent I think is the most likely to happen first, Sammy: and then let him come back and write a book about the Merrikins' as'll pay all his expenses, and more, if he blows 'em up enough."

The general excellence of this work is well sustained in this volume. The publishers intend issuing a complete edition of this cockney classic, with faithful copies of the original illustrations. We care but little for pictures to Boz—they will but spoil the work, as Ireland murdered Hogarth by moralizing the painters' plates.

THE FOURTH PART OF LOCKHART'S LIfe of Walter ScoTT, has been published by Messrs. Carey, Lea, and Blanchard. It is an act of mere supererogation to say anything in favor of this universally popular work. The critics of every periodical, quarterly, monthly, weekly, daily-conspire to sound its praises; you see it noticed in every publication, and meet with it in every parlor-in every reading-room-aboard every steamboat, and in every stage-coach. The same wonderful success attends its publication in Europe-in fact, the whole world, at this moment, is employed in reading a piece of biography which eventually will eclipse the glories of poor Boswell.

We subscribe the first interview between Scott and Lockhart, and the description of the magician's den.

When the ladies retired from the dinner-table, I happened to sit next him; and he, having heard that I had lately returned from a tour in Germany, made that country and its recent literature the subject of some con versation. In the course of it, I told him that when, on reaching the inn at Weimar, I asked the waiter, whether Goethe was then in the town, the man stared as if he had not heard the name before; and that on my repeating the question, adding Goethe der gros dichter (the great poet,) he shook his head as doubtfully as before-until the landlady solved our difficulties, by suggesting that perhaps the traveller might mean "the Herr Geheimer-Rath (Privy-Counsellor) Von Goethe." Scott seemed amused with this, and said, “I hope you will come one of these days and see me at Abbotsford; and when you reach Selkirk or Melrose, be sure you ask even the landlady for nobody but the Sheriff." He appeared particularly interested when I described Goethe as I first saw him, alighting from a carriage, crammed with wild plants and herbs which he had picked

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up in the course of his morning's botanizing among the hills above Jena. "I am glad," said he, " that my old master has pursuits somewhat akin to my own. I am no botanist, properly speaking; and though a dweller on the banks of the Tweed, shall never be knowing about Flora's beauties; but how I should like to have a talk with him about trees!" I mentioned how much any one must be struck with the majestic beauty of Goethe's countenance-(the noblest certainly that I have ever yet seen)-" well," said he, "the grandest demigod I ever saw was Dr. Carlyle, minister of Musselburgh, commonly called Jupiter Carlyle, from having sat more than once for the king of gods and men to Gavin Hamilton-and a shrewd, clever old carle was he, no doubt, but no more a poet than his precentor. As for poets, I have seen, I believe, all the best of our own time and country-and, though Burns had the most glorious eyes imaginable, I never thought any of them would come up to an artist's notion of the character, except Byron." A reverend gentleman present, (I think, Principal Nicoll of St. Andrews,) expressed his regret that he had never seen Lord Byron. "And the prints," resumed Scott," give one no impression of him-the lustre is there, Doctor, but it is not lighted up. Byron's countenance is a thing to dream of. A certain fair lady, whose name has been too often mentioned in connexion with his, told a friend of mine that, when she first saw Byron it was in a crowded room, and she did not know who it was, but her eyes were instantly nailed, and she said to herself that pale face is my fale. And, poor soul, if a godlike face and godlike powers could have made any excuse for devilry, to be sure she had one." In the course of this talk, an old friend and schoolfellow of Scott's asked him across the table if he had any faith in the antique busts of Homer? No, truly," he answered, smiling," for if there had been either limners or stuccoyers worth their salt in those days, the owner of such a headpiece would never have had to trail the poke. They would have alimented the honest man decently among them for a lay-figure."

He at this time occupied as his den a square small room, behind the dining parlor in Castle Street. It had but a single Venetian window, opening on a patch of turf not much larger than itself, and the aspect of the place was on the whole sombrous. The walls were entirely clothed with books; most of them folios and quartos, and all in that complete state of repair which at a glance reveals a tinge of bibliomania. A dozen volumes or so, needful for immediate purposes of reference, were placed close by him on a small moveable frame-something like a dumb-waiter. All the rest were in their proper niches, and wherever a volume had been lent, its room was occupied by a wooden block of the same size, having a card with the name of the borrower and date of the loan, tacked on its front. The old bindings had obviously been retouched and regilt in the most approved manner; the new, when the books were of any mark, were rich but never gaudy-a large proportion of blue morocco-all stamped with his device of the portcullis, and its motto clausus tutus ero being an anagram of his name in Latin. Every case and shelf was accurately lettered, and the works arranged systematically; history and biography on one side-poetry and the drama on another-law books and dictionaries behind his own chair. The only table was a massive piece of furniture which he had had constructed on the model of one at Rokeby; with a desk and all its appurtenances on either side, that an amanuensis might work opposite to him when he chose; and with small tiers of drawers, reaching all round to the floor. The top displayed a goodly array of session papers and on the desk below were, besides the MS. at which he was working, sundry parcels of letters, proof-sheets, and so forth, all neatly done up with red tape. His own writing apparatus was a very handsome old box, richly carved, lined with crimson velvet, and containing ink-bottles, taper-stand, &c., in silver-the whole in such order that it might have come from the silversmith's window half an hour before. Besides his own huge elbow chair, there were but two others in the room, and one of these seemed, from its position, to be reserved exclusively for the amanuensis. I observed, during the first evening I spent with him in this sanctum, that while he talked, his hands were hardly ever idle. Sometimes he folded letter-covers-sometimes he twisted paper into matches, performing both tasks with great mechanical expertness and nicety; and when there was no loose paper fit to be so dealt with, he snapped his fingers, and the noble Maida aroused himself from his lair on the hearth-rug, and laid his head across his master's knees, to be caressed and fondled. The room had no space for pictures except one, an original portrait of Claverhouse, which hung over the chimney piece, with a Highland target on either side, and broadswords and dirks (each having its own story.) disposed star fashion round them. A few green tin-boxes, such as solicitors keep title-deeds in, were piled over each other on one side of the window; and on the top of these lay a fox's tail, mounted on an antique silver handle, wherewith, as often as he had occasion to take down a book, he gently brushed the dust off the upper leaves before opening it. I think I have mentioned all the furniture of the room except a sort of ladder, low, broad, well-carpeted, and strongly guarded with oaken rails, by which he helped himself to books from his higher shelves. On the top step of this convenience, Hinse of Hinsfeldt-(so called from one of the German Kinder-marchen)—a venerable Tom-cat, fat and sleek, and no longer very locomotive, usually lay watching the proceedings of his master and Maida with an air of dignified equanimity; but when Maida chose to leave the party, he signified his inclinations by thumping the door with his huge paw, as violently as ever a fashionable footman handled a knocker in Grosvenor Square; the Sheriff rose and opened it for him with courteous alacrity—and then Hinse came down purring from his perch, and mounted guard by the foot-stool, vice Maida absent upon furlough. Whatever discourse might be passing was broken, every now and then, by some affectionate apostrophe to these four-footed friends. He said they understood every thing he said to them, and I believe they did understand a great deal of it. But at all events, dogs and cats, like children, have some infallible tact for discovering at once who is, and who is not, really fond of their company; and I venture to say, Scott was never five minutes in any room before the little pets of the family, whether dumb or lisping, had found out his kindness for all their generation.

THE SCOURGE OF THE OCEAN; a Story of the Atlantic, by an Officer of the U. S. Navy. Carey and Hart.

It is almost impossible, now-a-days, to write an interesting tale of the sea-Cooper, Marryatt, Hall, and Chamier have used-up every possible particle of material, and the most brilliant novelist would be unable to float his craft across the ocean's waste without running foul of one or all of the vessels above named. There is a monotony in the works of the best maritime writers; and the utmost skill of their successors can barely

navigate their newly-launched hulks through the straits of criticism, or enable them to weather the rocks of contempt. Some of them have sunk at their moorings, and others are high and dry on the shoals of ridicule, where they remain to the annoyance of their skippers and the consignees.

In a word, we are tired of nautical tales; the sea is positively worn out; and ships afire, mutinies, seafights, fogs, and floggings, are considerably below par. Novelty is a thing to be desired, but not expected in maritime delineations; and the book before us evinces the truth of our remark. Every thing is ship-shape and sailor-like-but we have read every event therein narrated, in different words, at least some half-dozen times over. This is not the fault of the author, but of the worn-out subject he has chosen to employ his pen. The same skill directed to another matter would have produced a very excellent novel.

"The Scourge of the Ocean" is a well-told tale, subject to the above drawback, and bears evidence of considerable taste, which, properly cultivated, promises future fruit of richer flavor. The commencement of the tale is inauspicious, but progressively improves in interest and ability. The conduct of the midshipman to his superior officer is inexcusable, and injures the hero in the minds of discerning readers. If the author had confined the cockney dialect to one of the English warrant officers, or marines, he would have produced better effect in the conversational portions. The destruction of the Scourge, and the preceding scene in the fog, are well told. We had marked an extract from the second volume, depicting the rescue of the hero from the hands of the police, but found that abbreviation would injure its excellence. The following dialogue is humorous and good:

"I am hexceedingly sorry, Mr. Spikes," said Ramrod, looking round to see that none observed him in conversation with the prisoner, it being contrary to discipline to speak on other matters than those of duty, in such cases; "I am hexceedingly 'urt at 'aving you hunder charge, but it's the fortin of war, as corporal Gunpowder said when he split his inexpressibles."

"I don't mind it, Ramrod," returned the boatswain; "it's not the first time I've been in bilboa, and may be 'twon't be the last; we can't always carry stun' sails you know, and must make calculations for heavy weather if we follow the sea.'

"Hexactly, Mr. Spikes," returned the soldier, "and, therefore, you must hamuse yourself so as to keep off the blue devils, and not allow this little rewerse to throw you off your guard; it's wery fortunate, sir, that I was put on post 'ere, because I can now and then hindulge in a little hintelligent conversation, which, in your present situation, Mr. Spikes, you'll find wastly agreeable."

"Thank ye, Ramrod," said the boatswain; "but we'll manage to spin out the watches as short as possible; I've got a bit of a book here, stowed away at the head of my berth, and now and then, for lack of something better to do, we'll take a spell at it. You can read, Ramrod ?"

"I didn't go to the huniversity for nothing, Mr. Spikes," returned the soldier with a knowing inclination of the head, and a sage expansion of both eyes.

"I used to have a little larning myself," rejoined the boatswain, rummaging in search of the article in ques tion; but, having something better to attend to, I managed to forget it all;-ah, here it is, just overhaul a leaf or two of it, Ramrod, and let's get the drift of it."

"This here is the Helements of Huclid," said the soldier.

"Yes,

yes, it's one o' them books the young gentlemen get their knowledge of seamanship from. Go ahead, Ramrod, and let's hear what it has to say about fitting rigging and the like."

"A point," said Ramrod, reading, "considered mathematically, has neither length, breadth, nor thick

ness."

"That's a dd lie," exclaimed the boatswain indignantly; "a pint has just all three of them; it's a reef p'int I 'spose the chap has allusion to, and every body knows that reef p'ints must have a certain length, must be platted with so many strands, and must have a particular width, in proportion to the size of the sail they're laid up for. Now, Ramrod, this comes of trying to get larning by setting down on your locker instead of going aloft and seeing how things are done there. I've often told Mr. Everett that same, but it was no use; midshipmen are too lazy to go over the top rim when they can crawl through the lubber's hole."

But, Mr. Spikes, he may not 'ave reference to a reef p'int," returned the soldier, who, being a man of education, decred it his duty to advocate the cause of science.

"Then what the devil does he mean?" rejoined the boatswain.

"He may allude to a pint of rum," answered Ramrod.

"Ah, yes, I see how it is," returned Spikes, "you've got in that part which explains the arrangements of the spirit room; go on and let's hear how he stows his casks."

"A straight line or right line," continued the soldier, reading the following article, "is the shortest distance between the two points which limit its length."

"Avast a bit, Ramrod," said Spikes, who seemed not to comprehend the sense of this sentence; "just read that over again."

“A straight line, or right line, is the shortest distance between the points which limit its length." "Well, d――n my tarry toplights, if that arn't the first time I ever heard a reef band called a line before,"

exclaimed the boatswain.

"A line," continued Ramrod, reading, "has length, but neither breadth nor thickness."

"That's another d-d lie!" ejaculated the boatswain; "every line has a certain thickness, from a towline to a twiddling-line. Now, Ramrod, it's my opinion that the chap that built that book, did it for the pur pose of getting to wind'ard of the officers' pockets; and what's most surprising to me is, how they can read it without seeing the mistakes of the d-d lubber; but I 'spose they think every book is gospel, like the New Testament the preacher talks so much about."

"Mr. Spikes," returned the soldier, " you oughtn't to condemn hevery book on account of this one, which, I hacknowledge, is perfectly ridiculous; there are many wery hexcellent and correct 'istories, such, for hinstance, as Sinbad the Sailor, and the Soldier's Manual Hexercise for the Land and Sea Sarvice."