SATURDAY, AUGUST 4TH.- Fine, shady, though rather hot. The nights are cool, however, and that's a blessin.' Our variable s. s. w. trade continues, and we head as yesterday, at about five knots. Laudanum last night at nine, fifteen drops, and none to-day, has kept me so-so. I am trying to dispense with it in the day-time, but we shall see. I am very weak, and can scarcely crawl upon deck and down again, and have very little appetite. My only hope, now, is in the mercy of God, or I shall never see Rio.

'SUNDAY, AUGUST 5TH. The holy Sabbath again; but these Sabbaths here make me think of those at home, and then I feel very sad. Will God ever restore me to those privileges again? I feel so sick and weak to-day, that I have no mental energy, and my mind wanders every where, and I cannot control it. Home-home-is always in my thoughts; but alas! I am far away, and sickness has laid its hand upon me heavily. I try to put my trust in God, and to lay my cares and troubles at His feet.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 12TH.- I have had rest and quietness to-day, and some pleasant moments in, as I humbly hope, communion with God. But the great interruption to religious thought and prayer, is the thought of Home, which rushes into the mind of the poor, weak, sick man, far away at sea, like a thunderbolt, driving all thought of religion and prayer from the lips, unless it be to pray that God would restore me to the green pastures and still waters of my native land, soon and well. Is it wrong to think of home abroadsick-weak? I pray God we may soon get to Rio, for the clock of my life seems worn out, and just ticks along, through His sustaining mercy. Oh! those who live at home at ease, don't know how desolate and forsaken I feel!'

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We have quoted sparingly from those portions of the journal which record the writer's sufferings; the trials of a protracted voyage, in a scantily-furnished vessel; the gradually-increasing cough, which day by day exhausted the issues of life, and the awful spasms of the heart, which he says often doubled him up' in agony. Amid all his afflictions, his reliance upon a Supreme Power was unwavering; his affection for his friends, and his love of home, constant and unabated. He arrived at Rio on the 29th of August, reduced to a skeleton, and so weak as to be obliged to go upon all fours, up and down the companion-way.' He was received there with great kindness, and placed under the care of an eminent physician. Save a letter mentioning his arrival out, and the state of his health during the voyage, a brief business communication was all that was received from him, by his friends in this country, previous to the intelligence of his death. He gradually grew worse; and when, on the fourteenth of September, he embarked on board the brig Tweed for the United States, his physician had little hope of his reaching his native land. He died on the first day of October, sixteen days out, in the twenty-fourth year of his age. A mere statement of the fact was all that was at first received by his relations and friends in the United States. The vivid picture which he has himself drawn, and which we cannot resist the inclination to quote in this place, of a death and burial at sea, was present to their imaginations, and added poig

nancy to the sorrow which the news of his death had awakened. The extract to which we allude, and which we subjoin, is from a sketch entitled 'Off Cape Horn,' one of the writer's earliest productions.

DEATH AND BURIAL AT SEA.

BY JACK GARNET.'

ABOUT four bells in the forenoon watch, the wind began to blow again from the north-west, and we made sail for the Horn; and at seven bells, the surgeon reported to the captain, that in consequence of some internal bruise, Wilson was much worse, and could not live the day out. This intelligence took very little hold of us, for it was a common thing, and no trick at all, for men to die on board; and accordingly it was little minded, and the conversation which followed this announcement in the mess-room of the forward officers, may be taken as a fair sample of sailors' feeling on the subject.

There, Sails,' said the boatswain to the sail-maker, pointing to the sick-bay, 'there will be a job for you; something to take the turns out of your fingers. Get your palm and needle, and stand by to sew that man up in his hammock, and tell the gunner you want a couple of round shot for the use of the dispensary, to ballast one of the doctor's chickens, and send him to Davy's locker feet-foremost.'

'What's to pay, Pipes?' answered the sail-maker, coolly; 'has the doctor hulled one of the poor fellows at last? or have his life-halliards parted at the tie? Send him some ratlin-stuff, so that he can set up brace-backstays abaft, and cross his royal yards, and call all hands up

anchor.'

'We sha' n't have to man the capstan for him,' interposed the gunner, as he mixed a pannikin of grog, stiff enough to float grape-shot; we shall man the lee-gangway, and Old Pipes will call all hands to bury the dead.’

'I say, Mac,' said the master's-mate to the purser's-steward, 'how does Wilson's name stand on the books? You'll have to foot up his account, shortly, and give him his discharge from the state's service; he's going to ship under Commodore David Jones, aboard the ship Pacific, ten thousand guns, besides stern and bow chasers. His time is about out; he's done with rations and grog.'

Well, I'll be d d' says Dandy-Jack the carpenter, 'if you do n't take it easy! Here's a man dying, and you make no more of it than I would of plugging a shot-hole in the ship's upper works.'

6

'After action's over, Chips means,' said the boatswain; he'd take the best of d d good care not to sling himself in a bowline over the ship's side, to plug a shot hole in time of action, for fear his own upperworks would get knocked in with a round shot; for that would spoil the looks of his figure-head, and perhaps carry away his cut

water.'

There, Chips,' says the purser's steward, 'you'd better haul off, and repair damages. Old Pipes carries too many guns for you.' d!' said the carpenter, as he kicked over his campstool, and made a straight wake for the deck.

'You be d

And while these thoughtless men laughed, and made a mock of death and all its horrors, the poor object of their mirth lay in his cot, surrounded by the noise and confusion of a man-of-war; silent and sad; knowing that he was beyond mortal aid; reflecting that now the last scene of life was to be acted; that nothing remained but to die. Come when it may, the hour of death is one of awful trial, of deep, overwhelming solemnity; and no where is it more awful, more agonizing, than on board ship, at sea, far away from home and friends, destitute of the arm of support, the word of consolation, and the voice of prayer; where the only mention of the name of God, is in oaths and blasphemies.

Would any one, accustomed to the quiet of the apartment of the sick on shore, have thought, from the scenes presented to his view on the berth-deck of our ship, that a fellow creature lay there at the point of death, and that every one was aware of it?

Although there was, in the immediate vicinity of the sick-bay, some little attention paid by the sailors to the feelings of their sick shipmate, by lowering the voice, and avoiding to touch his cot; yet, in the crowded limits of the ship, none were so far distant that the sensitive ear of sickness could avoid hearing their loud, thoughtless discourse. In one place, two men were fighting, and their fearful curses and violent blows grated harshly on his ear, who was so soon to stand in the presence of that God whose name they profaned, and whose wrath they invoked; while he, with his fast-failing breath, besought his mercy. Others were laughing, and telling stories, and enlarging upon the delights of home. That word had, but yesterday, been the theme of his joyful meditations. In health his joy, in sickness his consolation; but both were now about to fail him; and here, ten thousand miles from home, his life was to end. Three years before, in the ardor of youth, he left his happy home and dear friends, to enter the service of the United States; and having now nearly circumnavigated the world, he was returning on the wings of hope, to taste the sweets of a mother's and sister's love. But that bliss was not in store for him; he was fast falling into the cold embrace of death, and he was soon to be committed to the deep, and find his place of repose in the vast Pacific.

Although amidst a multitude, he felt that he was alone, and recalling his thoughts from home, and all external objects, and commending himself, and all who were dear, to the care of Him who made the sea and prepared the dry land, he waited patiently for death. Its coming was not long delayed. At noon, in the heartless formalities of a man-of-war, the surgeon made his report to the captain, that 'at twelve o'clock, meridian, died, in consequence of an internal contusion, caused by falling from the hammock-nettings upon the deck, James Wilson, seaman.' The captain's reply was, as it always is, to all messages: Very good, Sir;' and then the sail-maker, in presence of the assistant-surgeon, and the master-at-arms, proceeded to sew him up in his hammock, and putting in two round shot at the feet, to sink him, report was made that 'the dead was ready for burial.'

It is not customary, however, to bury the dead at noon, and therefore the body was brought on deck, laid on the lee-gangway-board, and covered with a jack, (a blue flag, with white stars,) there to lie,

until the rules of naval etiquette would allow of its interment. Cape Horn was now in sight, and as we rapidly neared it, the wind, northwest, increased so much, that at seven bells, in the afternoon watch, all hands were called to reef the topsails; and, immediately after, the legal time, eight bells, having arrived, came the solemn call, All hands to bury the dead!' Every soul on board appeared on the lee-gangway, according to rule, and all standing uncovered, the lieutenant, acting as chaplain, commenced reading the solemn burial service of the Episcopal church, appointed to be used at sea; and the gangway board being placed on the rail, and the lashings cast off, and the jack withdrawn, it was ready to be cast into the sea. The wind had increased to such a degree, that it drowned the voice of the reader, so that only here and there a word was audible. The first-lieutenant waved his hand, at the proper place in the service, and the corpse was launched overboard; and the sullen plash fell impressively on every ear, announcing that another was gone to his long home.

We were now abreast of the Horn, about a mile distant, and although the wind was north-west, the waves dashed against those eternal rocks, in defiance of it, throwing the foam mountains high; and the loud roar of those conflicting oceans was a fitting requiem for the soul of him who slept beneath their troubled waters. The sun went down in the pride of his strength, and the full effulgence of his glory and his departing rays illumined three of the noblest of the works of God; the Atlantic ocean in front, the Pacific ocean on the right, and on the left, the bold promontory, Cape Horn, the last of the Andes.'

THE doubts and fears, however, born of uncertainty in relation to the last hours of Mr. GOULD, were happily soon after removed, by the reception of the few papers he left behind him, with letters from the captain of the Tweed, and the fellow passengers named in the following records, which resume and finish the diary from which we have quoted:

'SEPTEMBER 20тH, 1838. I embarked on board the brig Tweed, Capt. Robinson, on the 13th, and we left Rio the next morning; and now I am bound home, to my beloved mother's and sister's embraces. But oh, my mother! I fear I shall never see HOME again! Perhaps this may be the last I shall ever write. I have every comfort on board this vessel; and Capt. R. is so kind to me!—and Lieut. NOLAND, of the Navy, who is a passenger, is very kind indeed. I am quite weak; my cough is terrible; and the pain in the heart at times

severe.

'September 24тн. - Farewell, dear mother, and sisters, and brothers! My end is approaching. I can scarcely write. My head is dizzy. Bring me a light, George; let me seal this. Oh, if God would only spare me to get home, I would always bless his name!'

The leaf on which the above was written, was folded over, and sealed, and directed to the writer's mother, in Connecticut. Subsequently, after his own fears of speedy dissolution were frankly confirmed by his fellow passengers, he indicted a will, which plainly indicates the wandering of his mind, as his end approached. There is one touching 'item,' however, which serves to show the strength

of his filial regard, even in death. 'To my beloved mother,' he dic tates, 'I bequeath a nation's blessing, and my best love and affection.' Among the passengers in the Tweed,' were ISAAC MAYO, Esq., Com. United States' Navy, WILLIAM HENRY NOLAND, Esq., a lieutenant, and CLEMENT W. BENNET, a midshipman, in the same service. The two former of these gentlemen have borne testimony to the triumphant death of the subject of this article. Lieut. Noland recently writes, we are permitted to state, to a brother of the deceased, that having heard, previous to his coming on board, that the most eminent physicians in Rio had pronounced it impossible for him to reach home, his lungs being entirely gone, he was agreeably surprised to find him looking so much better than he had been led to suppose; and being himself in extremely ill health, he considered his chance of reaching the United States at least equal to his own. He continues:

'We left Rio on the morning of the 14th September, when your dear brother and myself were first made acquainted; an acquaintance which I enjoyed as much as any I had ever made previously, and would to God it could have continued! His amiable temper and kind manners rendered him dear to all in the vessel; and I really believe that there was not an individual on board who would not willingly have sacrificed all he had, for your brother's recovery.

For a few days previous to his death, he became at times very delirious; and he died under the belief that his mother was dead, and near him. In his intervals of reason, he would say to me, 'Oh, Noland! I cannot live long; but I hope God will spare me to reach home, that I may die in my dear mother's arms.' He talked incessantly of his dear mother,' and of each of his family, calling them by name, and the words' dear Edward,' ' dear Julia,' were constantly on his lips; and you may have the consolation of knowing, that he died happy, for I believe he was a true Christian. He would frequently get me to read to him portions of Scripture, and he was often in prayer; and he seemed to take great delight in trying to sing from his prayer-book, (which was constantly at his side,) even when his voice became too weak to be heard.

'I attended to laying him out after death, and we had him buried with the honors of war.

'The steward was a most faithful, kind, and efficient nurse: indeed, never witnessed any thing like it before; for, after attending to his day's duty, he would sit and watch by your brother all night, and could not be persuaded to take any rest.'

Next to the consolation of knowing that

'God's presence through his journey shone,
And crowned his journey's end,'

is the intelligence conveyed in this letter, that a spirit open to the best impulses of humanity, should have found such noble counterparts in the kind and manly hearts who relieved the last wants, and anticipated the last wishes, of our departed friend.

We should not omit, in conclusion, to tender our acknowledgments to Mr. GOULD's friends, for allowing us access to the documents from which this hasty and imperfect article is compiled.

L. G. C.