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watch. He was a great hand to spin yarns, which, to do him justice, he sometimes told tolerably well; and many a long mid-watch has his fund of anecdote and sea stories caused to slip pleasantly away. were lying, in the little schooner to which we were attached, in the open roadstead of Laguyra, at single anchor, when Tom told me the story which I am about to relate, as nearly as I can remember, in his own words. A vessel from Baltimore had come into La guyra that day, and by her I had received letters fro n home, in one of which there was a piece of intelligence that weighed very heavily on my spirits. For some minutes after our watch commenced, Tom and I walked the deck in silence, which was soon, however, interrupted by my talkative companion, who, perceiving my depression, and wishing to divert my thoughts, began as follows:

The last cruise I made in the Mediterranean was in Old Ironsides, as we usel to call our gallant frigate. We had been backing and filling for several months on the western coast of Africa, from the Canaries down to Messurado, in search of slave-traders; and during that time we had some pretty heavy weather. When we reached the Straits, there was a spanking wind blowing from about west-southwest; so we squared away, and without coming to at the Rock, made a straight wake for old Mahon, the general rendezvous and place of refitting for our squadrons in the Me literranean. Immediately on arriving there, we warped in alongside the Arsenal quay, where we stripped ship to a girtline, broke out the holls, tiers, and store-rooms, and gave her a regalar-built overhauling from stem to stern. For a while, everybody was busy, an 1 all seemed bustle and confusion. Orders and replies, in loud and dissimilar voices, the shrill pipings of the different boatswain's mates, each atte iding to separate duties, and the mingled clatter and noise of various kinds of work, all going on at the same time, gave something of the stir and animation of a dock-yard to the usually quiet arsenal of Mahon. The boatswain and his crew were engaged in fitti: g a new gang of rigging; the gunner in repairing his breechings and gun-tackles; the fo'castle-men in calking; the topmen in sending down the yards and upper spars; the holders and waisters in whitewashing and holystoning; and even the poor marines were kept busy, like beasts of burden, in carrying breakers of water on their backs. On the quay, near the ship, the smoke of the armorer's forge, waica had been hoisted out and sent ashore, ascended in a thick black column through the clear blue sky; from one of the neighboring white stone warehouses the sound of saw and hammer told that the carpenters were at work: near by, a livelier rattling drew attention to the cooper, who in the open air was tightening the water-casks; and not far removed, under a temporary shed, formed of spare studding-sails and tarpaulins, sat the sailmaker and his assistants, repairing the sails, which had been rent by the many storms we had encountered.

Many hands, however, make light work, and in a very few days all was accomplished; the stays and shrouds were set up a d new rattled dowa; the yards crossed, the running-riggi g rove, and sails beat; and the old craft, fresh painted and all atannt-o, looked as fine as a midshipman on liberty. In place of the storm-stumps, which had been stɔwed away ano g the booms and other spare spars, amidships, we hal sent up cap to'-gallant-masts and royalpoles, with a sheave for sky-sails, and hoist enough for sky-scrapers above them: so you may judge the old frigate looked pretty taunt. There was a Dutch line shin in the harbor; but though we only carried forty-four to her eighty, her main-truck would hard

ly have reached to our royal-mast head. The sideboys, whose duty it was to lay aloft and furl the skysails, looked no bigger on the yard than a good sized duff for a midshipman's mess, and the maintruck seemed not half as large as the Turk's-head knot on the manropes of the accommodation ladder.

When we had got everything ship-shape and manof-war fashion, we hauled out again, and took our berth about half-way between the Arsenal and Hospital island; and a pleasant view it gave us of the town and harbor of old Mahon, one of the safest and most tranquil places of anchorage in the world. The water of this beautiful inlet-which, though it makes about four miles into the land, is not much over a quarter of a mile in width-is scarcely ever ruffled by a storm; and on the delightful afternoon to which I now refer, it lay as still and motionless as a polished mirror, except when broken into momentary ripples by the paddles of some passing waterman. What little wind we had in the fore part of the day, died away at noon; and, though the first dog-watch was almost out, and the sun was near the horizon, not a breath of air had risen to disturb the deep serenity of the scene. The Dutch liner, which lay not far from us, was so clearly reflected in the glassy surface of the water, that there was not a rope about her from her main-stay to her signalhalliards, which the eye could not distinctly trace in her shadowy and inverted image. The buoy of our best bower floated abreast our larboard bow; and that, too, was so strongly imaged, that its entire bulk seeme 1 to lie above the water, just resting on it, as if upborne on a sea of molten lead; except when now and then, the wringing of a swab, or the dashing of a bucket overboard from the hea 1, broke up the sha low for a moment, and showed the substance but half its former apparent ize. A small polacca craft had got underway from lahon in the course of the forenoon, intending to stand over to Barcelona; but it fell dead calin just before she reached the chops of the harbor; and there she lay as motionless upon the blue surface, as if she were only part of a mimic scene, from the pencil of some accomplished painter. Her broad cotton lateen sails, as they hung drooping from the slanting and taper yards, shone with a glistening white ess that contrasted beautifully with the dark flood in which they were reflected; and the distant sound of the guitar, which one of the sailors was listlessly playing on her deck, came sweetly over the water, and har monized well with the quiet appearance of everything around. The whitewashed walls of the lazaretto, on a verdant headland at the mouth of the bay, glittered like silver in the slant rays of the sun; and some of its windows were burnished so brightly by the level beams, that it seemed as if the whole interior of the edifice were in flatnes. On the opposite side, the ro nantic and picturesque ruins of fort St. Philip, fa.tly seen, acquired double beauty from being tipped with the declining light; and the clusters of ancient looking windmills, which dot the green eminences along the bank, added, by the motionless state of their wigs, to the effect of the unbroken tranquillity of the scene.

Even on board our vessel, a degree of stillness unusual for a man-of-war prevailed among the crew. It was the hour of their evening meal; and the low hum that came from the gun-deck had an iadistinct and buzzing sound, which, like the tiny song of bees of a warm summer nooa, rather heightened than diminished the charm of the surrounding quiet. The spar-deck was almost desertel. The quarter-master of the watch, with his spy-glass in his hand, and dressed in a frock and trowsers of snowy whiteness, stood aft upon the tafferel, erect and motionless as a

statue, keeping the usual lookout. A group of some half a dozen sailors had gathered together on the forecastle, where they were supinely lying under the shade of the bulwarks; and here and there, upon the gun-slides along the gangway, sat three or four others one, with his clothes-bag beside him, overhauling his simple wardrobe; another working a set of clues for some favorite officer's hammock; and a third engaged, perhaps, in carving his name in rude letters upon the handle of a jack-knife, or in knotting a laniard by which to suspend it round his neck.

On the top of the boom-cover, and in the full glare of the level sun, lay black Jake, the jig-maker of the ship, and a striking specimen of African peculiarities, in whose single person they were all strongly developed. His flat nose was dilated to unusual width, and his ebony cheeks fairly glistened with delight, as he looked up at the gambols of a large monkey, which, clinging to the main-stay, just above Jake's woolly head, was chattering and grinning back at the negro, as if there existed some means of mutual intelligence between them. It was my watch on deck, and I had been standing several minutes leaning on the main fiferail, amusing myself by observing the antics of the black and his congenial playmate; but at length, tiring of the rude mirth, had turned towards the tafferel, to gaze on the more agreeable features of that scene which I have feebly attempted to describe. Just at that moment a shout and a merry laugh burst upon my ear, and looking quickly round, to ascertain the cause of the unusual sound on a frigate's deck, I saw little Bob Stay (as we called our commodore's son) standing half-way up the main-hatch ladder, clapping his hands, and looking aloft at some object that seemed to inspire him with a deal of glee. A single glance to the mainyard explained the occasion of his merriment. He had been coming up from the gun-deck, when Jacko, perceiving him on the ladder, dropped suddenly down from the main-stay, and running along the boom cover, leaped upon Bob's shoulder, seized his cap from his head, and immediately darted up the main-topsail sheet, and thence to the bunt of the main-yard, where he now sat, picking threads from the tassel of his prize, and occasionally scratching his side and chattering, as if with exultation for the success of his mischief. But Bob was a sprightly, active little fellow; and though he could not climb quite as nimbly as a monkey, yet he had no mind to lose his cap without an effort to regain it. Perhaps he was more strongly incited to make chase after Jacko from noticing me to smile at his plight, or by the loud laugh of Jake, who seemed inexpressibly delighted at the occurrence, and endeavored to evince, by tumbling about the boom-cloth, shaking his huge misshapen head, and sundry other grotesque actions, the pleasure for which he had no words.

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Ha, ha! Massa Stay, he say you mus' ketch him 'fore you flog him; and it's no so easy for a midshipman in boots to ketch a monkey barefoot."

A red spot mounted to the cheek of little Bob, as he cast one glance of offended pride at Jake, and then sprang across the deck to the Jacob's ladder. In an instant he was half-way up the rigging, running over the ratlines as lightly as if they were an easy flight of stairs, whilst the shrouds scarcely quivered

beneath his elastic motion. In a second more his hand was on the futtocks.

"Massa Stay!" cried Jake, who sometimes, from being a favorite, ventured to take liberties with the younger officers, "Massa Stay, you best crawl through de lubber's hole-it take a sailor to climb the futtock shroud."

But he had scarcely time to utter his pretended caution before Bob was in the top. The monkey, in the meanwhile, had awaited his approach, until he had got nearly up the rigging, when it suddenly put the cap on its own head, and running along the yard to the opposite side of the top, sprang up a rope, and thence to the topmast backstay, up which it ran to the topmast cross-trees, where it again quietly seated itself, and resumed its work of picking the tassel to pieces. For several minutes I stood watching my little messmate follow Jacko from one piece of rigging to another, the monkey, all the while, seeming to exert only as much agility as was necessary to elude the pursuer, and pausing whenever the latter appeared to be growing weary of the chase. At last, by this kind of manoeuvring, the mischievous animal succeeded in enticing Bob as high as the royal-mast-head, when springing suddenly on the royal stay, it ran nimbly down to the foretop-gallant-mast-head, thence down the rigging to the foretop, when leaping on the foreyard, it ran out to the yard-arm, and hung the cap on the end of the studding-sail boom, where, taking its seat, it raised a loud and exulting chattering. Bob by this time was completely tired out, and, perhaps, unwilling to return to the deck to be laughed at for his fruitless chase, he sat down in the royal cross-trees; while those who had been attracted by the sport,

returned to their usual avocations or amusements. The monkey, no longer the object of pursuit or attention, remained but a little while on the yard-arm; but soon taking up the cap, returned in towards the slings, and dropped it down upon deck.

Some little piece of duty occurred at this moment to engage me, as soon as which was performed, I walked aft, and leaning my elbow on the tafferel, was quickly lost in the recollection of scenes very different from the small pantomime I had just been witnessing. Soothed by the low hum of the crew, and by the quiet loveliness of everything around, my thoughts had travelled far away from the realities of my situation, when I was suddenly startled by a cry from black Jake, which brought me on the instant back to consciousness. "My God! Massa Scupper," cried he, "Massa Stay is on de maintruck!"

A cold shudder ran through my veins as the word reached my ear. I cast my eyes up-it was too true! The adventurous boy, after resting on the royal cross-trees, had been seized with a wish to go still higher, and, impelled by one of those impulses by which men are sometimes instigated to place themselves in situations of imminent peril, without a possibility of good resulting from the exposure, he had climbed the sky-sail pole, and, at the moment of my looking up, was actually standing on the main-truck! a small circular piece of wood on the very summit of the loftiest mast, and at a height so great from the deck that my brain turned dizzy as I looked up at him. The reverse of Virgil's line was true in this instance. It was comparatively easy to ascend-but to descend-my head swam round, and my stomach felt sick at thought of the perils comprised in that one word. There was nothing above him or around him but the empty airand beneath him, nothing but a point, a mere point -a small, unstable wheel, that seemed no bigger from the deck than the button on the end of a foil,

and the taper sky-sail pole itself scarcely larger than the blade. Dreadful temerity! If he should attempt to stoop, what could he take hold of to steady his descent? His feet quite covered up the small and fearful platform that he stood upon, and beneath that, a long, smooth, naked spar, which seemed to bend with his weight, was all that upheld him from destruction. An attempt to get down from “that bad eminence," would be almost certain death; he would inevitably lose his equilibrium, and be precipitated to the deck, a crushed and shapeless mass. Such was the nature of the thoughts that crowded through my mind as I first raised my eye, and saw the terrible truth of Jake's exclamation. What was to be done in the pressing and horrible exigency? To hail him, and inform him of his danger, would be but to insure his ruin. Indeed, I fancied that the rash boy already perceived the imminence of his peril; and I half thought that I could see his limbs begin to quiver, and his cheek turn deadly pale. Every moment I expected to see the dreadful catastrophe. I could not bear to look at him, and yet could not withdraw my gaze. A film came over my eyes, and a faintness over my heart. The atmosphere seemed to grow thick, and to tremble and waver like the heated air around a furnace; the mast appeared to totter, and the ship to pass from under my feet. I myself had the sensations of one about to fall from a great height, and making a strong effort to recover myself, like that of a dreamer who fancies he is shoved from a precipice, I staggered up against the bulwarks.

When my eyes were once turned from the dreadful object to which they had been riveted, my sense and consciousness came back. I looked around me-the deck was already crowded with people. The intelligence of poor Bob's temerity had spread through the ship like wild-fire-as such news always will-and the officers and crew were all crowding to the deck to behold the appalling-the heartrending spectacle. Every one, as he looked up, turned pale, and his eye became fastened in silence on the truck-like that of a spectator of an execution on the gallows-with a steadfast, unblinking and intense, yet abhorrent gaze, as if momentarily expecting a fatal termination to the awful suspense. No one made a suggestion-no one spoke. Every feeling, every faculty seemed to be absorbed and swallowed up in one deep, intense emotion of agony. Once the first lieutenant seized the trumpet, as if to hail poor Bob, but he had scarce raised it to his lips, when his arm dropped again, and sank listlessly down beside him, as if from a sad consciousness of the utter inutility of what he had been going to say. Every soul in the ship was now on the spar-deck, and every eye was turned to the main-truck.

At this moment there was a stir among the crew about the gangway, and directly after another face was added to those on the quarter-deck-it was that of the commodore, Bob's father. He had come alongside in a shore boat, without having been noticed by a single eye, so intense and universal was the interest that had fastened every gaze upon the spot where poor Bob stood trembling on the awful verge of fate. The commodore asked not a question, uttered not a syllable. He was a dark-faced, austere man, and it was thought by some of the midshipmen that he entertained but little affection for his son. However that might have been, it was certain that he treated him with precisely the same strict discipline that he did the other young officers, or if there was any difference at all, it was not in favor of Bob. Some who pretended to have studied his character closely, affirmed that he loved his boy too well to spoil him, and that, intending him for the arduous

profession in which he had himself risen to fame and eminence, he thought it would be of service to him to experience some of its privations and hardships at the outset.

The arrival of the commodore changed the direction of several eyes, which now turned on him to trace what emotions the danger of his son would occasion. But their scrutiny was foiled. By no outward sign did he show what was passing within. His eye still retained its severe expression, his brow the slight frown which it usually wore, and his lip its haughty curl. Immediately on reaching the deck, he had ordered a marine to hand him a musket, and with this stepping aft, and getting on the lookout-block, he raised it to his shoulder, and took a deliberate aim at his son, at the same time hailing him, without a trumpet, in his voice of thunder"Robert!" cried he, "jump! jump overboard! or I'll fire at you!"

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The boy seemed to hesitate, and it was plain that he was tottering, for his arms were thrown out like those of one scarcely able to retain his balance. The commodore raised his voice again, and in a quicker and more energetic tone, cried,

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Jump! 'tis your only chance for life."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, before the body was seen to leave the truck and spring out into the air. A sound, between a shriek and a groan, burst from many lips. The father spoke not-sighed not-indeed he did not seem to breathe. For a moment of intense agony a pin might have been heard to drop on deck. With a rush like that of a cannon ball, the body descended to the water, and before the waves closed over it, twenty stout fellows, among them several officers, had dived from the bulwarks. Another short period of bitter suspense ensued. It rose-he was alive! his arms were seen to move! he struck out towards the ship!-and despite the discipline of a man-of-war, three loud huzzas, an outburst of unfeigned and unrestrainable joy from the hearts of our crew of five hundred men, pealed through the air, and made the welkin ring. Till this moment the old commodore had stood unmoved. The eyes, that glistening with pleasure now sought his face, saw that it was ashy pale. He attempted to descend the horse-block, but his knees bent under him; he seemed to gasp for breath, and put up his hand, as if to tear open his vest; but before he accomplished his object, he staggered forward, and would have fallen on the deck, had he not been caught by old black Jake. He was borne into his cabin, where the surgeon attended him, whose utmost skill was required to restore his mind to its usual equability and self-command, in which he at last happily succeeded. As soon as he recovered from the dreadful shock, he sent for Bob, and had a long confidential conference with him; and it was noticed, when the little fellow left the cabin, that he was in tears. The next day we sent down our taunt and dashy poles, and replaced them with the stump-to'-gallant-masts; and on the third, we weighed anchor, and made sail for Gibraltar.

GEORGE P. MORRIS

WAS born in Philadelphia in 1802. He came early in life to New York, and formed an association with the late Samuel Woodworth, with whom he commenced the publication of the Mirror in 1823.

Mr. Morris conducted this journal with distinguished success till the completion of its twentieth volume in 1842, when its publication was interrupted by the universally spread financial disasters of the times. During this period it was the

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representative of the best literary, dramatic, and artistic interests of the day, having among its contributors, Bryant, Halleck, Paulding, Leggett, Hoffinan, and numerous other writers of distinction, while Theodore S. Fay, Nathaniel P. Willis, William Cox, Epes Sargent, were more especially identified with its pages. It was, during the period for which it was published, one of the literary institutions" of the country. In 1843 the periodical was revived, with the title The New Mirror, three volumes of which were published in the royal octavo form. Mr. Willis was again associated in the editorship with Mr. Morris, contributing some of his best sketches, while the earlier numbers were weekly illustrated by the pencil of the artist J. G. Chapman. The publication was successful, but an interpretation of the postage laws interfering with its circulation, Messrs. Morris and Willis projected a new enterprise in the Evening Mirror, a daily paper at New York, which was commenced in the autumn of 1844. The present editor of this journal, Mr. Hiram Fuller, soon became associated in this undertaking, which was conducted for more than two years by the three associates.

view Mr. Morris's series of newspaper enterprises, extending over a period of thirty years. The uniform success with which they have been attended is due to his editorial tact and judgment; his shrewd sense of the public requirements; and his provision for the more refined and permanently acceptable departments of literature. Good taste and delicacy have always presided over the journals conducted by Mr. Morris. The old Mirror was liberally connected with the arts of design, supplying a series of national portraits and views of scenery from originals by Leslie, Inman, Cole, Weir, engraved by Durand, Smillie, Casilear, and others, which have not since been surpassed in their department of illustration.

One of the earliest productions of Mr. Morris was his drama of Brier Cliff, which was produced at the Chatham Theatre, New York, in 1837, and acted for forty nights. It was constructed on incidents of the American Revolution. This remains unpublished. In 1842, he wrote the libretto of an opera, The Maid of Saxony, which was set to music by Mr. C. E. Horn, and performed for fourteen nights at the Park Theatre.

The songs of Mr. Morris have been produced at intervals during the whole term of his literary career. They have been successfully set to music, and popularly sung on both sides of the Atlantic. The themes include most varieties of situation, presenting the love ballad, the patriotic song, the expression of patriotism, of friendship, and numerous occasional topics.

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90 Morris.

At the close of 1845, Mr. Morris commenced alone a new weekly, The National Press. It was carried on by him for nearly a year, when his former literary partner, Mr. Willis, became associated in the paper, the title of which was then changed to the Home Journal. Under the joint editorship it soon became firmly e tablished, and a general favorite as a popular newspaper of the fashionable and belles-lettres interests of the day.*

Undercliff.

There have been several editions of the songs and ballads-from the press of Appleton, in 1840, with illustrations by Weir and Chapman; a miniature volume by Paine and Burgess, in 1846; and a costly illustrated octavo, The Deserted Bride, and o her productions, from the press of Scribner, in 1853, accompanied by engravings from designs by Mr. Weir, who has also illustrated each stanza of the poem, The Whip poor-will, in an earlier

We have thus presented in an uninterrupted edition, printed from steel.

The first number of the New York Mirror and Ladies' Literary Gazette, was publishei in New York, Aug 2, 1823; the last appeared Dec. 81, 1842. The "New Mirror" was published weekly, from April 8, 1843, to Sept. 28. 1844. The first number of the Evening Mirror app ared Oct 7, 1844. The National Press became the Home Journal, with its forty-first number, Nov. 21, 1846.

A collection of specimens of the Song Writers of America, of National Melodies, a joint composition with Mr. Willis of the Prose and Poetry of Europe and America, with a volume of prose sketches, The Little Frenchman and his Water Locs, in 1838, illustrated by the comic designer

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Why dost thou come at set of sun,

Those pensive words to say?

J. R. DRAKE.

Why whip poor Will?-What has he done--
And who is Will, I pray?

Why come from yon leaf-shaded hill,
A suppliant at my door?-

Why ask of me to whip poor Will?
And is Will really poor?

If poverty's his crime, let mirth
From out his heart be driven;
That is the deadliest sin on earth,
And never is forgiven?

Art Will himself?-It must be so-
I learn it from thy moan,
For none can feel another's woe
As deeply as his own.

Yet wherefore strain thy tiny throat,
While other birds repose!

What means thy melancholy note?-
The mystery disclose?

Still" Whip poor Will!"-Art thou a sprite,
From unknown regions sent,

To wander in the gloom of night,
And ask for punishment?

Is thine a conscience sore beset

With guilt?-or, what is worse,

Hast thou to meet writs, duns, and debt-
No money in thy purse?

If this be thy hard fate indeed,
Ah! well mayst thou repine;
The sympathy I give, I need-
The poet's doom is thine!

Art thou a lover, Will?-Hast proved
The fairest can deceive?

Thine is the lot of all who've loved

Since Adam wedded Eve!

Hast trusted in a friend, and seen
No friend was he in need!
A common error-men still lean
Upon as frail a reed.

Hast thou, in seeking wealth or fame,
A crown of brambles won?

O'er all the earth 'tis just the same
With every mother's son!

Hast found the world a Babel wide,

Where man to Mammon stoops?

Where flourish Arrogance and Pride,
While modest merit droops?

What, none of these?-Then, whence thy pain?
To guess it who's the skill?

Pray have the kindness to explain
Why I should whip poor Will?

Dost merely ask thy just desert?
What, not another word?-
Back to the woods again, unhurt-
I will not harm thee, bird!

But use thee kindly-for my nerves, Like thine, have penance done, "Use every man as he deserves

Who shall 'scape whipping?"-none!

Farewell, poor Will!-not valueless This lesson by thee given; "Keep thine own counsel, and confess Thyself alone to Heaven!"

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT tree.

Woodman, spare that tree!
Touch not a single bough!
In youth it sheltered me,
And I'll protect it now.
'Twas my forefather's hand
That placed it near his cot:
There, woodman, let it stand,
Thy axe shall harm it not!
That old familiar tree,

Whose glory and renown
Are spread o'er land and sea,
And wouldst thou hew it down?
Woodman, forbear thy stroke!
Cut not its earth-bound ties;
Oh, spare that aged oak,
Now towering to the skies!
When but an idle boy

I sought its grateful shade;
In all their gushing joy

Here too my sisters played.
My mother kissed me here;
My father pressed my hand-
Forgive this foolish tear,

But let that old oak stand!

My heart-strings round thee cling,
Close as thy bark, old friend!
Here shall the wild-bird sing,
And still thy branches bend.
Old tree! the storm still brave!
And, woodman, leave the spot:
While I've a hand to save,
Thy axe shall harm it not.

I'M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN.

I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.

No other clime has skies so blue,

Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?

Since last, with spirits wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,
I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land;

I've seen fair realms of the earth,
By rude commotion torn,

Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.

In other countries when I heard

The language of my own,

How fondly each familiar word
Awoke an answering tone!

But when our woodland songs were sung
Upon a foreign mart,

The vows that faltered on the tongue
With rapture thrilled the heart.

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